#YOUR EVERYTHING IS CUTE

[odoraful]

⟡ i wish i can be your sanctuary until the end of time

⟡ i need to show them i already have a lover

⟡ let's push the what-ifs to the side

⟡ we'll just have to blame the moon

[enii]

Today, I did everything for myself💕

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Tis but a flesh wound!

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[divineandmajesticinone]

4 MINUTES (2024) I 1.02 "Do the police normally do house check-ins."

[reality-detective]

* * * News Interruption * * *

[chiquilines]

Public garden study date!!

[egophiliac]

Do yoy like their silly little dance

the inside of my brain at any given moment:

[shimmershy]

Hiiiiii your chara & frisk are two of my favorites, 10/10 very blorbo of them to be rendered in your art style

If that made any sense, I really like your art! Okay byee, have a nice day/afternoon/night!!

Ahh wow, thank you so much!! I'm really glad you like them!! :D This made me realize I haven't drawn them in a bit so here's a little sketch I did!

Well um. It was supposed to be a sketch but then I liked it and wanted to color it. You know how it is. They're reading together, but Chara can't stop complaining about how poorly-written the characters are or something, and Frisk can barely hold in their laughter, either because of how bad the book is, or the fact that Chara's so passionate about bashing it.

Anyway, I hope you have a nice day/afternoon/night as well!! :]

[kingsmoot]

um. can i be honest. with you. i think it's dumb as fuck when people talk about great house genetics in asoiaf as if they're a plot hole or a world building flaw and not like. a very cute and fun and purposeful feature of the world. you fr have no sense of whimsy.

[liesmultixxx]

Me: Love doesn’t exist-

*remembers Perseus “The only person he could remember was Annabeth” Jackson and Annabeth “Instinctively takes a knife for Percy” Chase

Me: Love is real 💌💐🥰😘😍

[eloquent-edits]

🗡️ Oh, love, don’t let me go

won’t you take me where the streetlights glow? 🗡️ physical affection prompts

Tight hugs that feel like coming home after a long time away

Eskimo kisses!!!

Tracing constellations between freckles and moles

Reaching for their hand in a crowd, knowing they’ll guide you through safely

Cradling their face in your hands, thumb brushing against the creases of their smile

Kissing the back of their hand and gently squeezing it before leaving

Dog piles on a couch with limbs all askew yet very comfortable

After a terrible joke, flicking their arm or hand

Les bises (cheek kisses) upon greeting them

A hearty clap of joy on the back

Hidden tangling of the legs under a table or blanket

Resting your chin on their shoulder, arms wrapping them in a gentle embrace from behind

Friendly sparring while waiting around (if actual swords are included that’s even better)

Twirling them around in a big hug, bursting into laughter when you almost topple over

Sneakily finding the right moment to slip an ice cold hand up their shirt

Washing their back in the shower for them

When they’re injured or sick, carefully carrying them where they need to go

Secret handshakes just for fun

Hip-checking, either like a salsa dancer’s final move or a itty bitty bump for acknowledgment

Detangling or braiding their hair as their head rests in your lap

Spooning (big or little spoon, it’s nice 10/10 highly recommend)

Pressing a warm hand into their side/stomach/back to alleviate cramps or muscle strains

Scratching that ridiculously hard to reach spot for them

Brief shoulder massages when they’re stressed

Curling into their chest, protected from everything in the world for that moment

[naffeclipse]

Toying around with a sort of Apex Polarity spin involving Sun and Moon and having them as Arctic Fox type of creatures (think werewolf monster body types but fox style) and Y/N is an Arctic Hare-esque humanoid mythical being with white fur and long ears tipped in black. Of course, it's set in the Arctic tundra. Thinking of calling it Of Fox Maws.

You've seen the fox men before. They'll skirt the outsides of the large valley you like to go to gather arctic willow and sedge out of the snow. Their eyes glint in the harsh Arctic light, watching you. You warily tense your legs, always ready to bolt should the two fiends decide they're hungry enough to attempt to chase you down.

You can't trust foxes.

But you always skip away, out of sight and far from the terror of what could easily be your last day. This happens for a season. Sometimes, they attempt to creep closer in plain view but you turn tail and run, ducking behind snowy hills and hiding low until you're certain they're gone.

Once, you were caught off guard in the middle of your foraging. One voice called softly out to you. You jumped back and found the fox men too close, almost within lunging distance—your little heart fluttered as if to take flight and escape—but you ran and ran and ran until you couldn't breathe. Then, you look behind you.

The fox men were nowhere to be found.

One day, you're amid a rocky field of purple saxifrage, happily picking blossoms to toss in your mouth while twisting your long ears this way and that to listen in for any predators or creeping fox men that might try to break your little neck in their vulpine jaws. You never expected the teeth to come from the ground you placed your foot on. A snap of metal. A bone crack. You're bitten by something cold and terrible, and it chains you to the ground. Terrible pain eats your leg as blood, crimson among the snow and rocks, begins to drip down your fur.

You panic. Such is your nature. You thrash and struggle while the metal trap digs deeper into your leg. The safety of daylight begins to fade as exhaustion and fear begin to take hold, and then you see them. Their glinting eyes, their sharp ears narrowed, their fur white and strangely marked with colorful swirls on their underside, their claws scraping over the ground as they come closer and closer.

You cry it in your terror—you could always run before. They talk low and soft to you, one anxiously coaxing you to stop moving, to stop hurting yourself, but you tug and struggle in your wild franticness. The teeth keep biting your leg—you flounder before a set of arms catches you, pinning you down with strange gold and red fur on his chest that warms your deathly chilled body. You scream but another set of hands holds down your caught leg—this one with deep blue and silver swirls in the fur on his chest. You dissolve in the horror of the end that will come from too many jaws—

A musical steel note plays when he breaks the chain in half with his raw strength. You keep thrashing, struggling to get away, but the fox men are too strong, and the one holding you keeps asking you to stop being frightened—they only want to help. The other digs his dark claws into the metal trap and pries it apart as the other drags you out of reach of the contraption maw, and you cry from the pain of it all.

The two begin yipping and fussing. When they press their hands to the bleeding bite mark on your leg, the anguish overwhelms you until all you see is white, then nothing.

They become frantic at your slumped form and all the blood on your silky white fur. Sun takes to your wound and Moon takes you in his arms, and keeping pressure on the strange bite, they carry you back to their den. There, you'll be safe and warm, and there, they can help you with your broken leg.

Hopefully, you won't keep screaming when you wake up. (You will.)

[enii]

Soon💕

[1800miserablethot]

Bam Margera with cats 🐈

[semperamans]

your anon here. QUICK. don’t imagine benny coming home to his girl a little drunk. and he’s sheepish abt it, but he gets in beside her and she’s still awake. she went out to the beach with her brother that morning and boy, is she sunburned. benny can’t help but smirk.

hi sweet darlin'! we need an emoji for you or some kind of identifying thing so i know when my fave person comes in my inbox!!

"mm, benny?" your voice is coated with fatigue and, what's that? strawberry wine? he thought he heard the slight blurring of letters on your tired tongue. you smell like summer: sunscreen and salt water and sweat but beneath that benny can smell himself on you, a likely product from what transpired in the wee hours of morning, and it drives him wild. "s'me, doll. don't worry." and you look anything but worried. you're sprawled across his bed wearing that tiny little sleep set with the too big straps that slip down your shoulder and he's just a man. just a man in love with you. and when you raise your head from the pillow and give him that sleepy little smile and that look like he's the only person you want to see, well, he's glad he's already on his knees. crouched next to the bed, arms folded, cheek resting on his bicep, you can't help but think he's the sexiest, cutest thing you've ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. "come snuggle," you murmur, flinging out a hand, carefully pressing your index finger to the tip of his button nose. "you're too cute," you tell him. "gotta cuddle you or i'll die this instant." and benny is smirking because it's never just a cuddle with you, but that's okay, he'd love a repeat of love you made just that morning. "lemme shower, baby. then i'll take you up on that offer."

[lovesickeros]

☆ de fontaine

{☆} characters furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings angst, suicidal thoughts, hurt / no comfort {☆} word count 1.4k

This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair!

She thought, for one moment, she could put the mask down and breathe – for one moment of daydreaming, she thought she could just be Furina. She thought she would finally get to live the live she should've had in the first place, the life she threw away to play God to an audience who saw her as nothing but a circus animal, dancing to their whims. Furina just wanted to be selfish for one brief and fleeting moment..and it was gone before she could even grasp it in her hand. A comet soaring past far out of her reach.

She can barely keep her hands from violently shaking as she looks down at them – broken and bloody and more a corpse then a person – and she feels so numb she can't even feel the rain pelting against her back. None of this is fair, she wants to scream, why is it always me? But her voice is silent beneath the torrent of rain. She wonders if the ocean would take her if she sank into it's depths – just for a moment, she wonders how it would feel to finally be able to sleep at ease.

Furina is tired.

But Furina is nothing if not useful, isn't she?

So she forces her feet to move, dragging against the stone beneath her heels, and drags their bloodied body into the nearest empty building, letting the rain do the work of washing away the smeared blood following her path. The smell makes her feel sick, the feeling of it sticking to her hands and gloves makes her lightheaded, but she persists. Because Furina is useful, because Furina won't let them die out in the rain, because Furina won't stand by and just let them rot on the streets like some..pest.

Furina wants to go home. She wants to sleep and she isn't she if she wants to wake up, this time. But she keeps going anyway.

Because it's all she's ever done, and the habit sticks.

An Archon she may not be, not anymore, but the expectations of five hundred years still linger like eyes on the inside of her skull. They watch her, pry and prod at her thoughts, mocking laughter and judging eyes following her as she forces herself to dance to the song they weave with glee. Furina never stepped off that stage – she's still there, she thinks, watching the crowd stare at her in disdain as the curtain call looms above her like a guillotine. She still hears Neuvillette deliver her damnation and salvation with a trembling voice, still feels her hair stand on end when electro crackled like the crack of the whip, Clorinde's blade aimed at her like a loaded gun.

She's trapped on that stage and she never left, not really.

She hates it. She thinks she hates them, but it's not their fault. They didn't ask for this, didn't ask for everyone to turn against them, didn't ask for her to save them. Neither did she..yet here they are, she thinks.

She tries to tell herself she's in control this time, though. She can stop performing her part in this horrible, bloody play any time she wants. It makes her feel better, just for a little while, if she convinces herself she's still Furina, painfully human.

And Furina has always been good at lying.

It's the believing that's the hard part.

There isn't time for her to wallow in her own self pity, though. They're still bleeding out onto the dusty, creaky floorboards of some random, broken down house and she's just standing there as the blood stains the wood. She can fix it – she's good at fixing things. She's done nothing but fix things – try to, anyway – for five hundred years. She can fix a little wound, how hard could it be? Her hands are clenched so tight they ache as she kneels down, wincing at the creak of the floorboards beneath her heels– she hesitates just long enough to wonder if she's making a mistake before she peels away just enough of the outer layer of their clothes to see the deep, bloody gash across their chest. She tries not to think about it – it's deep, too deep, and she feels dizzy just looking at it, but she's handled worse, right?

Furina can fix it. That's what she's good at.

She doesn't feel so confident when she tries to wrack her brain for..something. Five hundred years, and a little wound stumps her? No, she had to have learned something, right? She's decidedly not trying to buy time because she's panicking, parsing through hundreds of years of memories like flipping through a book. Furina isn't made for this, not really – she's running on nothing but adrenaline and she's really not sure what she's doing, but she's trying. And just like before, it won't be enough, will it?

She'll fall short again – she'll be too late to fix it before she's alone again.

Furina was an Archon..used to be. What use would she have for that sort of knowledge? Which makes her predicament all the more harrowing and bleak. What was she supposed to do?

Furina had heard it first hand, that vitriol in Neuvillette's voice. She isn't sure she's ever heard him that..angry before. She's not sure he would listen to her if she tried, either. And that scares her more then anything. All of Fontaine was up in arms about this..imposter, yet here she was, staring down at them bleeding out in front of her, and she was trying to save them.

Why? Why is she throwing away her only chance at normalcy for a fraud? Why didn't she just turn them in?

They were dying – that should've been a good thing, shouldn't it? So why didn't it feel like it?

"Why you?" Her voice breaks as she speaks in harsh tones, grabbing the front of their shirt in trembling, bloodied hands. "Why now?" She wants to scream, to demand answers they can't give, to claw back the reprieve she was promised after five hundred years of agony..and all she can do is sob into their chest, pleading for an answer that will not come. "Why me?"

Silence is their answer, and it hangs heavy on her trembling shoulders as she cries.

Of course they don't, she thinks bitterly, no one has ever answered her pleas spoken in hushed sobs. Not her other self and certainly not them.

Furina has always been alone. Furina will always be alone.

Because Furina never left that stage, never left that moment when she looked at herself in the mirror and took up a mantle too heavy for her to bear. She always finds her way back eventually. There's no one on the other side anymore – she stands alone on a stage, waiting for an inevitable end she isn't sure will come.

"Please," She pleads through tears and choked sobs, clinging to them like they are all that keeps her from sinking. "Please don't leave me, too." The words burn on her tongue – how pathetic is she that she craves companionship from the bloodied body of the imposter? Perhaps she's truly lost her mind after all these years..perhaps she's finally gone mad. She must have.

But their presence is like the first feeling of gentle warmth upon her skin as the sun crests the horizon, like the gentle lap of tides along her heels, the sway of branches and leaves as the wind blows through them like an instrument all it's own. They are the soothing sound of rain against the window as she watches the dreary skies in fond longing, the first bloom of spring as color blooms upon the landscape like paint had been spilled across the hills and valleys.

They are like the faint spark she carefully nurtures and stokes, so fragile even the smallest wind could blow it out like a candle. She cradles it within her palms, pleads with whoever will listen – prays that someone finally listens, because if not for her, then for them.

She's failed to protect too much already, let too many people with so much trust in her fall between the cracks of her fingers like grains of sand. She won't let them go – she can't.

If nothing else, if she couldn't be saved when she begged for salvation from that five hundred year long agony, even if she never got that chance..

Furina will make sure they do.