#I DONT KNOW WHY I WROTE THIS but i did

[protosymphonette]

benrey moving in with gordon postcanon cliche

[abelle25125]

Part 2 to this post of my understanding of one piece characters from OPLA, 70-ish episodes of the anime and cultral osmosis - this time with a slightly better understanding of how to use ms paint

again, please not spoilers im only on episode 96

[wishfuldivine]

Gaz gets his memory wiped and his boyfriends can't do anything?

Price tries his best not to crumble every time his boy is near and doesn't look his way. It's like a new person inside his soul. And it hurt. God, does it hurt. Oh how much he wished to have him in between his arms and never let go. But there was nothing he could do. For now.

Soap wasn't any better. He tries with all his might not to go over and take him away from everything and everyone. Shield him away from all the monstrosity that is the military life. To just cuddle, to kiss, to make love to him. But it wasn't possible.

Ghost was dealing with it a little better. Understanding very well the dangers of being a soldier and more. But it still broke his heart regardless, to know that he was so near yet so far away. No usual hellos or kisses. It made things far worse. And for once, his silence was pure torture.

[rintoki]

luocha's voice is so calming...

imagine fucking him sensually, slowly, lovingly. and his moans are even prettier🥰🥰🫶🏻🫶🏻 filling my heart w serenity and love

MEEEEMDMRNFNDD UR SOO RIGHTTTT HES SO SMFNRKGNDKNFK

he’d look so pretty in white lingerie <3333 and his long hair ngngmgnfngnfjrbf gGGrRRRAAA i wanna comb his hair and kiss his shoulders, watch how easily his skin flushes because of how fair he is. his shaky breaths as you explore his body, slowly undoing the ties and ribbons of the white lace piece, unravelling before your eyes.

but you don’t take off everything, because the white lingerie just looks so gorgeous on him. no, instead it hangs rather messily on him; one strap falling off his shoulder, the panties pushed lazily to one side, the ribbon that was tied over his chest undone as it is now exposed to your hungry touches.

he shouldn’t be here actually, he’s a travelling merchant. but something about you draws him in, somehow he always finds himself coming back to you. maybe it’s the way you kiss his body, or the way you hold him so firmly and yet still gentle, how you always seem to know where to touch him that has him trembling.

“did you find this piece while on your travels?” you toyed with the silky garment, brushing your fingers over the translucent fabric on his hips. “it looks gorgeous on you.”

luocha sucks in a shaky breath, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “i… thought you’d appreciate it,” his voice was soft, eyes following your hands. you were going excruciatingly slow today, perhaps you were appreciating the lingerie a little too much.

the little white panties barely covered anything, already soaked with precum as evidence of how long you’ve been at it. it didn’t take much to push the string that made up the back half of the panties to the side, your fingers massaging the puckered skin of his hole. luocha bit down on his bottom lip, anticipating the feeling of your fingers pushing in and filling him up; oh how he’s missed the feeling.

you watched as the rise and fall of his chest quickens with the anticipation, his hips twitching and pushing against your hand.

“plea—please…” he whispers, and you oblige him. pushing a lubed finger in first, before pulling out and pushing in two. you listen to his quiet whine, his abdomen quivering as he tries to relax and accommodate the stretch. curling your fingers, you search for a spot along his spongy walls, stroking the way you know he likes it.

luocha grips at the sheets, the muscles in his belly flexing when your fingers brush over a particularly sensitive spot and he finds he cannot control the way his legs twitch, nor the high pitched whimpers that escape his mouth.

it didn’t help that your other hand has found it’s way to his cock, gently palming it through the fabric of the panties and his hips bucks pathetically, unsure if it wants to thrust into your palm or push down on your fingers. you smile at his predicament, kissing down his inner thighs and biting a dark mark into his milky skin. it pleased you greatly to see the blonde man in such a state, normally so put together and elegant now with his hair a mess and sticking to his sweaty skin that was flushed a crimson red.

it didn’t take long for luocha to release into the panties, soiling it further as he gasps for breath, body tensing and trembling helplessly beneath your touch. he stares at the ceiling, your warm touch already leaving his body and leaving him cold in the bed. as a travelling merchant he should be glad that you kept your business short, but he can’t help how he wishes you would stay just a while longer.

[bg-brainrot]

Giving the BG3 companions superlatives like they're in a yearbook:

Astarion: Drama Queen

Gale: Most Likely to Succeed

Karlach: Most School Spirit

Lae'zel: Most Athletic

Shadowheart: Best Glow-Up

Wyll: Best Dancer

The latecomer students:

Halsin: Best Artist

Minthara: Class Clown

Staff members:

Jaheira: Scariest Teacher

Minsc: Most Quotable Teacher

Withers: Most Helpful Teacher

[twentyonefirstmates]

Just looked at the digital remains again and oh my god why are we not talking more about the original lyrics to backslide

If I were to backslide, tell everyone we know

Thanks for the last time they came out

...

Why did I not thank you more, saving me those other times

(Don't you dare jump in)

...

I'd rather you hurt me, than do nothing at all

I'd rather you let me down, than just gas me up

I'd rather you cuse me, than do nothing at all

...

You won't make a sound, pick someone else I won't be around

Trapped inside your smile, don't put me on trial

Don't you see you take, everything from me

[storywestistrash]

i am actually so tired of the way westerners treat eastern europeans

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

My Dearest Friend...

Glaciated Memory AU | Master Of Ice Art | More to Me (pt 2)

1k

[]

Imagine this, if you will: you meet your best friend when you’re young and he already has graying hairs.

Well, young is a relative term. You’re not exactly young, or at least you don't think so. The younger children around the village call you old even though that’s hardly something to judge one's age by--you’ve only just started university--but your friend is older.

You had never enjoyed the snow coating the grass or the cold and frost that cling to your lashes on the early morning walks to your winter classes before, but that day, with ice stretching in front of you, shielding you and keeping you safe from harm, that day when he looks back over his shoulder at you and gives you a warm smile that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, you exhale and see the frost on your breath and you suddenly find you can never look at things like winter and white and cold the same way again.

His eyes are so light of a blue they are almost white. They’re a heavy contrast to his dark skin. At first you think the ends of his long hair are white but it sparkles like glitter and ice and you realize it's coated in frost.

He saves your life.

He has a limp you notice when he leaves the village, simply a traveler passing through like a snowfall. You drop your papers, your pencils, your projects and they spill over the ice at your feet.

“Wait--Wait!”

He waits.

You design and build a leg brace for him in your dorm. He waits patiently, standing, still as an ice sculpture until you're finished the next morning.

“Come back if it stops functioning,” you tell him.

He studies you with calculating eyes that shouldn’t have been so warm when their colour was so cold. He nods.

And he does come back. A few months later. You offer him tea and show him your plans for a new brace--one that improves upon the failures of the old one--something you started designing the moment he’d left the first time. He sits down this time and smiles and you chat. Your breath shows in the air with every exhale the longer he stays. Your teeth chatter through your grin and he grins back before throwing back his head to laugh.

You become fast friends after that.

You learn to wear more layers. His hair grays more and you graduate after many long sleepless nights studying and designing. Biomechanics, biomechanical engineering, robotics--you find fascination with building, with bodies. “A marvel,” you mutter. “A marvel. I wonder if I could replicate it.” And he smiles at you.

He comes and goes as often as cold weather. You stay holed up in your house for the most part. Designing, building. You wave him over to his new brace, made from a material more resistant to cold than the last. You’re learning. He stays for tea and you make up a guest bedroom just for him. It stays there for years to welcome him whenever he visits.

Once, someone comes to find you for knowing him. You need a leg brace of your own after that.

He has more enemies than he has friends it seems.

“I am sorry, my dear friend,” he says. There is a blizzard outside.

Your discoveries are stolen one night and someone else’s name is plastered across your work no matter how hard you try. That breaks you more than anything else.

“I’m thinking about moving,” you tell him one night, as though you haven’t been silent for the past three days.

“Oh?” he says. “Where to?”

“Somewhere cold.”

He laughs.

He takes you to a place outside of any town. Remote and freezing.

“This is my home,” he says to you. It’s a perpetual winter.

“I think I’ll build a bunker,” you say, your nose numb from the chill.

You get kicked by a treehorn and you make a sign Beware of Treehorns and hit your dearest friend with it.

“I apologize, I should have warned you,” he laughed. “I had forgotten they were unfriendly to others.”

“My ribs do not accept your apology,” you sniff.

“Will you accept it instead?”

You huff and puff out frosty breaths and jam the sign into the ground.

Of course you forgive him. How can you not?

You build something to protect you and your bunker from the creatures when your friend is not there.

He enters your bunker shaking snow off his layers and off his straw hat.

“No--not on the floor.” You throw your hands into the hair. “Now I’ll have to mop it all up.”

“My apologies,” he says, though he’s smiling wide enough to show his white teeth. “I shall assist you.”

When the frost finally melts from his hair in the warmth of the bunker you see it wasn’t the ice and snow making it look white this time.

“What is this?” he asks, looking at your project, a skeletal structure made of spare parts you’ve started to construct, loose wiring and tools scattered about it.

“A marvel of engineering--or well, it will be soon.” He looks dubious so you take off your glasses and wipe them on your shirt. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m only just beginning to build what I need.”

“I won’t be back for a while,” he says quite suddenly.

You put your glasses back on hastily. “Is something wrong?”

“Please, keep far away from the north side of the forest until I return.”

You’ve known of the serpentine war for a long time. You hear of it in the north when you’re purchasing supplies from the nearby town. You know it's over when he stumbles into your bunker and collapses face-first onto your carpet.

You have never seen him in red before and you find you do not like the sight.

The type of first-aid he needs is one that requires study and time that you do not have.

He catches your hand mid-way through bandaging his side.

“I’ll be alright,” he says, his voice like a cool, barely-there breeze.

“Of course you will.” Your teeth are chattering, you realize, even though it’s not cold in your bunker.

He does heal up. It takes a few months before he’s hiking with you to the town, leaning heavily on you and the walking stick you’ve made him. Your project lays on the table forgotten.

The Birchwood Forest is colder than it ever has been.

“I’ll be back,” he says once he can walk on his own.

“You won’t be leaving,” you say firmly.

“Julian,” he says. “My friend. I must go.”

You wonder if it makes you a terribly bad or terribly good friend for letting him.

You pour yourself into your work. A body takes shape in front of you. You do everything you can to make it human.

No one can steal this from you. It is yours and yours alone and it is marvelous.

It’s years before your friend returns.

Your creation is walking by then. There are wires still exposed and kinks to work out but you’re so proud of it. He enters through the door, slowly and with enough snow on him you’ll be swimming in it by the time it melts, but you don’t care.

You introduce him to your work.

“I used the face I knew best!”

Your friend smiles. There’s sadness there.

“Julian,” he says. “I’m dying.”

His hair is fully white.

Your smile vanishes.

You hadn’t noticed your own gray hairs and wrinkles until then.

“I have no family. No one to pass my element to. I have been looking, Julian, but…”

He needs your help. Not to live, no matter how much you talk to him, but to ensure the element he carries within him does not die.

So you create something that can store it. You travel to places together, you gather what you design, you design and through trial and error you make something that can hold the power.

“There’s no one I trust with it more,” you tell him as you tinker with your creation. “He’ll keep it safe. I designed him to protect.”

“Thank you,” your old friend says, like a breath of relief.

You create him a holder for his element and store it in the creation that shares his face.

He wants to pass in the snow. You carry him the Glaciar Barrens and it is there your friend takes his final breath.

And you discover you have done more than store his element.

Your Zane acts differently. From the moment your friend takes his final breath, your Zane seems to wake up.

You continue tinkering, researching and you don’t know what you have done but nothing can explain it.

It’s his eyes that are the same. His face that you replicated to the best of your abilities still has some differences.

The eyes however. The eyes you know.

You don’t have time to begin to miss your friend when he’s standing right in front of you.

Zane feels, just like you wanted him to. You put everything you can into upgrading him until he’s as human as he can be. Until he can feel the temperature of something by touching, until he can feel the breeze and the snowflakes as they fall on his skin.

You add a memory switch, something that is not human. You hope that it will return his memories from before, but it does not. You leave it untouched for years.

And then you are old.

You are old and your friend has not aged. You have built him everything, you have taught him how to speak again, to learn to read and observe, you have taught him everything you can. But you do not know how to teach him to move on. You never did.

“Goodbye, old friend,” you say and you flick the switch so that he may start anew and live on without you.

You watch the light fade and his eyes darken to brown.

You close your eyes.

And a long time later in a dusty empty bunker, they open back up.

----

Zane blinked.

It was cold.

He was standing at the edge of a village, bare feet in the snow. His toes were numb. Villagers who had caught sight of him were approaching, calling over others to bring warm water and blankets.

He felt as though he was forgetting something rather important.

[menelaiad]

not now babe im crying over the stupid niche average historical fiction books i found in the bowels of my local library that have a band of characters i love more than my own soul and have grown so attached to that i ache

[lover-of-mine]

Sevenish Sentence Sunday!

I was tagged by @try-set-me-on-fire @eddiebabygirldiaz @fortheloveofbuddie @wikiangela @spotsandsocks @daffi-990 @jesuisici33 @rainbow-nerdss thank you 💜

Have some more of the Buck proposes to Natalia fic because i really like this bit even if this is on Eddie's pov just because Buck refused to let me get into his head for the actual fight because i really do like my tragically pining Eddie povs prev snippet

You need to move on. I have.  Eddie doesn't know why he's thinking about that now. But he feels the same way he did in his kitchen trying to pretend he could feel like a normal human again if he just made it through a couple more days while Buck kept trying to get him to stop lying.  Buck always knows when to call bullshit on what Eddie's saying.  Buck's gonna call bullshit now.  Eddie can see it in his eyes.  And it's weird because Buck is never the one to pick a fight.  But there's a fire in his gaze that leaves Eddie scared, if he's truly honest.  Maybe he won't have to make it through the wedding because it seems like everything is about to crash and burn right now. 

No pressure tagging 🩷: @sherlockcrossing @watchyourbuck @steadfastsaturnsrings @giddyupbuck @captain-hen @wildlife4life and you if you have something to share 💜💜

[frobby]

The biggest indicator to me that dokja actually just has shit taste in novels is that he was genuinely supprised that han sooyoung(as the first apostle) was a woman

[skunkes]

unsure how to word this but there is something about having ocs with unsavory events happening in their past where it's like. talking about it, even when asked, seems almost gratuitous and inappropriate. and i'd much rather describe it through the oc themself and/or draw Them saying it. which is like. fitting for the subject matter? like of course its weird to talk about somebody else's business...!

and falls back into humanizing em/exploratory writing and development where u consider the impact of words said/words unsaid/HOW those words are said etc etc

[skitskatdacat63]

Here is a badly drawn comic of my terrible, awkward group project experience from yesterday. I thought it was very absurd so I wanted to share it other people lol :)

Let me know, how do you find their conduct 😭

[voxxisms]

vox is very aware of every inch of pride that his cameras can see basically at all times. it's a bit like hearing background noise all day long, like permanent tinnitus. it never goes away. he made it that way on purpose, back in the early 2000s, probably. he is absolutely always watching, he just might not always be present in it.

he taps in && out. there are a series of fail - safes, of little alarms that might alert him of the important stuff. the bigger the net of cameras gets, the more distracted he can be at any moment. it's a big part of why he is so angry that valentino was the one to alert him to alastor. he had been looking every day for years, but now that his attention finally slipped?

never again.

he will watch over every square foot. he will stretch his power as far as it will go until it pops like a lightbulb && burns him out completely. && then he will be repaired && do it again. he must know. he must see. he has to be aware. first to know, or last to tell.

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

i know that when carlo suddenly decided that he needs to marry guy made a whole list in his head n like had a deadlines n shit. like it was some kind of a task he needed to do

[javaghoul]

TG Character's Writing Love Letters

Akira

Emails are more efficient; do they count?

Akiras' love-email(?) is going to be direct, full of backhanded compliments, and highly unromantic. Unless you are into that kinda thing

It'll likely start off with "I find emails to be more efficient than a letter..."

Has performance appraisal vibes. Luckily, before hitting send she removes the "areas for you to work on" part

Naki

Ha ha ha let's take a cheap shot at TG's #1 reading champ 🙄

But seriously, if you think a mere love letter is what Naki needs to make his intentions known, then the joke is on you

Just ask Miza; they have 754 kids

Fella is doing something right

Ayato

If you're lucky, you'll get a text with a 😉 emoji

If you're lucky and he's tired, he'll accidentally use the ❤️ instead

Nishiki

Dark horse - he's good

During his absence from Kimi, he wrote numerous letters which he never posted

He kept a couple, which he gave to Kimi when the world started going back to normal

Anyway, the letters were not only lovey dovey, but unbearably sad

He can express himself extremely well when he wants to. He doesn't use flowery words or flattery. His letters are honest and heartfelt

Eto

Her letters are much like her novels: open for interpretation

Saucy though

Tend to lean towards being dark, moody, and almost hostile?

They're handwritten (she has beautiful penmanship btw)

Eto enjoys writing them as much as she enjoys seeing the recipient reading them... Even though they can't see her

Hide

In a word: cute

It's not going to be something that rivals Shakespeare, but it does 🌟rhyme🌟

Just about

Very sweet, simple, and makes you smile

Written on the back of a Big Girl flyer

Kaneki

Ken is a talented writer... When he's thinking about what to write

When it comes to it, he bottles it and turns to books

He'll find a passage that describes his feelings completely and copy it out

"You asked me how I feel about you, well this is it..."

Uta

If he's writing one in the first place, he's likely screwed up somewhere

It won't be asking for forgiveness or apologizing, but it will say how he is a slightly better person for you being in his world

Uses a lot of imagery, especially when describing what he'll do to the world if you and he are not a couple in it anymore

Yomo

Smiley face on a post-it note guy

I don't think his literacy is the best, which puts him off writing

Which is a shame because his would be similar to Nishiki's

So yeah, smiley face on a post-it note which turns up sporadically on mirrors, or the side of a coffee mug the morning after

May add a "you look beautiful sleeping" if he's in full wordsmith mode

Shuu

Of course he is on this list, duuuuuh

His letters are extra af

He has the vocabulary, the culture, the creativity, to turn letter writing into a full-sensory experience

Which is precisely what he does

Hand written (in fountain pen, handmade paper), and the ink corresponds with the mood he wants to convey

Very poetic. Flows well. Also NSFW

11/10 contains half a pound of rose petals in the envelope