#(and not possessing the codes)

[oddishblossom]

— Imagine being loved by me (1) (2)

[doctorsiren]

Some silly happenings :3 (monster AU by @cupofchemicalchatter and I…we have still yet to come up with a name for it OOPS)

[p0wderedmarbl3s]

at my wedding i won't wear a gown yeah i would rather wear LADY GAGA MEAT DRESS ‼️‼️

[jedi-enthusiasm-blog]

The Heart of a Jedi

It is a common belief in the galaxy that the Jedi are not permitted to love. Silently, some people mourn the children given to the Jedi, believing they will be brainwashed to hide their emotions and be unable to love. Disdainfully, some parents who don't wish to give their children to the Order claim that their children will never know love if they are taken in by the Order.

But love is a word with many connotations. How can a Jedi affirm or deny such accusations when they may be working with widely different definitions of the same word? When beings can mean any number of disparate emotions, many compatible with their way or life and many others contradictions of their code, values and vows?

The Jedi do not claim love is forbidden to them. How could they, with what love means to them? Saying love is allowed is misleading, and saying it's encouraged severely understates how important love is to them.

Love is essential, central to a Jedi's life. One cannot be a Jedi if they are devoid of love.

The Jedi do not claim that love is forbidden to them, as they share an ideal of kindness and compassion for all forms of life.

How could they strive towards this without love, as they understand it? Not affection, necessarily, for a Jedi must be compassionate even towards those they dislike. Rather, a deep respect for life, an attempt to understand it and its connections, and an endless drive to reduce suffering where they can.

That, to a Jedi, is love.

A Jedi must love everybody. They love the starving, the abused and the slaves of the galaxy, because they need their help. They love pirates, slavers, and corrupt politicians, when they dislike and want to stop them.

They even love the Sith.

But for many beings in the galaxy, that is not enough. For many beings in the galaxy, that is not love. And as long as the Jedi reject the cruel thing the galaxy calls love, that grasps and steals and demands to own, long as the Jedi accept the inevitability of death, the futility of holding on to what is not meant to be held, there will be those that call the Jedi loveless.

How sad, a Jedi would say, to be unable to conceive love without cruelty.

[silverlombaxwitch]

did you already forget? You weren’t supposed to know that.

[harbingersecho]

let me go, please -- i don't wanna do this!

[mysicklove]

men who casually hold onto you by the back of your neck in public😵‍💫😵‍💫

[qin-qin16]

My computer is possessed?! Oh, wait, it's just my out-coded skeleton boyfriend!

Summary: When some of your work in progress goes missing, you decide to start investigating whether your computer has a virus. That is until you realize that the few remaining works are of one character: Error Sans. cw: kinitoPET and creepypasta vibes, writer Reader, Ink is mentioned, Error is jealousy, again, comedy, Reader finally notices that something wrong is happening! (Part one) (Part two)

“I should really get a new chair..." You say slowly, tilting your head back and feeling your neck stretch — a habit that you keep indulging in, no matter how sore it makes your nape afterward. "Then again, I also need to buy some new pants... and a new mouse as well..." Your head rolls over your shoulders, and before you know it, you’re staring at the computer screen again.

Your fingers lightly tap against the table; pinky, ring, middle, and index. One after the other in a rhythmic sequence — until you mess up and clench your hand into a loose fist.

"Ink definitely wouldn’t say that; he’s just so clueless." And there you are, deleting an entire paragraph for the third time, unhappy with how your story is turning out. "Why did I have to write about this jerk again?"

Because he’s a complex character with many layers that can add depth to your plot. You can almost imagine yourself explaining it, wearing glasses with a raised finger — just like that nerd emoji meme.

Even though your explanation was spot on, you can’t help but huff in frustration, rubbing your eyes with your thumbs before looking back at the blank Word document.

“... Why is this so bright?” If you were standing in front of a mirror, you’d definitely see your pupils constricting; a slight burning sensation spreading across your eyes as your finger keeps clicking on the computer keys, the brightness rapidly dimming.

Before you can blink, you let out a slow hiss. The burning in your eyes, sharp against your sensitive irises, returns suddenly; and in front of you, seemingly amused by the situation, your computer screen is set to full brightness.

"What the hell?" you curse, quickly covering your eyes with your hands as you pull away from the screen. For a moment, all you see is complete darkness, with a few bright spots flickering in your vision.

Maybe it’s time to start using eye drops; your eyes probably wouldn’t hurt so much after hours in front of the computer.

"I must have pressed the wrong key..." That’s a possibility, if it weren’t for a little voice in the back of your mind whispering the steps you took moments ago; you definitely pressed the right keys and released them at the right moment to actually dim the screen. "Or did I think I clicked but really didn’t?"

Your head droops onto your shoulders — and a low grunt escapes your lips as you feel the muscles in your neck stretch, pulling your shoulder blades along with them.

You rest your face in your hands, then rub your eyes and look at the computer again between your fingers. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.” Your feet shuffle toward the table, the rolling chair getting stuck at some point. “I just need to finish at least this dialogue before I can finally shut this thing down with a clear conscience.”

In theory, it should be a simple task; in practice, not so much. Especially when the paragraphs you’ve already written keep getting erased-

"What the hell is going on?!" You couldn’t believe — or understand — what was happening right before your eyes: sentence by sentence, your fanfic was being quickly erased, line by line.

You quickly moved the mouse away from the document, clicking anywhere else in the browser to stop your writing from being deleted — which didn’t do much good. The cursor soon started moving on its own, spinning around the screen until it selected an entire paragraph and deleted it.

"What’s going on?!" you shout as you repeat the same action, clicking outside the browser to keep the cursor from going back to the document, sliding it left, right — anywhere to keep whatever was controlling your mouse away from your precious fanfic. "Is this what a hacker attack feels like?"

It’s the only explanation; unless the existence of ghosts is not just real, but they also have the ability to manipulate electronics and understand how the internet works.

Before you could think any more about it, the cursor had returned to the center of the screen — but this time, before it could delete any more of your text, you quickly took control of the mouse, dragging it to the red box in the corner of the window and closing it for good.

You didn’t even curse or shout afterward; your mouth stays slightly open, slowly widening enough to express your disbelief at what had just happened. Your eyes remained fixed on the computer, even as your vision grew increasingly blurry, much like the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in your mind.

"What the hell was that? Was it some kind of virus? Or a hacker's prank? I didn’t share this document with anyone, so it must have been some damn hacker with no job doing something so messed up! But wait, what if it’s like those little computer avatars that are actually viruses messing with your documents and folders? Did I download something strange without even noticing?”

Your focus snaps back to the screen as a notepad file opens in the upper corner of your desktop.

HEHEHEHEHEHEH GOT YOU!

“Son of a bitch,” you growl, grinding your teeth together as your eyes scan the message in all caps again and again.

This was solid proof (at least for your stress-fried brain) that this was the work of a sadistic hacker, taking pleasure in your suffering. It was decided: you would take your computer to a specialist as soon as possible — hacker or not, you would get your precious computer back at any cost.

Banging your head against the desk — and grunting as the pain spreads across your forehead — you don’t even notice that the light on your webcam is on.

Tagging area, if you want to be tagged, just ask :D

@snastheskeleton64 @moon-and-fries @unamzi @something-random1-1-blog @lostsoulofdragon @notagamerlol @staryycheze

[respectthepetty]

Episode five and six of Cosmetic Playlover showed me that Sahashi, no TOMA, has always been a Black Brooder because the world has been cruel to him.

And even now, he is looking sad in all the nicest places as he sits in a Parisian café with no service and broken heart.

But, of course, even Heavenly Human Mamiya is sad because he keeps sending message.

Yet gets no reply.

So I liked that both boys were slightly out of their color (and element) this episode when we saw them with Harukawa.

Yet when the service kicked back in and so did the messages, Toma was in grey and Mamiya was in his usual cream/white with black lines.

As if they were ready to mix their colors (and lives) together.

Yet they were back in their element (and color) the day after as they settled into their new norm.

(Even though Mamiya had to put on the same clothes so he could do the walk of shame an adult who slept with his boyfriend and spent the night which is perfectly normal and should not be shamed!)

But my favorite part of these two episodes is when they moved in together because it's clear Toma is still holding onto secrets about his past (as Black Brooders do) like stating he doesn't know if he has siblings and commenting how he has always been territorial in a way over his stuff.

But I fully expect to see Mamiya's white and cream clothing filling up the right side of the closet before this series is over.

Because these two do balance each other out.

And are very happy together.

So it wasn't surprising that we saw Mamiya had one grey shirt when he moved it.

Because he immediately wore it coming home to his boyfriend the next day after confessing to Harukawa that they were dating as a small way to show they are blending their lives (and colors) together.

And both of them have started wearing bits of each others' color on them.

So regardless of what this Black Brooder does (it's always another Black Brooder in this show just popping up to stir up trouble!)

The boys will be fine because Mamiya has to still put his white and cream colored clothing on the right side of Toma's closet.

And because color-coded boys in love get happy endings.

Or else.

[thereigning-lorelai]

Are you talking to your car? — Her name's Florence.

[turtleplushi]

I need sleep

[corvidaearts]

you see officer, I don’t think I have a solid explanation for this one was originally doodling out a whole series of scar bc theres a lot of versions of him. and then...I got a little carried away making this soo...... anyway this was supposed to be his last life version, cloak less version under the cut

[johnslittlespoon]

"Such a good little pup, aren't you?"

u know i have to request this (from smut dialogue) with buck and bucky😭😭😭😭

prompts | i got three requests with this dialogue right off the bat LOL we are all a dog–coded bucky hive mind truly. <3

Gale’s hand tangles in the soft dark curls of the man sat between his legs, feeling thumbs drag slow circles over the muscle of his calves while John looks up at him adoringly from where his cheek is pressed to his thigh.

Long lashes flutter when he gives John’s hair a little tug, pulling him closer, smiling fondly at the way he shuffles forward on his knees and then settles, watching Gale expectantly.

“Aren’t you just the prettiest thing?” He purrs out, and a soft pink spills across John’s cheeks. Gale lowers his other hand to rest over his belt buckle, and John goes very still, gaze flicking between Gale’s face and his lap, and he can’t help but breathe out a quiet laugh at his anticipation.

“You think you’ve been patient enough?” He asks, like he hasn’t just had John sit on the floor next to his chair for the better part of an hour, catching every subtle shift from the corner of his eye each time he’d turn a page of his book.

John nods slowly, like it’s a trick question, but Gale gently pushes his hair back in reassurance, nodding.

“I think so too,” he agrees, retracting his hand and instead working his belt open, watching John’s lips part as his eyes zero in on the motion, a visible shiver running through him at the quiet clink of the metal. He gets his zipper down and pulls himself out, dragging his hand up and down lazily, stomach twisting hot at the way John’s tongue reflexively slips out to wet his pretty pink lips.

He waits, letting John squirm for a little bit longer, only caving when he hears a whisper of a whimper bubble up in his throat.

“Alright,” he gives the go ahead, and John eagerly leans forward, splaying his fingers out over Gale’s thighs, not needing to be reminded not to use his hands, not when he’s like this. He groans when John licks a sloppy line up the underside of his cock, bringing a hand back down to twist in his hair, though he doesn’t have to give much else direction before soft wet heat wraps around him.

Gale curses under his breath, lightly pressing against the back of John’s head, and spit–slicked lips slide further down with ease. He feels John hum around him when the tip of his nose brushes against his stomach, watches his eyes slip closed, feels his hands twitching on his thighs.

His throat contracts around him when he swallows, and Gale can’t resist rocking his hips up just a little, hissing at the sensation, heart skipping a beat at the whine it drags from John. He pets his hair, keeping the weight of his hand in place when he rolls his hips again, and John’s fingertips dig into the fabric at his thighs, the vibrations of a blissful moan running straight up his cock and sinking into his bones.

“Such a good little pup, aren’t you?” He rasps appreciatively, and John’s eyes are already glazed over when he blinks them open to look up at Gale the best he can, cheeks beautifully flushed. “It’s like you’re made for this.”

Gale slides his boot inwards just enough to slip his calf between John’s parted legs, finding a slow rhythm as he grinds up into his velvet–soft mouth. He can feel John’s hips subtly twitch forward against his leg, and he presses it harder into his clothed crotch in encouragement, unable to drag his eyes away from the image before him.

“Good boy,” he breathes out. “Take what you need, darling.”

Muffled gags and moans fill the room as John ruts against his leg, looking drunk on his praise, all worked up and needy just from Gale using his throat. It’s a sight Gale will never grow tired of, and one he’ll never stop feeling lucky to witness.

[hirazuki]

I saw someone (I’ve forgotten who!) post a couple months ago, asking if it’s ever established in canon whether Mairon ever found out it was Finrod in Tol-in-Gaurhoth. Short answer, after perusing the relevant text: no. 

My personal interpretation, for my own amusement: I think he’d figure out Beren, since his run-in with Luthien and Huan happened shortly afterwards, but had a complete Kronk moment with Finrod, years down the line. Like, you know when you’re an expert in a subject and some things totally fly under your radar, because it doesn’t occur to you that anyone would do anything that dumb? I think that, being a master of deception, he wouldn’t realize what Nereb and Dungalef stood for, not for literal ages, because who uses their real names just backwards/anagrammed when infiltrating an enemy stronghold (and arguably the most dangerous stronghold, second only to Angband), that’s just so stupid so stupid it actually worked XD 

(In his defense, there was a lot going on in the First Age. A Lot.)

But. 

I like to think it plagued him for years :)

[shalomniscient]

listening to hold on tight by aespa and wow this is so kafka coded…. i’m having VISIONS like imagine being kafka’s stellaron hunter partner. before silver wolf, before sam and before blade it was just you and her, flitting from galaxy to galaxy to carry out elio’s enigmatic will. and you, frankly, can’t fucking stand her.

cocky, smug, arrogant, and worst of all—she had the damned skills to back all of it up. it also absolutely did not help that she was also one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever laid your eyes on. you really would kill elio for pairing both of you up, were it not for the fact that the schemer of a man had something you need. and, it seems, something that kafka needs too. not that you particularly care, of course.

nsft utc—

just like how you totally don’t care as kafka cozies up to your target of the day, the strobe lights of the club casting tempting shadows across her elegant face, those cherry-red lips upturned in a coy, dangerous smile. you watch from across the bar over the rim of your glass—the strongest shit this fucking bar had to offer—and when she flashes you a look from beneath long, fluttering lashes you nearly crack the damn glass in your grip. kafka’s eyes glitter like rubies in the low light, and you grit your teeth so hard you distantly fear they may crack.

seconds, minutes or hours later she finally stands, leading the target away from the bar by the hand. her web has been spun—all that was left for to tangle this foolish, stupid, unwitting fly in her threads. you follow from a distance, hands shoved in your pockets, curling around knives you’re just itching to use at this point. in the background, you faintly register a new song being played; almost folklike in its melody were it not for the electro groove overlaid above it and the dark, fantastic vocals.

baby you and me are a twisted fantasy—

you find kafka and the target in a private room in the back. she’s sat across from him now, grinning from ear to ear. the hunt was over; now, it was time for the kill. he barely gets the chance to squeal before your knife teases the exposed flesh of his throat, and kafka laughs. at your impatience or the man’s crippling, immobilising fear of her, you don’t know. that relaxed, insufferable smirk remains on her lips even as you drag your knife through muscle and sinew and spill the target’s blood all over the lush cushions. it’s red, just like her lips. over the speakers, the music continues.

bodies running on a dream, up all night—

“you’re tense, partner,” she drawls, crossing her legs as she watches you wipe your knife clean. “the job was successful. relax.”

you grind your teeth together as you sheathe your knives back into their holsters. “you wasted my time with that pointless… game of yours.“

“it’s called having fun,” she hums in response, rising from her seat, and taking slow steps towards you, “you should try it.”

“we are not here to have fun,” you growl. “the script is clear—“

kafka cuts you off with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. “bo-ring.” distantly, you hear the music swell.

wired differently, a chaotic energy—

oh, you’ve had enough.

quick as a flash, you pin kafka to the wall, your arm against her throat while the other hand wraps tight around her wrists. her eyes widen by a mere fraction, before her cherry lips part wide in a grin that’s more a flash of teeth than anything else.

“one more fucking word out of you and i swear—“

“you’ll what?” kafka challenges. “punish me?”

“shut. up.”

she sneers. “make me.”

and you do, by crashing your lips against hers in a fervent, chaotic kiss. kafka twitches beneath you ever so slightly, but then she’s returning your fervor, her teeth worrying your lower lip. you growl and probe your tongue against the seam of her lips, forcing your way into her mouth and tasting the residuals of whatever drink she had with that man, his blood now trickling down onto the floor.

kafka groans as you slot your leg between hers, her muscled thighs immediately bearing down on your leg. you move the arm against her throat lower, your hand squeezing at the ample flesh of her breast through her shirt, and the pleased hum that reverberates out of her theoat sounds far, far better to you than her smug chirping. when you pull away, your shoulders tremble from the heavy breaths you draw in.

kafka, meanwhile, retains that damned smirk on her face, her eyes half-lidded and knowing. as if she planned all this right from the start.

“perhaps we should take this somewhere more private, hm?” she suggests, trailing a hand down your front as she rolls her hips against your leg. you stifle the full-body shudder that threatens to course through you, and step away from her.

“fine.”

the grip you have on her wrist is tight, but kafka doesn’t pull away. she only giggles airily, and you know without looking that her expression is definitely one of a cat that got the cream. as you leave the club, the song finally concludes.

buckle up and take a seat, hold on tight…

[snivyartjpeg]

he bothers him about it every week