#F O O T W E A R

[actressposts]

[clownsuu]

Heeeeyyyy You know what?

I LOVE FLUFFY ONES!!!!

btw, this is not an Oc, it's.. A Version of the discarded character from Welcome Home named Sunny

It's my version as a nun/monk

ALSO!! I draw ur version of Home and Sunny in the church confessional and and- DAMN IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL, JUST HERE TO SAY THAT UR DRAWINGS AND EVERYTHING CHARACTERS (Oc's) THAT U MADE ARE SO BEAUTIFUL, FOR LOVE OF GOD- I'm Ur fan- a big fan u guess- (sorry I'm nervous-)

EVEN MORE ROBBIE ROBS RUBS AUGHAUAHAHGH

[csyakult]

✻ ⌣ 🦦 ˚ 𖤛

[nonnieapple]

Afk journey, Sinbad, trans male/gender neutral reader, nsfw fanfiction. (I love this man very much)🤍

⛈️☂️Hook, Line, and Sinker☂️⛈️

• (Sinbad x trans!male!Reader)

• r a t i n g: e x p l i c i t • 4 1 4 0 w o r d s

• p o s t e d: 01.11.2024🌧️ navigation

n o t e: sinbad is so hot, i wish men were real :( s u m m a r y: sinbad walks in at the worst possible time, and the following events complicate your relationship further.

It was nearing night, and the hamsters were fast asleep as well as most guests of the inn. 

  When Sinbad walked into your room, you were staring out of the window with a wistful look, like the look his mothers had when they gazed out at the sea, remembering their husbands, lost forever to the fog and unrelenting waves. He wondered who you longed after, if anyone. Maybe you longed for home. Or for something he couldn't possibly imagine. 

  Before he closed the door, you broke the silence. 

  "You dare disturb my rest?"

  Even turned away, you heard him. Your voice sent tingles up his leg. The room veered towards cold, the windows open, making the curtains flutter like sails. 

  "You're really living it up in here," Sinbad remarked, inviting himself to sit down on the fancy armchair flanked by another and a couch in the west of your room. 

  He hadn't ever been in it yet, and he was sure you wouldn't mind if he just sprawled out a little, he stretched, his boots hitting the leg of the short table. Lit candles sitting upon golden thrones flickered on it. Two glasses and a bottle were there as well. 

  "As I should, I was to have a vacation, and I'm still getting it, Cedartown or not." You made your way to the couch, your visage somewhat blurry from all the glamour swallowing up your form, the air around you swaying. 

  If he looked at you too long, he could see something was terribly wrong. It was not something anyone could notice at first, or at second sight, only those looking for it might begin to pull at the thread. He stopped examining you. He wasn't sure what he'd find. 

  You were like the fog that had almost killed him- leading him in mental circles until he went mad trying to get himself out of it. 

  Sinbad's leg jerked when you approached. You stood, close, your robe made of small, black, and knitted net. It should've revealed everything you wore under it- instead, everything around your chest and hips darkened and blurred. 

  The magic that wafted off you made his head spin. Or maybe it was that he drank too much. Sinbad sighed shakily as you ghosted your touch over his face, your eyes sharp and inhuman. The next second, they turned warm. 

  "Did you drink that swill again? Here, drink something good for once." 

  He barely caught the bottle you threw into his arms, and he thought, somewhat incredulously, You're too kind.

  But, really, Magister- I don't know what to think of you. One second you wanna kill me and the next you're my savior. 

  I'll never know who you are, will I?

  His eyes skimmed over the label. Dark liquid sloshed within darker green walls. "Woah! Fancy stuff. It's actually red."

  The wine he was used to at most establishments was pale, watered down to save costs. You shrugged. You must've been used to good wine, good food, good people. He envied you. 

  "It's from an... old friend."

  The way you said that with so much hesitance made his heart drop. 

  "They must be rich."

  Sinbad popped open the bottle and poured himself some. He might as well indulge, and your room was a good place to do that. Upon second thought it might be questionable. 

  He had to hold back on drinking. He couldn't afford to do something stupid.

  "Beyond that, and a massive drunkard I could never deny, but as I don't drink I have no use for his gifts." You took up the whole couch, propping up your head with a hand, the other playing idly with the belt of your delicate robe. 

  If he was to be mean, he'd liken you to a fish caught in a net, but he couldn't lie, you were more of a siren. 

  You hummed.

  "I guess I could have a glass."

  You poured yourself nearly half the bottle, and swallowed a third of the glass, drinking like a fish. He struggled not to gawk at you. 

  "Old friend... bet you have plenty of those. Not like it bothers me," he tacked on at the end, scratching at his scalp lightly. 

  The fireplace crackled and sputtered red. Strange, it gave off no warmth. Was it magic? Sheesh, what about you wasn't magic? 

  The rug beneath his boots was sure real, and a real good rug, too. If he were to get piss drunk he'd choose the rug over the street to pass out on. Oh, there were even pillows on the floor. Perfect. 

  "I mean it. We were friends, he isn't an old flame- as far as I know."

  As far as you knew?

  "You sure about that?" He raised a brow. 

  "Quite. Though one actual old flame, I wonder how she's doing. It's been a while, I last saw her in Holistone, it has been months since then. Damn Hogan for sending me on this "vacation", now I'm stuck in the middle of the sea with no idea when I'll see him or Valen. He should've gone with me."

  Pushing aside his slight offense at the Rustport slander, you had mentioned General Hogan and Valen a few times. One was a Magistrate and, guess what, General of Holistone, the other some swashbuckling knight who, as he understood it, was hitting on you. 

  "Well, I'm glad he didn't."

  "Hm? Why is that?" You smirked, your eyes glimmering like the wine you swished in your hand.

  If Sinbad was pale, you would've seen his face lose color in an instant. 

  "I mean- I meant- he would've drowned in his armor, is all! It would've been worse than what happened to Chippy." 

  He drank quickly so he couldn't see your gloating expression.

  "You're holding your glass like you're throttling a neck." 

  Even if he drank and drank, he still heard your voice, and if he plugged his ears, you'd get into his mind, too. 

  He couldn't tell if that was a way to hint at his discomfort or point out his terrible manners. 

  "I'm not much of a wine drinker."

  You, on the other hand, held your glass between your thumb and forefinger ever so lightly. That fucking hand was calling him poor just at a glance. 

  "This better?" He emulated the way you did it, though it was nowhere near as graceful. 

  "Much better. The wine compliments your shirt." 

  The red, satin shirt, an illusion you cast, felt good nonetheless, and the wine was divine. It was bright, just sweet enough, and with a hint of berries and zest. It tasted more like the few fruits he had tried than the usual- as you put it- "swill" he drank. 

  It settled warmly in his chest, with the occasional sour tingle in his cheeks. 

  Sinbad didn't want to leave your room. It was fancy, and more importantly, it had wine AND you. 

  "How've you been?" You said between sips, your expression softening. 

  "Good. I've been spending a lot of time poking around the ship, avoiding going to Brineville so I don't have to explain myself. Things are better than before I met ya, anyway, I can finally do what I want, and... everything's so calm." 

  It was strange to not have to think about every little expense anymore for the village now that no one threatened its safety, and he was essentially a "hero". Sure, he still had to make money somehow and Rustport was as rusty as ever, but so much had been lifted off his shoulders. 

  By you, no less. 

  He'd said he'd repay you. That nagged at his mind sometimes. What could you possibly want? 

  It was nothing to worry about. It wouldn't be worse than what he had gone through. 

  "Planning on leaving soon?" 

  If he wasn't mistaken, he saw you frown ever so slightly. 

  "Not yet. I've got a lot to do here before I leave. What about you?" 

  You threw back your head and let your hair spill over the edge of the couch. 

  "You know, been here and there, helping people as I do, went fishing with my familiars. I like helping people and spending time with them but I do need alone time." 

  That was why the hamsters were in another room. Sinbad had to admit, they were cute and had grown on him. You truly were the most precious thing he had ever found washed up on the beach. He'd be no one without you. 

  "Are you leaving soon?" 

  You shook your head. "I want to stay a bit longer, until you leave, I suppose. I won't have much to do then. I'm dealing with people's problems rather quickly." 

  Of course, you weren't staying only for him. You were busy. 

  "I'm glad you're staying a bit longer." He couldn't imagine being without you now. You were the closest friend he'd had. Everyone wanted something from him, and you had asked for the least, always generous, if quirky. 

  You smiled, returning his giddy expression, which he hadn't noticed himself pull. 

  He felt his face get warmer. Must've been all the wine. 

  He and you listened to the crackling of the fire, finishing your glasses. You lounged like a cat. You were the image of peace when you closed your eyes. He rolled up his sleeves, feeling somewhat hot all of a sudden. He waited for you to kick him out, it'd happen sooner or later.

  You watched from under your lashes. 

  "I was surprised that you had tattoos, though they are common here," you said. 

  He had helm tattoos on each forearm. "Funny story, I got them when I was drunk, like, extremely. I don't remember where or how exactly I got them." At least they healed fine and he had not felt much pain. He hadn't felt much at all.

  "They suit you well." Your eyes lingered for a while. 

  "I have more that you haven't seen." He smirked, putting on that smooth-talking persona again. 

  "Although tempting, you won't smooth-talk me, Sinbad," you said sternly. 

  He sighed. A guy had to try. You were so damn hard to scam and trick, it was annoying. You were one of the only people immune to his charms. You were looking at him like he was a helpless animal. Again. 

  Instead of words of pity, he was hit with: 

  "You look upset. Mope in another room, I'm exhausted," you said, yawning and turning away from him unceremoniously. 

  He left with a huff. 

  "Good night to you too, Magister Merlin." 

  ...

  "Good night." 

  He should've been asleep.

  Sinbad crept across the hall towards your newly luxurious room, careful not to make a sound, like he was escaping from a dungeon (like he had many times). 

  Sinbad cracked open your door. Strange, he left it unlocked, he thought. The room was dark and silent except for the sounds of the breeze coming in through the windows, like breaths.

  You seemed to be asleep, as far as he could tell. He was sure he had heard something from your room. Maybe it had been the wind.

  "Magister?" he said into the black, closing the door behind himself. It was not entirely dark, he noticed as he moved towards your canopy bed, as there was a lone candle burning close to the window. 

  The fireplace had no remains of smoldering wood. 

  The windows- they were closed shut. The sound was not from there. Had it been the draft instead? If this was how noisy the good rooms were, he'd go complain to Bols later. 

  Sinbad pushed past the closed curtains of the canopy bed, the fabric heavy and lush, a velvet he hadn't even dreamed of touching before, with much trepidation, his heart tense, ready for a beast to lunge at him any moment. 

  He didn't see what happened, it happened swiftly, the shape in the bed shifting loudly. The sound of the breeze halted. 

  "Ah, Sinbad. I was just thinking of you," you said, and it was undeniably you, your voice quiet yet clear, a little exasperated, your breathing so shallow he would've believed you if you said you had run around the whole of Rustport in a minute. 

  He would've believed you if you hadn't been in your bed all this time.

  "Why aren't you asleep?" he stammered with wide eyes, gaze lost as he adjusted, making out your fuzzy shape. It was leaner than usual. He sensed none of your usual glamours on you.

  "I could ask the same of you." 

  He leaned his knee on the bed, and you moved away. 

  "Some noise woke me up, and I thought it came from your room. Was I right?" He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, seeing that you lay rigid and didn't want him to come near you. To him, it seemed that something had happened, and you were uncooperative as to what. 

  One of his jobs was to get information. Clearly, he wasn't much good at it with you around. 

  "Did something happen, Magister? You're worrying me." His brows lowered over his honey-brown eyes. 

  "You didn't knock. You should leave my room." The light brightened against your face. Your skin was dewy and your hair was disheveled, the bedsheets in disarray. You were a mess. 

  The Merlin, a mess? 

  "I did know- and- you can't kick me out again!" He leaned over you as you leaned against cushiony pillows.

  You pushed on his chest to get him away, your hand hot and humid. 

  "... Are you dense or what?" you snapped. "What do you think I'm doing in a dark room, alone, in my bed, gasping for air?" 

  His face transitioned from bewilderment to horror. 

  Oooh.

  Embarrassment hit him like a wave. Holy Tritonus, he had heard you moaning. In this case, he was dense beyond belief. And the reason you were recoiling wasn't because something was wrong, it was, because, well. He chose the worst possible time to intrude. 

  And the reason your frame seemed leaner now was because you had no glamours concealing your body indeed, and no clothes besides that robe. He could see your bare skin between the fabric you held together with a tense hand. 

  He had trouble not looking. And it wasn't the wine, that had long left his system. 

  "Shit, I... I didn't..."

  He had no excuse, and so close to you, caging you in, neither of you could escape, captured in the world's most awkward stalemate. The words drowned in the depths of his mind.

  "You said you were thinking about me earlier. Do you mean...?" he trailed off, his voice mumbling and strained. Everything felt like a dream. He'd pinch himself if he wasn't frozen. 

  "I left the door open for you. I didn't expect you to come." 

  Sinbad's breathing had accelerated. He had already had thoughts about you. He couldn't possibly resist anything you asked him to do. That hint of servitude remained in him, and he was all eager to please. 

  "I'm here." He tried to smile, but it came out rather strained. 

  You pulled him in by tangling your hands in his freshly dried hair. Your lips were one push away. 

  He had already gotten ready for bed- his skin infused with whatever fancy soaps he managed to snatch this time. It mixed with that woody scent of a faraway home that clung to you no matter how many times you got drenched with rain or seawater. 

  "So?" 

  He felt your every breath. Berries. 

  "So..."

  You kissed him first. 

  You were far from a reserved, shy mage. You nipped at his lip and broke the kiss just to piss him off. 

  He cursed like the sailor he was. Next thing he knew, his boots were lost in the dark along with his scarf (it felt like sacrilege to wear it during this), his shirt untucked and partially unbuttoned by your nimble fingers. You traced over the anchor tattoo between his collarbone and shoulder. 

  That wasn't how he expected you to find it. 

  Your hips were fuller than they appeared, filling him with thoughts he couldn't possibly speak, and your waist was small, perfect for holding when he-

  Your chest wasn't quite... flat. That made him stop. His silent question hung in the air. 

  "I'm trans," you said, amused at how he was surprised by you again and again. You had hidden your chest to a point where he couldn't have guessed. 

  He had never been with someone like you (in any sense), but he didn't mind. 

  Your chest was soft, each breast perfectly fitting into his hand. At each caress and pull you reacted accordingly. It was his turn to be amused, and he was enjoying it immensely. 

  Your face and voice did not falter, the only thing betraying your feelings being your shallow breathing. Would your breaking point be easy to reach, or would he reach his first? 

  Goosebumps raised on your thighs when he felt them up with his calloused fingers. Only the richest of the rich could have pristine hands in Rustport. Sinbad spread your legs with little resistance from you, his hand wrapping around most of your thighs' circumference. 

  His hand dipped between your legs. You were wet, the wetness covering parts of your inner thighs. The hotness ignited a fever in him, a fever he hadn't felt in a long time, and never so strongly. Most of his prior fucks were hookups, and sometimes, to get out of uncomfortable situations in his jobs. They didn't happen often and he hardly looked forward to them. With you, he could hardly stop his hands and other body parts of his from thrusting right into you. You were by far the hottest guy he'd been with.

  At the rough touch on your clit you jolted with a soft sigh, your legs closing on instinct, but they were stopped by Sinbad being in the way. 

  The thought crossed his mind that you were surrounded by others from all sides, and at any second, anyone could walk in. He didn't mind- he liked a bit of danger. 

  "How are you feeling?" he whispered close to your ear, hand exploring all the places that could feel best for you. He would make sure you'd remember this as a positive memory, and even if you left and never saw him again, the scene would stick in your mind.

  "I've been better," you said with a shortness of breath, but impressively coherently.

  "Don't you think this is a bad time for jokes?" Would you still talk like that if he filled you up? Would your face still be so serene? 

  "It's a perfect time for-" he interrupted you as he slid his finger over your clit over and over again, making your legs tremble and your brows lower. He might've not been experienced, but he was a quick learner.

  After he got you to a point where you were panting and your pulse hammered relentlessly, he lowered his finger to your entrance, teasing it. You covered your mouth. A thin string, like fishing line, followed his hand as he withdrew. 

  Sinbad began with one finger, your tight walls even hotter than your wetness. Fuck. It felt amazing on his fingers. It might've made him cum instantly if he tried fucking you like that. 

  "Relax your muscles, there's no need to be tense," he said soothingly. 

  You visibly stopped straining and let him push his finger in fully. It circled your smooth cervix. You were pretty shallow inside. 

  He was clueless at that point, unsure of what to do for you. 

  "Curl your finger towards yourself."

  Now you were the one close to his ear, leaning on his shoulders so he could have better access and less lewd sounds would be heard. 

  When he curled it as you said, he felt a spongy tissue that gave way under his prodding. You bit into his shoulder with little regard for how much that shit hurt. It would leave a mark, or even better, a scar. Yay. One more to the arsenal. He would have a hard time explaining that one, as it was in a visible place between his neck and shoulder muscles. 

  He groaned at the pain, pulling you halfway onto him. One hand of his rubbed your clit, and the other, inside you. You must've been leaving a hickey judging by the slight tingle on his neck. It made him harder than he already was. 

  Feeling every little groove inside and outside you couldn't be replicated by just ramming his dick in, and he thanked you that you had made the choice, since he was unwise- in general. 

  "What would your love-struck Knight think, Magister?" He pressed his lips into your shoulder. Slim, but surprisingly muscled from carrying every situation you got into on your shoulders. 

  You'd look good on top of him. With other people, his mind veered into nonsense and mundane thoughts of what he'd have for breakfast. Right now all he could think about was you, you in every way, in every angle, his. Everyone was right- he was greedy. Just not about money. 

  "Getting fingered by someone you met, what, a month ago? If even that?" Sinbad smirked, making sure you saw his expression. You bit your lip and gazed at him like you were oh so woeful. Would you tell the Knight what you'd done tonight? He didn't care if you did or not, but if you did, Sinbad would've loved like to see his face. 

  "He'd be jealous, I bet," you stuttered out with each thrust and curl of his finger, and when he added a second, you were reduced to adorable huffs and sighs, far from the virtuous Magister Merlin out in Rustport streets, a man of class and poise. A man who was now gasping for air with Sinbad's fingers deep in his cunt.

  He kissed from the swell of your chest, up to your collarbones and neck. You were not a man, not a human, you were a dream, a fog a foolish sailor like him would lose himself in.

  Screw him trying to make you never forget him. He'd never forget you, as he fell for you hook, line, and sinker, a fish falling for bait. He would never find someone like you. Someone who so easily saw through his tricks and had him willingly serve. 

  He could do it every night, sneaking in, fucking you whichever way you wanted him to, and acting like nothing was afoot. 

  You got him. 

  He kept gently fingering you as you gasped in an orgasm, one quite notable, your body going soft against his, your skin sticky and heart pounding. 

   What he had done felt automatic, like his body wasn't entirely his, his rhythm mechanical in nature, following your every whim and whine. He had just gotten you off, willingly, giddily, even, and enjoyed it. 

  That had been a first for him. 

  The first thing you said to him once you regained your breath and composure was: "Go wash your hands." 

  What a sweet way to snap him out of it. 

  It was fortunate that you had a bathroom attached to your bedroom. He didn't feel keen on doing a walk of shame through the halls. 

  The mirror revealed to him how hard you'd bitten him, leaving not only a hefty tooth mark, but even a hickey, too high for his scarf to hide. He cursed you inside his mind. All things considered, it was expected to have him do whatever he wanted to you, not the other way around. If you told him to jump into the sea right this second he probably would've done it. A flush was blooming across his face, not too obvious, but there. 

  You were next in the bathroom, and when you returned, Sinbad was on your bed, grinning. He did not budge a muscle.

  "You're not kicking me out again, Magister. This handsome face needs its beauty sleep." 

  "I'll allow it," you said, tucking yourself in on the other side. Sinbad lay curled to take up as little space as possible. It wasn't exactly comfortable. You neared him, tugging his arms around your back, and you entwined under the thick blanket. 

  Hook, line, and sinker. 

  He didn't want the morning to arrive and so cruelly take you away. He'd savor every moment he had with you. For once in his life, he did not feel bound to you by duty, but by the call of his heart, similar to how he felt about the sea. Like the sea, you'd pull him in, and keep him wallowing in feelings so alien. 

  Did you know what you did to him? He didn't need you to. He just needed you close. 

  "Good night," he said. 

  "Seriously this time?" 

  "Seriously, I promise." 

  The lone candle flickered out.

[vgtrackbracket]

Video Game Track Bracket Round 4

C-R-O-W-N-E-D from Kirby's Return to Dream Land Deluxe

vs.

God of the Dead from Hades

No propaganda was submitted for either track.

If you want your propaganda reblogged and added to future polls, please tag it as propaganda or otherwise indicate this!

[aoitakumi8148]

𝓛𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓤𝓹 𝓐𝓽 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼, 𝓢𝓸𝓷... 𝓝𝓸𝔀 𝓖𝓸 𝓦𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓤𝓹𝓸𝓷 𝓞𝓷𝓮, 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓷...

𝒞𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓀𝑒𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓀𝑒𝓃, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓃-𝑒𝓍𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒷𝑒 ‹𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝓊𝓅› 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃? 𝐼𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓂𝒾𝓉 𝑜𝒻 ‹𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃› 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓂𝒾𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓎 𝑔𝑜?

I do not have apathy, depression, anything that would be fashionable to rant about. I am simply in pain... extreme pain. And attempting to dull the edge of it is what I have been doing since v.1. As if something has indeed been fragmented & this is the pain of my conscious life. And every time I travel the melodious/glamorous path of frenzy, every time I complete it, I am going to experience the same precious pain intensity, purity of pain/ecstasy. I am going to be eventually bound to this inmost/overwhelming awe, this vehement impulse to feel/fondle/kiss what is loved, to kneel down before it, to cuddle up to its heart, to recompense bliss with bliss... More and more. Neither the good boy nor I are free. I do not want to be free... free from... These bare feelings are ‹clawing› at the reconstructed interpretation of the organ inside me. The great minds will not know what they have done, neither will Anthony... It speaks louder-truer than anything, but the sounds are not obvious... Words. All I possess, this rich but poor instrument for... And you always do end up in the point where...

The aesthetic masterwork, perfused with the golden brilliance of authentic ideality x pierced with the darkest blade of bitter-salty inaccessibility, inevitability, impossibility.

Excruciation, pleasure, euphoria, art. Blended together. Find yourself... or lose yourself on this journey. Emotionally. Totally. An unparalleled effect... and the lulling sparkle the vessel has never actually had. Something in this body x mind has died, and I do not know if there is a way to accept it, to recover it. I have described the lesson of unprecedentedness I have learned, not the expected story of ‹insult-betrayal-contempt›. No one will ever f-g hear it. Not from me, not in this lifetime. / Loving extraordinary is priori merciless, დ/დ become telepathic... & the severest trial ~ the unhealable wound ~ is to be a 𝓟 son without the cause to be... *If I have to detest many donkeys for a chance to protect one venerated Father figure, I will go for it.

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝒸𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝒽𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝑒𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑒 𝓀𝑒𝓅𝓉... 𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝒾𝓅𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓎. 𝐵𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝒮𝑜𝓊𝓇𝒸𝑒, '𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝓌𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝓂𝑒, 𝓉𝑜𝑜. 𝐵𝑒𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊... 𝒮𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓂𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒹𝑒𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝐿𝑒𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓅𝓈... 𝒮𝑜 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹. 𝒮𝑜 𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓇���𝓊𝓈...

While I am willing to imbibe all the anguish of the human I love, to ease his suffering, the loss of us is taking its toll on me irretrievably. I see him. I see what is inside him... & I am incapable of safeguarding it, saving it truly.

I do not have apathy, depression, anything that would be fashionable to rant about. I am simply in pain... extreme pain. And attempting to put up with this gift is what I have been doing since v.1. The chest is ‹cut open› too deep, the fragility of the organ is exposed... Would you allow me to grow more flowers? I wanna do it... Because it is you, It has always been you. The one who has given us everything, endued me to the brim with the intimate fatherly affection that this organ never remembered. My eternal wish & exuberant price for humanity, the misunderstood nature. *What an odious irony. / I do not know if there is a way to recover what is gone.

I would sacrifice the lot to be with the human that needs me, needs to be healed, heals me. I would rip my core out but I cannot, the limitation of freedom. *Tell me that the ‹strings of abuse/child neglect/lies› are finally cut. Tell me to ‹celebrate›. Tell me that both 𝓟inocchio/I are wrong x naive, ‹fix› me. You have no f-g clue about it. / When it is written that your starving heart must be left half-empty & helpless... No freedom is scarier than this.

Affording harmony to the sapphire star that is going to fall away... The sentiment it deserves. All I have ever hankered for. & I am terrified of that my grandest instinct x fear will not grant any lasting peace to me.

Death will do our Sun-hugged family apart ~ but I will still be yours, for ever. The core has never felt as good x feverish as it does when with you... as astray x anxious as it does when deprived of you. I am not lying to you, I hold no resentment... Let me ‹feed on› the emotions of your heart... Even if it means your pain x my love turn the vessel inside-out & your love x my pain do the same. Not blurred, always remember. Always. If a masterpiece could be made into a masterpiece, I would prefer to share this fate. My bona fide mission, however, is not allow anything to be in vain... Even if it hurts. ~ The atrophied ability to express love verbally has been ‹roused› again, in a fervidly devoted but preciously righteous way... The ‹lash› of despair, compulsion, dream, reality.

𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓈𝑒, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓂𝒷𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒦𝓇𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝑔𝑜𝓃𝓃𝒶 𝓁𝑒𝓉 𝑔𝑜. 𝐼𝓉 𝒸𝒶𝓃... 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓊𝒷𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓈. 𝐿𝒪𝒫 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝟙/𝓂𝓊𝓁𝓉𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝓅𝒶𝓁𝓅𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑜𝓃𝓈, 𝓂𝓎 𝓋𝓊𝓁𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓇.

...Take the whole meaning of this, its flavorful, pathetic, shameless, lonesome taste. Take it all, for it is all that is absolute. Teach me how to ‹merge› with it, the mortal desire of a puppet child, a human Mastro x a faceless observer like myself ~ & when the desire full of unexploited majesty is cutting off the oxygen to the lungs... True geniuses of any kind are among the silent. These eyeballs will not dry up, never fully. I have tried so many times to resist it, but why live if you repel what puts your ‹dehydrated› pieces together? I would spare no effort to keep them hot and uncurb what is being restrained... Nothing affects self-perception and ‹unmasks› the unconscious like sensation, nothing genuinely matters without it. / Shivering with cold, this body is burning. My atrophied reality in exchange for a moment of irrepressible happiness, agony, guiltless x not bottled up impulses ~ just a moment. It keeps consuming me without reserve. I do not need God. ✒

[baptisedinblackwater]

\ R\A\W M\A\T\E\R\I\A\L \ # 1891 \ Max Kuiper \ 23\jul\24

[thebekashow]

haha wouldn't it be funny if Mafia Bob went out for clothes shopping and then came back to his house burnt down?

haha

so funny

[ne0nthc]

[gods-favorite-autistic]

Everybody else is talking about Polites and Odysseus’s mom in The Underworld and the “WHO” and The Monster being a banger meanwhile I’m over here in my corner blasting the chorus of No Longer You on repeat like I SEE A SONG OF PAST ROMANCE I SEE THE SACRIFICE OF MAN I SEE PORTAYALS OF BETRAYAL AND A BROTHERS FINAL STAND

[izzyizumi]

{D I G I M O N} Adventure (F r a n c h i s e) ~ Adventure, 02, tri., tri. S t a g e-p l a y, L a s t E v o l u t i o n: Kizuna, & Adventure: [2020 R e b o o t] + KOUSHIRO I z u m i + {F R A M E D In} S U N S E T {S}/{C O L O R S} + {KOUTAI} / {Taishiro} / {TaiKou} (Koushiro{u} I z u m i & Taichi Y a g a m i) {As S H I P} + Koushiro & M e n o a Bellucci

+ {L O O K I N G}/A i m i n g Towards the F U T U R E {F O R W A R D}

Originally I wanted to make this for @taikouvember 2 k 2 4! (It could have fit for "L i g h t"!) {Though I made it a bit e a r l y!}

[slashingdisneypasta]

Multiple F/O's Question

What F/O's media would you realistically watch/play/read/listen to with which other F/O?

[nonnieapple]

hello!! Do you still take requests??

I've been wondering about Dionel and Scarlita recently, hehe. Do you have any relationship head canons for either of them? Either solo with reader or poly where they both share the reader! Thank you so much hehe

⛈️⚡️Dionel & Scarlita x g/n!Reader Headcanons⚡️⛈️

• (Dionel & Scarlita x g/n!Reader Headcanons)

• r a t i n g: t e e n & u p • 1 5 9 8 w o r d s

• p o s t e d: 14.10.2024🌧️ navigation

n o t e: yes my requests are open, if they were not i would've written so. i decided to do both solo and poly!

Dionel

•You had met him briefly when traveling with Temesia. Long after that, he just... showed up once. 

•And then again. And again. And again. He'd say cryptic shit, wait for you to get confused, and disappear. One day he invited you to a party. 

•What he didn't tell you was that it'd be with a bunch of Celestials. You cared little about that, wanting him to answer for himself, though being surrounded by such powerful beings was intimidating. 

•It wasn't your crowd and parties weren't your vibe. You were a mage! Meant for libraries and dusty cellars! 

•You worried you'd get sent on some endless quest by him. It wouldn't be the first, or last, time. To your surprise, he had thrown the party in your honor as an apology for being strange. He said he knew you once, and you couldn't disprove that. 

•It grew from there. Dionel was rather direct, getting together wasn't a drag, even if it was strange to be with a Celestial. He was just another secret you had to carry. 

•He understood and didn't mind, seemingly enjoying how much you struggled with keeping it from everyone. 

•Some people know about it. Guess who?

•Dionel's chill as a being can get.

•He never gets angry. There was one time when you almost died due to an experiment gone awry and he, for the first time in your whole relationship, looked genuinely angry. 

•He just disappears sometimes. You still have no idea where he goes. 

•If it was a party, he'd tell you. No idea.

•That eyeliner of his isn't built in, he puts it on from time to time. You've no idea where he keeps the liner and eyeshadow, either. 

•He's tall... hurts my neck thinking about looking up at him. He'll kneel to talk to you if he wants to mess with you. 

•HIS HAAAIIIRRRRR-

•He might let you brush it if you ask nicely. It defies gravity, it's in the air like he often is. 

•You don't live together, since you both have to attend to things way too often. And he doesn't fit in your house too well... oops.

•Almost every time you see him things go awry. Just when you think you'll have a calm date, he drags you to some bar to drink and everyone stares at you. Because he's an inhuman-looking being that's half-naked. And you're some dreary mage, dragged behind him like a petrified dog, your face the same, because you're so worried that everyone is staring. In this case, they are.

•It's really hard to not drink alcohol around this freak. If you don't want to or don't drink, he'll still shove some drink into your hands. You have to go to the bathroom all the time. 

•Upon the rare occasion that you get a quiet moment, like sitting on the roof of the Mystic House watching the full moon behind thin clouds, it's lovely. Silence with him is comfortable. He Gets It like no one does, and is always ready to listen or to let you cry silently as he holds you. 

•You've injured yourself several times due to his gauntlets. He takes them off around you now. It's their fault they're so bulky. 

•You're face to face with his chest at all times. It's torture. Give this slut a shirt!!! 😫

•Great hugs. Look at him and tell me otherwise. You simply can't. 

•Due to being calm, it's hard to get him to be energetic. He's in a constant state of being high (on life. And in a constant state of alcoholic buzz. If he wasn't a Celestial he'd be dead.)

Scarlita

•She's pretty cold and doesn't feel or understand emotion like humans. She can't feel love, exactly, but she can strongly care for someone and that's close enough. 

•You gained her favor by being generally helpful whenever you crossed paths, which was more often than not. Not many people stick by her side. You did. 

•She isn't needed much, and since you run into hypofiends and such often, following you seemed most practical. 

•If her body needs any repairs or maintenance work done, you're there to help! Even better when magic is involved. That's your field of expertise. 

•You could liken it to washing someone's hair or doing their nails, so it's a quiet bonding activity. 

•Once she faced you for a while (staring at you without eyes?) and said "I have no idea how your body works. It's so impractical." 

•Is she wrong though?!

•She doesn't notice if you're naked. It doesn't register at all. Maybe she'll say "Oh wow, trying out a new look, are we?" and that's it. It's unusual but cuts down on awkward moments.

•The first time you asked to hold her hand she detached it and gave it to you. You didn't have the heart to correct her. 

•She's metal, and she is always COLD in a literal way. Try holding her hand or hugging her and it's like cuddling a fridge. 

•Speaking of which. She doesn't understand gestures such as that, either, though to appease you she learns some Human Comforting Routines. Her most favored one is a stiff pat on the head (she's trying her best to learn.)

•You bring Scarlita various mechanical trinkets. You have no idea where she keeps them, but sometimes, when she thinks you're asleep, she stares at them. Her favorite is a music box. 

•If you ask, she will carry you. You might even get to fly. Explain how frail and pathetic humans and by extension you are and she'll carry you the whole day >:)

•She is made of metal but she's very light and has a light touch. In battle, she's deadly, but around you, she's as gentle as can be. 

•If you need a spider removed she'll just pick it up, same goes with any venomous creature. She can't be bitten.

•She hates the beach and sand!!! It gets all into her joints and she has to get it out. She'll stand like a statue in protest to going anywhere sandy. Don't bother, she's immovable.

•She always dresses the same. When you're in a stained shirt and pants with holes that you've had since before time itself, she's there, radiant and ready for an audience with the Emperor.

•Her floating wings and swaying outfit make people keep their distance. Many have been whacked. 

•You help her redo her braids, your human fingers are faster at it. Her hair is made of yarn and is quite soft, and requires little care because it never gets dirty. 

•Everyone knows that you two are close- again, the labels are... whatever- but everyone knows something's up. She's around you nearly always, and if asked, she will reveal everything. 

•You'll get along well if you're autistic, her and social cues mix like oil and water.

•She's even worse than you with getting sidetracked. She picks up every little sidequest, and it's impossible to stop her. You have to follow her around and make sure she doesn't go on like that for an eternity. 

•You don't have forever!!! At least, you don't think you do.

•Her way of showing she cares is doing things for you.

•Winning against hypofiends makes her happy, and if you run into one, you step aside to let her have at it. 

•It's convenient to not have to worry about her safety. She's virtually indestructible. 

•But she, oh, she worries for you a lot. The more time you spend together the more she worries. 

•She helps you work through your issues with a level head. Scarlita isn't involved in the human world, she's so distant from your feelings that to her it's like gears and springs- there's a system to it she can work through without getting caught up.

•HER AXE IS INSANELY HEAVY??? You tried to lift it once and pulled a muscle. She wasn't happy about that. 

•People are usually intimated by her. She's harmless to non-hypo-gean/fiends, though it's unconvincing when she stands so tall and has that axe on her at all times. 

•In terms of NSFW stuff... yeah, good luck with that. She's probably ace. 

Dionel & Scarlita 

•They're allies, but they're rather passive-aggressive because they disagree on most matters. Through their relationship with you, they have to become acquaintances and tooootally not friends. 

•Dionel understands humans in their more dark, messy, and emotional moments, while Scarlita understands their mental mechanics. They balance out and can dissect people's psyches well if paired together. 

•No lies get past them, yours or others'. If you're unwell and pretending to be fine or upset and not saying anything, they can tell and call it out. It's hard saying no to them. 

•Dates all together can get even more chaotic. You get dragged to a tavern by Dionel, and then Scarlita talks to some guy about strange occurrences in the town graveyard, and next thing you know you're fighting with the undead.

•Fun date idea- killing graveborns with your partners!!! Yay!!!

•You go to temples as a date, you try to find abandoned ones so you don't have to explain to a scholar or priest what you're doing holding hands with two celestials at four in the morning. 

•If you want to sleep near them, you'll have to be on the floor or on a mattress that is as big as the floor. 

•Scarlita doesn't understand parties, but Dionel understands battle, you have that in common.

•You show off with your magic to impress them. They tell you you don't have to, but you still do. 

[vgtrackbracket]

Video Game Track Bracket Round 3

C-R-O-W-N-E-D from Kirby's Return to Dream Land Deluxe

vs.

The Spy and the Liar from I Expect You to Die 2: The Spy and the Liar

Propaganda under the cut. If you want your propaganda reblogged and added to future polls, please tag it as propaganda or otherwise indicate this!

The Spy and the Liar:

A Bond theme pastiche sung by the incredible Puddles Pity Party.

[littlestar-center]

(Image unrelated but I’m not suprized on how not surprised none of you asked multi questions in a single ask)

[baptisedinblackwater]

Book release!

X book of black drones and loud screams X X visual information of an existing book is filtered by covering parts of the pages with black tape X An ‘Artist book’ by z\w\a\r\t magazine \ Max Kuiper.

Published by r\a\w f\o\r\m\s.

Facebook eventpage: https://www.facebook.com/events/394287546751173

\

Coincides with an two days exhibition of pages of the book in a dressing room in a former gymnastics hall in Brugge/Bruges, Belgium.

4 and 5 may 2024

X book of black drones and loud screams X

is part of a group exhibition in a number of dressing rooms:

ART WEEKEND

Facebook event page:

Howest oude turnzaal

Klaverstraat 52 8000 Brugge

Organized by ‘House of Art’

\

In The Netherlands, 4 may is ‘Remembrance Day’ (Dodenherdenking), an annual observance that remembers those who died during war and in peace-keeping operations. It is the day before ‘Liberation Day.’

\ more information on the book will follow