#PERFECT Combo

[b-h-art]

the first time viktor made the hexcore gem work was the moment jayce knew he would go beyond heaven and hell to be with him always. go argue with the wall

[missninapea]

Tiny little husbands❤️❤️

[teasyblondie]

One thing that would definitely put me to sleep whenever I wouldn't be able to, is soft tickles.

Like honestly, all I need is a set of soft pjs, a ler and his hands across my belly, softly stroking it while we cuddle.

I'd be giggling and squirming, but I swear it would relax me so much I'd actually fall asleep. Needing that tonight🫠

[invega-sustenna]

Bestie doesn't care. Bestie doesn't ask. Bestie just loves and accepts and wants me to be safe and happy ;^;

[running-tweezers]

2024 TEMPERATURE CROSS STITCH UPDATE

IT’S DONE!!

A year (and a few months) in the making. It’s finally done, and it’s HUGE.

Each shelf is one month. Each bottle is one day. I used the high temperature to determine what colors to use:

Reddish-Purple: Below 32°F

Purple: 33°-46°F

Blue: 47°-60°F

Green: 61°-73°F

Yellow: 74°-86°F

Orange: 87°-99°F

Red: over 100°F

Ended up actually getting to use every color at least once. But mostly it’s a lot of Orange, bc. Texas

This is by far my biggest cross stitch undertaking ever. It’s super cool, I’m proud of it, I’m excited to display it, also I’m never doing it again lol

The pattern was by TeenyWeenyXStitch on Etsy if anyone else wants to attempt this massive undertaking!

[ro-bee]

Rob wtf why don't you sleep

Insomnia 😔

[igotsnothing]

Beginning/Previous/Next

[zodiaqueseiza]

I'm gonna rage 🙃

Please tell me I'm not the only one....

It's so Goddamn annoying !!!

Maybe I have a Skill issue and I dont know....

(And yes, I'm on the English server because it is the only available in my country)

Also you know when you do the event and THIS happens

Which means that it won't save the perfect combo........... ahhh!

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Ngl but young AFO is kinda hot 💀

[boanerges20]

Motolove

[godtrauma]

whoever invented bringing plushies to clinics should win the nobel peace prize

[ghostflood]

SHES HERE (I’m in love)

[unforgivablenope]

N-NO WAY!! 〣( ºΔº )〣

☆ミヾ(∇≦((ヾ(≧∇≦)〃))≧∇)ノ彡☆

S-Satan congratulating me on my purrrfect score.. (´ ▽｀).。ｏ♡

And I also managed to get this wallpaper of Simeon!! (/∇＼*)｡o○♡

[str4ngr]

rotten roots [ könig ]

cw: angst, dark themes [death, war scenes, violence], unspoken feelings/refusing to accept feelings, foul language[like once], gn! reader, soldier! reader

In his work, love was nonexistent. Rather, the environment of KorTac was absolute in crushing any semblance of the emotion, ensuring its roots could never take hold. Why? Simple, it made men weak. 

König was no exception. Even with his position of colonel, his iron heart was no match for the loathed clutches of love. He despised you, your odd, disgusting, abhorring way of making his heart skip a beat. The way he would seek your smile even though he knew should have, no, does not have a reason to. He found himself unfocused, intensely aggressive with each interrogation, the only fruition worth eating from this devilish sprout in his heart, as it at least got the answers quicker. But he never looked at your soldier, only the you that was human, the one he hated the most. Because the soldier that he carved you to be was perfection, skilled, well trained, commendable. 

The you that you were in front of him now was flesh he wanted to burn. Burn with the searing temperature of his hands, the strange static in his fingers as his hands begged to make contact. To squeeze that supple flesh that stuck out of your face as your grinned like a burning star, face gently flushed with a perfect tone of blood. He hated your humanity, because it was weak, 

Because it made him weak. 

Metallic was a strange smell that only had itself to describe it. No synonyms, no metaphors, but it was a universally known scent, one that no one enjoyed. Blood dripped from his hands, he was no longer fazed by the lingering warmth he once was when he was fresh into the ranks. the fleeting of life grasping onto the groves of his gloves in desperate, meaningless hope. König raised his eyes to meet yours, electric, matching the violent gleam that saturated in his pupils. His appearance was vile, but the soldier he sculpted was indifferent, simply responding to the hushed whispers of his commands. 

Your grim face led close behind his, making reflected movements of your superior as you swept through the area, contacting the rest of your squad. Nodding with one another, your partners alternated like a perfected waltz, just as the colonel had composed, moving in rhythm to his stern directions. 

Your partner took his first step forward, the room, a rather auditorium-esque space, was far more complex then expected. Your brain followed your habits, contacting König for an explicit plan, after all, you could die at any moment. 

His icy tone pierced the crackling audio of your ear piece, “Follow the plan.” Sending confirmation, you proceeded. Your mission in print was simple, a search and destroy. Something you’ve grown acclimated to, you were ultimately made to. 

Now that ultimately led to the mistake that had you caged. Your acclimation turned to carelessness, unfortunate in such an environment. The news, rather a warning, quickly reached König.

He couldn’t explain this feeling. It was the same feeling he got as a boy, when he feared his fathers shouting, a knot too big for his throat stealing the air from his struggling breaths, making his eyes burn as the swelled. But his father wasn’t here, nor were any tears. Yet the knot was, hallow and fat, taking up that same spot in his throat as he could feel it bulge from his Adam’s apple. 

Soon enough, like it had once had before, it dropped to his stomach, making him feel starved, as though he had never eaten in his life. It ached and throbbed, pounding on the edges of his ribs for relief. What would be considered relief? He knew the answer, but he refused to acknowledge it, refused to acknowledge that in fact those same roots he cut and burned from his underling soldiers day after day were growing within, infesting his heart. 

Incoherent scratches broke though the receiver on his body. His mind honing in on nothing but the crackling audio he heard, 

“Colonel,“ the audio was utter shit, but the lack of updated materials was not König’s main focus, the voice was. “You’ve gotta’ get out.” A strained, pained, exhausted, tortured voice, one he almost couldn’t recognize. The lump in his throat was beginning to think, begging for mindless words to spill from his lips, while keeping those very lips sealed shut. He knew there was no chance at escape for you, but there was for him. It was now or never, and as Colonel, it was now.

But what about König? Was it fair for him to say now, when the humanity he struck and buried six feet under clawed its way out simply to beg for the latter? No. There was no doubt, but those rotten hands of the decaying person that was once König would not stop, crawling under the skin of his belly to his throat, all the way to his temple. His head drummed with instinct, with rationality, with the very thing he hated the most. 

His soldiers stood beside him, ready to jump into action at the words of their superior, but none came. “Go.“ And he went. Your squad knew what your words meant, the words portraying your agony, portraying your dutifulness. In mindless routine, he called his squad out, evacuating the surviving members. Yet, the phantom of the person he once was made his mind melt. 

Never did he feel the veins in his legs so vividly. Were one to ask him, König could likely map each individual one, tracing the searing sensation the filled them as his blood saturated with adrenaline. He questioned his sanity in the mere moments he ran, the mental ages that he felt were passing, spending millennia asking himself what he was doing. He truly did not know, he could not form any kind of answer, any pathetic excuse, any reason to run. All he knew was where he was going, to the voice of the person that made his corpse’s claws tear his psyche to shreds, to the voice that pumped his blood like a well-oiled machine. 

To you, always to you. It was always your smile he looked for when he made a silly joke. It was always you he checked in on after a mission first. It was always your room that he would take an extraneous detour simply to wave hello. It always you that he prepared a second mug of coffee for in the mornings. König was running to you, and he couldn’t stop himself. 

The feeling was back, the same one he felt as a kid, walking beside his bitter mother, one where the weight in his chest turned to the world laying against him. His head hurt, his thoughts in shambles, his rationality like shattered glass. So what if he was making a choice he would regret, it was now or never. 

He knew that it was always never. The access to you was completely blocked, and even a man of his mass couldn’t break through such a crowd. 

“König,“ Your voice was clear this time, or maybe it wasn’t. He isn’t too sure, maybe it was just a memory, but he felt his heart drop at the sound of your tone. “Go.“ He was about to refute,

“please,“ he could see your face, delicate tears running down your face. Gentle sobs entering your mic and exiting to his ear, “please, for me, König, go back alive.“ Your voice made his corpse crawl. His mind restructured itself at the sound of desperate attempts of communication from his like. 

His body lingered, eyes gleaming through the shadows as he carefully imagined your face, dirtied and bloodied, crying the tears of an angel. Slowly, in a vain effort to prevent himself, he began to turn around, and exit. 

“Du bedeutest mir alles“ He whispered into the his device, knowing you would never know what he said, “Bitte verzeih mir.” They came now, blistering rolls of of diluted salt, hiding behind his mask in self-disdain. 

He was weak, he has become the very example of the weeds he was taught to pluck out. König was in love with you. 

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

translations

1. “You mean everything to mean,” 2. “Please forgive me.”

im actually going to cry wtf

directory 

[alexxncl]

JAMSBSJAHSGAKS HELLO ????

life goal made actually

[orange-peony]

Jegulus I Explicit I 26k I soulmates, everyone lives AU, soulmarks, trans Regulus, werewolf James, angst with a happy ending, comfort, lots of smut of the emotional and smutty variety.

Summary: James’s fingers suddenly brush against his skin, touching the very top of Regulus’s spine. “This,” James says, his touch featherlight as it ghosts over Regulus’s skin, making it tingle in the most peculiar way. “It’s a lovely tattoo. Almost like antlers. When did you get it?” Regulus can’t speak. This can’t be possible. Of all people—why James Potter? Still, his mother’s words echo in his head. Every member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black has a soul mark. A tattoo that appears at birth and can only be seen by their soulmate.

It has been so lovely to take part in the @hp-soulmates fest again!

A big thank you goes to my sensitivity readers @piarelei and @p0intless-p0et and my wonderful beta @avenueofesc, who were absolutely amazing and so supportive! I would also like to thank @bubble-gumhead and @pato-roldnart, for telling me I could get this done on time. A final thank you goes to the mods, for running this fest again and for giving me an extension, and to apollok1sses for giving me permission to write their amazing prompt.

Read Fireflies on AO3.