#may be unpopular opinion

[mertylmylove]

⚠️BE WARNED IAM NOT JUGDEING ANYBODY BUT JUST SAYING MY OPINION ON THE MATTER. IF YOU DIAGREE I SCROLL PAST OR IF YOU SEND HATE I WILL BLOCK AND REPORT YOU WITH NO HESTION.

Okey so today topic is nasiens pronounce. Nasiens has been using he/him pronounce since day one ever since nasiens was introduced to the story. Nobody ever thought nasiens was not male. Until the post time-skip when it was revealed that nasiens actually does'nt have a real gender currently ,And that you only have gender depending on who you fell for weather it a female or male will deside if you become male or female as fairy,And as we all know nasiens is in love with percival and the problem is that percival isnt a real person he a life sprit in a male human body. So it pretty possible that nasiens will stay the same with no gender. Depise this fact nasiens still refers himself as he a male and is really comfortble with that.To put it strignt, So why use they/them and start calling nasiens non-binary When Nasiens is clearly male? Mabye not biologialy male currently but why does that matter? Besides it goes a against Nasiens chosen gender identity which is transphobi. Just because Nasiens start dressing a bit more gender nertual dosent mean that Nasiens is all of sudden non -binary.

I DON'T REALLY CARE WHAT ANYBODY ELSE HAS TO SAY IF DIAGREE GO AWAY IT IS THAT EASY.

Reblog and like if you agree~

[love-is-a-pearl]

HERE THEY ARE!!! FINALLY!!!

My designs for everyone's aged up looks! As well as their bios here👀

[creepfactors]

a man needs a maid

lord help me because im having many a serious thoughts about them; i reiterate the slowburn potential is wild!

[hardly-an-escape]

Stormy Weather, or: Outside, the Wind (Inside, the Light) | Dream/Hob | 1600 words | Rated T

tags: I recently spent an evening without power therefore I must put the blorbos in a Situation, love confessions, first kiss, getting together, power outages, Hob Gadling throughout history, gratuitious use of mildly accurate Middle English

The wind tears around London like a living thing, a wild animal, a predator, intent on the hunt. It chases birds into their nests and people into their homes, moans around corners and rattles shutters, sending piles of leaves whirling into miniature hurricanes and whipping branches into a frenzy, sharpening its claws on roof tiles and telephone poles.

Except in Hob Gadling’s flat.

The New Inn, and the cozy home above it, is in one of those old buildings that’s actually been loved and maintained – thanks in no small part to Hob’s own care and attention. The walls are thick and strong, the roof is solid. The shutters may rattle, but the windows are double-pane; the curtains and carpets are warm and soft, and no drafts encroach on the sanctity of his living room, where Hob and Lord Morpheus, King of Dreams, are having a movie night.

It’s part of Hob’s concerted effort to introduce the Prince of Stories to the stories he’d missed during his imprisonment. Tonight it’s Blade Runner – the final cut, of course – which isn’t necessarily one of Hob’s personal favorites, but seemed to fit the stormy, rainy vibes of the weather. They’re installed on the couch, with hot chocolate and wine and snacks, which Dream has deigned to pick at. Harrison Ford is eating noodles and wandering through wet, moodily-lit streets. The wind is howling outside, but they’re safe and warm and surrounded by soft things and life is about as good, Hob thinks, as it ever gets these days.

And then his lights flicker. Once, twice; there is the impression of a sort of electrical last gasp, and the room is plunged into darkness.

The wind whips and the shutters rattle. A volley of rain spits itself against the windows.

“Bugger,” says Hob.

Dream says nothing, merely brings his wineglass – which had already been cradled in one elegant hand – to his lips.

“Hang on,” says Hob. “I’ve got some candles around here somewhere.”

He gropes his way to the kitchen. In one drawer he unearths some beeswax tapers and several tea lights, which he arranges on a plate. He rummages in one of the deeper cabinets and makes a triumphant noise as he discovers his prize behind disused mugs and a fondue set from the 1980s: a pair of old-fashioned brass candlesticks equipped with round reflectors, highly polished to catch the light and bounce it back out into the darkness.

“You are remarkably well-prepared for an event such as this,” says Dream, as Hob lights his various prizes and returns to the living room with his hands full of flickering flames.

“Well, you know,” Hob demurs. “When it comes down to it, I’ve lived a lot more of my life without electricity than with it.” He arranges the tea lights on the coffee table and sets the brass candlesticks on a nearby bookshelf. “You never really get out of the habit of preparing for the worst. Although I will say, these beeswax ones beat the hell out of the old tallow jobbies we had when I was young. Got ‘em from a local bloke who keeps bees not half a mile away, isn’t that cool? A beekeeper in the middle of London. There, now,” he says, and having arranged the lights to his satisfaction he plops himself back down on the sofa.

Outside, the wind wails. The lack of lamps on the empty street below and the gentle candlelight within make the night seem even darker, and turn Hob’s living room into something even softer and cozier than it already is.

Dream’s face, in the flickering candles, seems even more otherworldly than usual; and Hob, for his part, truly looks as though he belongs in another century. The very shape of his face has changed, somehow, into something older; taking on a new appearance in the candlelight the way a man’s tongue might curl differently around the syllables of another language.

“I miss it, sometimes,” he says lowly. “This kind of world. Before the wires and the phones and the cars. It was… quieter.”

“You speak often of your delight in change and progress. Do you truly long for your past lives?” asks Dream.

“Yes and no,” answers Hob. “Some things are better now, no question. Antibiotics, wouldn’t want to live without those again. Vaccines and X-rays and chemotherapy and antidepressants – almost all the medical stuff. Mass transportation. Cars and planes have never been safer. Honestly, I’ve never understood the people who moan about the olden days and oh, life was simpler back then. Don’t they know how many people died? How many kids? Because they caught a cold or fell out of a tree or had a case of the runs that lasted a little too long?”

He leans forward to adjust one of the candles, which is dripping unevenly, and when he sags back into the couch there is just the hint of a frown between his strong brows.

“And yet…” he says, staring into the flames, voice quiet. “Nights like this. I do sometimes think…”

Hob trails off for a long moment.

“There was a rhythm to life, back then,” he says finally. “You counted hours by the church bells and days by the tasks that needed done. And there was so much that needed to be done… cows milked and fields planted and clothes knitted or mended. And it was all so important, so… necessary. Regimented. But in the in between time – Christ! your time wast thine.” As he speaks, his voice has slipped into an older register: his Rs grown rounder, his vowels longer, curling from his mouth to mingle with the candlesmoke hovering over his coffee table. “I remember fair hours as a lad, even into my manhood, of which I spent lyende in th’ fields, watching ants in th’ grass. And later, too, we’d hie us to bed with the sonne, the fire banked in the hearth. An’ it happen that if we awakened before dawn, ’twas a simple thing to pass the time in simple ways, be it in prayer or in pleasure…”

The innuendo in his words is clear, but Hob is not looking at Dream; his eyes are unfocused as he stares into the middle distance, revisiting the past via candlelight. Until one of the wicks lets out a small pop, and flares, and he shakes himself, coming back to the present.

“God, sorry,” he says, voice back in the 21st century. “Woolgathering. I’ll go on for an age, me. More wine?”

But Dream’s eyes have also gone unfocused, his lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling with unnecessary breaths as he stares – no, gazes – at Hob. He, too, must shake himself into the present moment at Hob’s offer of more wine. He silently holds out his glass.

“May I ask you a personal question?” Dream says.

“Anything. You know that.”

Dream pauses. Sips. Outside, the sound of the wind has not abated; has grown, if anything, even more dramatic. There is the muffled sound of branches scraping against the side of the building.

“Why,” asks Dream finally, “do you pretend to yourself that you do not want me?”

Hob chokes. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Why do you pretend thus to me?” Dream pursues. “Who has known you longer than any being on this planet or any other; who can know your innermost dreams?”

“What do you mean, other planets?” Hob demands. And then: “Have you been peeking at my dreams?”

“I need not peek, as you put it, to see the truth of the matter. It is writ plain on your face and in your every word and deed. I merely wonder why this truth has hovered before us for over six hundred years and you have yet to press your suit. Do you doubt, after all this time, my affection for you? Do you find me – unworthy?”

Dream sounds, impossibly, almost uncertain. Even vulnerable. Hob sighs heavily and leans forward, elbows on his knees and face in his hands.

“I – God. Dream,” he stammers. “Yes, Christ, I am full of doubts. You stormed away from me when I implied you might be lonely, I… I have never, once, thought I had a suit to press at all. What on earth has brought this on? Now, of all times?”

“I do not know,” Dream murmurs. “Perhaps… this darkness is working on me, as well. Perhaps I am as susceptible to candlelight and nostalgia as the next anthropomorphic personification.”

He smiles, a little quirk of the mouth that contains worlds, and Hob leans over, listing helplessly into Dream’s space as the tapers flicker.

“Fuck,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together, turning his head to butt his cheekbone against the sharp line of Dream’s nose. “Art thou rēal? Speak you treue?”

“Aye, my Hob,” answers Dream. “Min herte is treue and bilongeth to you.”

A sob catches in the back of Hob’s throat at the words. “Fuck,” he whispers again, “Dream, I’m yours. I am. I always have been. My Dream, min sweven, my leof. Alwei, allesweis…”

Their mouths find each other, then, finally, lip against lip and breath against breath. They kiss for a long, long moment, desperate and hungry and soft all at once, as outside the wind howls coldly around the corners of the New Inn, and inside the light cast by Hob’s candles bathes their whole little world in a cozy glow.

“Take me to bed,” murmurs Dream against Hob’s mouth. “Make me your lover. Show me how you pass the time by candlelight, and in darkness.”

“Oh, darling. Dearheart,” Hob answers. “Nothing in this world or any world past could make me happier.”

And he suits his actions to his words.

[findmeinthefallair]

"It's been a year, I feel so heavy... Mama, will this feeling ever stop?"

“Mijo. It hurts. But you have so many people who love you. We can help you carry that feeling and one day it might not feel as heavy.”

(Dialogue by @childlikegoblinqueen, with some smol additions by me)

[dramaism]

baby yeong.exe

[the-ratmans-shiny-rock]

It pisses me off that people won't shut up about nico being "out of charater" because he's not. He's just not using the personality that YOU made up for him in your head

You projected an entire personality onto him as a child and made him seem older because when you're 10 years old 14 sounds like an appropriate age to start acting 25, nico acts the way he does because he is getting better and it's apart of his process.

He's not acting like he has in previous books because he is recovering from trauma and 15 year olds can change and develop and shockingly do not have stagnate personalises

[the-badger-mole]

"he'd be shockingly smooth"??? We saw him with Mai, he wasn't smooth. 🫤

I think basing that opinion on his relationship with Mai is selling him short. That relationship was bad because Mai didn't actually like him. She also didn't appreciate or reciprocate his small romantic gestures. That seashell thing? Absolute gold, and something that just came natuarally. But because Mai had a bug up her nose it went over like a lead balloon. That wasn't his fault. Like I said, Zuko in a relationship where his partner actually likes him would be smoother than a fresh jar of Skippy. I'm basing that on how well his date with Jin ended once he got out of his own head. Imagine if they'd been able to go out a couple more times. Jin would've melted over that lil' seashell. And that's exactly why I'm baffled by the amount of people who seem to think canon Maiko was the height of romance. She didn't seem to like the boy, and he felt it. And he acted accordingly. He was dating someone just like his father. Of course he was weird and awkward.

[evermoredeluxe]

.

[dmc-questions-anon]

Even if you don't agree with any, just which one do you think holds the most weight.

Full option 4: Vergil with plastic chair, child support, and Dante doesn't know what sex is aren't funny jokes anymore and haven't ever really been all that funny.

Full option 8: DMC 5's gameplay isn't all that great, the combat is really fun, but it's better when you had to run around and collect items to progress like in the older game's and they should go back to that.

Reminder to be nice! Absolutely no arguing. I don't mind friendly debates, but full blown arguments will cause this poll to be deleted.

[dindjarindiaries]

[uzi-x33]

random thoughts/memories w uzi, pt 1:

(possible tw?? For the first one, js skip if you want<3 )

one time Pinterest gave me an ad for r@zor blades, like jeez I was on FaceTime and I had the screen share on don’t out me like that pin holy shit💀💀

more thoughts:3

why do ppl feel the need to tell me who I am like girl- do you know me??? no!!!:33

unpopular opinionsss:

Dazai kinnie slander isn’t ok, neither is slander on anyone who decides to kin any character. Dazai kinnie slander can hurt like jeez wtf did we do to you??? We’re just trying to live😭 (or- not💀) ALSO LITERALLY JUST THISSS!!!!!!

I Heart junichiro sm<<<<333 he’s so misunderstood guys I love him☹️☹️💕 he’s just so silly I love him and his silly boyfriend tanizaki:3

another opinion, hating on other ppl’s ships isn’t ok. I can get it if it’s a pro ship they’re fuckibg disgusting. But if they’re just silly little rarepairs like junichiro x tanizaki or yosano x kouyo or Lucy x Louisa, they’re fine, I’ve seen so many ppl hate on them like bro let ppl be happy with their little ships 😭😭 there are some ships I personally dislike, but im not gonna be like “omg this ship sucks I hope everyone who ships it dies” like- no💀 im gonna be respectful and NOT SHARE MY OPINION UNLESS ITS WANTED AND IM ONLY GONNA BE HARSH ABT IT IN THE PRIVACY OF MY OWN SPACE😭😭😭

Last one before I go eep is soukoku. Just soukoku, I love soukoku:33

ow my head hurts, and my stomach, wtf. I’m gonna try and sleep I have to get up at 5:30 tmr for school

[ducksinspaceadventure]

Unpopular opinion, but I kind of prefer Huey, Dewey and Louie from the DuckTales reboot when they become teenagers and then adults to all wear pants. I'm just embarrassed to see that no one is wearing or that one is wearing and the others are not. It makes me cringe. Sorry.

[apawcalypse-blehhh]

i’m gonna be completely honest most of the deaths that made people stop watching twd I didn’t really mind..

[stayatsam]

tbh nothing's probably a bigger honor to me as an artist than someone using my stuff as a style reference or even doing studies of my art. every now and then someone shows me something they did of mine and im like WOW!!! look at that!

[svtskneecaps]

one last thing before i zzz: i kinda hope they never give the players limited canon lives; i think the immortality thing is kinda fitting. like "you can never leave," even if you die, you're gonna be right back here. no seeing your kids in hell OR in heaven because there's no afterlife for you. death is not an escape. YOU CAN NEVER LEAVE.