#∅. ─── COMING SOON... // [QUEUED]

[mail-me-a-snail]

TRUE BLU - CHAPTER ART ii.-v.

the complete collection of the weekly chapter art i did for my fic true blu ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ also, idk if it was obvious before this post, but...

...each piece that has red in it lines up with the next ^_^ if you somehow noticed this before i pointed it out, congrats! you get a billion funny monies

[kotaki]

I Love My Melody Coord

[realjrwiquotes]

day 164

Lightspeed: Hello? William: Hey, Vyncent drowned. Lightspeed: What? Wait who is this? William: And Dakota’s at the bottom of the ocean.

Prime Defenders Season 2 Episode 15: The Sovereign 5 - 1:16:14 submitted by @snalll

[soggywert]

Flying Fish-Fisherman Grian

[blitheringbongus]

I’m not gay guys I promise

((Timelapse under the cut cuz I like it)) ((Warning: is IS a bit over four minutes long, I couldn’t figure out how to speed it up further))

[literaryvein-reblogs]

In reference to your previous answered ask: no your posts don't seem ai generated at all so dw

Needed to hear this, thanks so much, dear Anon.

<3

[trivia-yandere]

Nah sis I am still waiting for milf update. Cause I am still with the last part 💀

💀💀 i should start writing that next

like whats going to happen with dash and mc??

will jk and dash friendship be alright??

is the jeon cousin groupchat roasting jk???

find out on the next episode on dragon ball z i suppose

[mangofresca]

zephyr | 18+

ii.

“We could leave, y’know.”

Romano startles, head turning over his shoulder as if he were searching for a spy, a conspirator. Sometimes, that’s not unlike how Portugal feels here, always a little too relegated to the outside for comfort, too close to the inside for tranquility or freedom.

He shakes the thought away, eyebrow raised in question at the only other person here who hasn’t exhausted him yet.

Romano’s eyes flick from his face to the windows, to the rain pelting the windowpanes, and he scoffs. “And do what? Get soaked?” His fingers tap the glass in his hand, and Portugal watches with muted disinterest as the wine rocks back and forth, back and forth, an ocean all its own, confined and confined and confined.

“Better than staying here.” Staying here and playing pretend with a government who can only just tell him and Spain apart, and Portugal doesn’t have the stomach anymore for the accent or the language or the face of it all.

Romano tsks, and, for some reason, this infuriates him, as if Romano is content to sit here and be lessened, nothing more than a jewel on a crown on a head who so blatantly picks favorites. Like they’re above it all, the two of them.

He turns, and he leaves, and he doesn’t care enough to see if anyone watches him go.

vi.

“That was–”

Portugal is already pushing up off the bed, flicking hair from his eyes. “Want a drink?”

“Obviously,” Romano snorts, but he sounds like he’s amused, and when Portugal turns around to look at him, all he can see is the way Romano’s lips curl around his teeth, how his cheeks look when he smiles.

ix.

Romano snores when he sleeps, raspy and rough, and when his hair falls in front of his eyes, his nose crinkles with the tickle of it, too deep in dreams to bother moving it away.

We shouldn’t be doing this, Portugal thinks, because things are messy, only getting worse, and he doesn’t understand how Romano doesn’t grow restless beneath a thumb that demands obedience, that is all too comfortable pressing down on the pulse of their throats, hard enough to feel it beating, not hard enough to choke.

“I wish this was easy,” he says instead, and his skin goes cold when he realizes he means it, green eyes already looking down at tanned legs tangled with his, errant curl brushing his collarbone.

He’s gotten used to that, too.

iv.

Portugal can see him on the docks again, hair just as windswept as that first time, waves falling over each other to brush against dark eyelashes, to curl into knots at his hairline.

Spain’s hand is heavy on his shoulder, smile tipping into something that more resembles a bridler than a brother. “You look like you’re thinking hard,” he says, and Portugal hears the warning in it like a bell tolling within his head. “Everything all right?”

“Fine,” Portugal replies. The weight on his shoulder feels suffocating.

vii.

“We should have sex here,” Portugal says, out of the blue and apropos of nothing, voice hushed into a conspiratorial whisper when he leans himself into Romano’s ear.

Romano coughs, splutters, eyes narrowing when Portugal only grins at him.

“Not now, obviously,” he continues, because his brother is here, and his—their, because God forbid any of it is really his—government, too, and he isn’t stupid enough to try anything here, now.

Romano wipes the coughed wine from his lips, arm crossed over his chest as he settles back into the wall behind him. “Please,” he says, and he already sounds scandalized and petulant, “as if I’d settle for anything less than a bed. You think I’d let you fuck me on a settee? Not a chance.”

“I think,” Portugal replies, smiling, “you’d let me fuck you anywhere I want you to.”

Romano scoffs again, furious and blustering, but his shoulder brushes Portugal’s arm, and he doesn’t move it away.

v.

Lively doesn’t adequately describe it when it finally happens.

Romano has him pinned up against the library wall, holding Portugal’s wrists against hand-bound books and shelves which haven’t been dusted in God only knows how long, but all Portugal can think is how difficult it is, when kissing Romano, to push him away, to have him be the one pressed between linen and literature.

He manages, only just, and the heady, groaned gasp of surprise he receives pleasantly makes it worth his while.

x.

Portugal can see him on the docks again, hair wind-knotted and wild, exactly like it was that first time, exactly like the second, like every other time, every other time.

He can’t discern the expression on Romano’s face, too far away for detail, sunlight blinding on wave-crested waters, but he can see him turn around, see him walk away, back to that house and that voice and that hand and that crown.

He almost regrets leaving without a goodbye, but he knows, is certain in the knowledge, that expectation for their kind is the heartbeat of disillusionment, and he doesn’t have it in himself to be disappointed by someone so supine as to find comfort here.

Nothing ever gets resolved with avoidance and shame, but their arrangement never really did have room for much else, anyway.

iii.

He has a dream, then, that lingers worse than a bad hangover or a bloody wound. Maybe it’s years after their last conversation, or maybe it’s days, or maybe it’s hours; he can’t be bothered to keep track, not that their kind usually does when it comes to time.

(Hard. He wakes up hard, and that’s not how his dreams usually go—or, not the ones with Romano, at least.)

Romano was over him, or under him, maybe—not that it matters, because it doesn’t matter, not really. What matters is that Romano was close, breathing against his neck, sighing his name, and it’s—

It was slow, the way they moved. Tender, close.

Odd.

viii.

He’s gotten used to it—the way Romano’s voice hitches, goes taut, tight as his white-knuckled grip on pearl-hued sheets. He’s gotten used to it.

He’s gotten used to it.

i.

They meet officially, formally—and notably without supervision—on the docks of Almería, both windswept and water-worn, and it makes Portugal wonder how long Romano had been standing there for him to look like that, like he himself had blown in with the breeze of the ocean, side-swept bangs tangling into soft knots at his temples.

He is sure he himself is no better, likely worse—a ribbon can only do so much with the whipping winds that dance themselves through his sails—but he doesn’t bother brushing his hair from his face before approaching, grin ticking at the corners of his lips.

Romano blinks at him, hazel eyes owlish before settling into something calmer, almost bored. “Oh,” he says, “it’s you.”

Portugal smiles and tips his head. “Hello,” he replies. Always best to start with hello.

[mankai-march]

ALL OF THE QUESTIONS ARE FINALLY WRITTEN DOWN PLEASE BE PROUD OF ME

[amphibia-a-day]

Day 869 of Amphibia Screenshots

Episode: The Sleepover to End All Sleepovers

[meowrimo]

good morning && happy thursday friendz !! TODAY IS THE DAY ! its finally time for the haikyuu movie :’) i hope everyone has a wonderful day ♡⌒(>。<) ! !

[front-facing-pokemon]

[insomnya777]

you know in some weird turn in events sabrina carpenter's tour opening has sucked me back into my hermitcraft hyperfixation

[blitheringbongus]

Hermitcraft is magic

[sweet-beezus]

Insane what loving a character so much can do to their costuming-

[longagoitwastuesday]

I can't believe they managed to make hot a man that looks like this