#I hope to have 2 and 3 up soon

[marimeeko]

Happy New Year, I got my first chapter up on my AO3, and I did edit a few spots.

Oh man it's been so long since I seriously uploaded my writing >///< I'm full of nerves.

Reminder/warnings: It's Bakudeku eventual romance. If you don't like, don't read. Lots of mutual pining, hurt/comfort, angst, Izuku being kind of oblivious, and Katsuki being a besotted fool. You know, all the classics.

[shroomerr]

Oh, help me God, this hellboy got me coming back for more

reblogs super appreciated !!! close-ups under the cut !

[deoidesign]

quick traditional piece for fun ^^

[pushing500]

We've got another quest to work towards Alistair having a laser sword, but the Jones Boys will leave it be for now. Alistair is fine with his thrumbo horn, and we don't want to risk any more obelisk incidents while Ivy and Henry lack adult supervision (Alistair doesn't count; he's technically younger than Ivy, anyway).

Buckeye? That name... So familiar...

Oh, never mind. It's a different Buckeye. Still cute, though! ❤️

We sent her in a transport pod to Arno. She can keep Kristy company or something.

And here's a lil' something so you can see how much effort the gang at Sparks put in to make sure Alistair feels included, even though he can't talk back yet. They're going to be so happy when he awakens!!

First | Next | Previous

[javierduffy]

stuffand also things

[honeywafflez1art]

Perhaps I can share your burden?

...You already do.

[mangofresca]

zephyr | 18+

ii.

“We could leave, y’know.”

Romano startles, head turning over his shoulder as if he were searching for a spy, a conspirator. Sometimes, that’s not unlike how Portugal feels here, always a little too relegated to the outside for comfort, too close to the inside for tranquility or freedom.

He shakes the thought away, eyebrow raised in question at the only other person here who hasn’t exhausted him yet.

Romano’s eyes flick from his face to the windows, to the rain pelting the windowpanes, and he scoffs. “And do what? Get soaked?” His fingers tap the glass in his hand, and Portugal watches with muted disinterest as the wine rocks back and forth, back and forth, an ocean all its own, confined and confined and confined.

“Better than staying here.” Staying here and playing pretend with a government who can only just tell him and Spain apart, and Portugal doesn’t have the stomach anymore for the accent or the language or the face of it all.

Romano tsks, and, for some reason, this infuriates him, as if Romano is content to sit here and be lessened, nothing more than a jewel on a crown on a head who so blatantly picks favorites. Like they’re above it all, the two of them.

He turns, and he leaves, and he doesn’t care enough to see if anyone watches him go.

vi.

“That was–”

Portugal is already pushing up off the bed, flicking hair from his eyes. “Want a drink?”

“Obviously,” Romano snorts, but he sounds like he’s amused, and when Portugal turns around to look at him, all he can see is the way Romano’s lips curl around his teeth, how his cheeks look when he smiles.

ix.

Romano snores when he sleeps, raspy and rough, and when his hair falls in front of his eyes, his nose crinkles with the tickle of it, too deep in dreams to bother moving it away.

We shouldn’t be doing this, Portugal thinks, because things are messy, only getting worse, and he doesn’t understand how Romano doesn’t grow restless beneath a thumb that demands obedience, that is all too comfortable pressing down on the pulse of their throats, hard enough to feel it beating, not hard enough to choke.

“I wish this was easy,” he says instead, and his skin goes cold when he realizes he means it, green eyes already looking down at tanned legs tangled with his, errant curl brushing his collarbone.

He’s gotten used to that, too.

iv.

Portugal can see him on the docks again, hair just as windswept as that first time, waves falling over each other to brush against dark eyelashes, to curl into knots at his hairline.

Spain’s hand is heavy on his shoulder, smile tipping into something that more resembles a bridler than a brother. “You look like you’re thinking hard,” he says, and Portugal hears the warning in it like a bell tolling within his head. “Everything all right?”

“Fine,” Portugal replies. The weight on his shoulder feels suffocating.

vii.

“We should have sex here,” Portugal says, out of the blue and apropos of nothing, voice hushed into a conspiratorial whisper when he leans himself into Romano’s ear.

Romano coughs, splutters, eyes narrowing when Portugal only grins at him.

“Not now, obviously,” he continues, because his brother is here, and his—their, because God forbid any of it is really his—government, too, and he isn’t stupid enough to try anything here, now.

Romano wipes the coughed wine from his lips, arm crossed over his chest as he settles back into the wall behind him. “Please,” he says, and he already sounds scandalized and petulant, “as if I’d settle for anything less than a bed. You think I’d let you fuck me on a settee? Not a chance.”

“I think,” Portugal replies, smiling, “you’d let me fuck you anywhere I want you to.”

Romano scoffs again, furious and blustering, but his shoulder brushes Portugal’s arm, and he doesn’t move it away.

v.

Lively doesn’t adequately describe it when it finally happens.

Romano has him pinned up against the library wall, holding Portugal’s wrists against hand-bound books and shelves which haven’t been dusted in God only knows how long, but all Portugal can think is how difficult it is, when kissing Romano, to push him away, to have him be the one pressed between linen and literature.

He manages, only just, and the heady, groaned gasp of surprise he receives pleasantly makes it worth his while.

x.

Portugal can see him on the docks again, hair wind-knotted and wild, exactly like it was that first time, exactly like the second, like every other time, every other time.

He can’t discern the expression on Romano’s face, too far away for detail, sunlight blinding on wave-crested waters, but he can see him turn around, see him walk away, back to that house and that voice and that hand and that crown.

He almost regrets leaving without a goodbye, but he knows, is certain in the knowledge, that expectation for their kind is the heartbeat of disillusionment, and he doesn’t have it in himself to be disappointed by someone so supine as to find comfort here.

Nothing ever gets resolved with avoidance and shame, but their arrangement never really did have room for much else, anyway.

iii.

He has a dream, then, that lingers worse than a bad hangover or a bloody wound. Maybe it’s years after their last conversation, or maybe it’s days, or maybe it’s hours; he can’t be bothered to keep track, not that their kind usually does when it comes to time.

(Hard. He wakes up hard, and that’s not how his dreams usually go—or, not the ones with Romano, at least.)

Romano was over him, or under him, maybe—not that it matters, because it doesn’t matter, not really. What matters is that Romano was close, breathing against his neck, sighing his name, and it’s—

It was slow, the way they moved. Tender, close.

Odd.

viii.

He’s gotten used to it—the way Romano’s voice hitches, goes taut, tight as his white-knuckled grip on pearl-hued sheets. He’s gotten used to it.

He’s gotten used to it.

i.

They meet officially, formally—and notably without supervision—on the docks of Almería, both windswept and water-worn, and it makes Portugal wonder how long Romano had been standing there for him to look like that, like he himself had blown in with the breeze of the ocean, side-swept bangs tangling into soft knots at his temples.

He is sure he himself is no better, likely worse—a ribbon can only do so much with the whipping winds that dance themselves through his sails—but he doesn’t bother brushing his hair from his face before approaching, grin ticking at the corners of his lips.

Romano blinks at him, hazel eyes owlish before settling into something calmer, almost bored. “Oh,” he says, “it’s you.”

Portugal smiles and tips his head. “Hello,” he replies. Always best to start with hello.

[enhanced-operatives-division]

@dandorime hope you don't mind me pinging you but I thought making a post would be easier (plus it would open it up to further discussion with other people if they wanted).

I say 1967/68 because based on what we can find, there's nothing so far really strongly indicating one year or the other. Anyways the first one is in IEYTD 2 in Stage Fright:

We see 1967 on the engravings under the table flap which allows you to get into the drawers. The second bit is in IEYTD 3 in Blind Spot:

This is part of the car manual, and as you can see it says 1968. Because of Reggie's voice line about it before the level ("The crew back home built you a car...well it wasn't built for you."), I'm generally more inclined to think 1967 but honestly I have no clue. I'm inclined to put it down to preference but honestly I think everyone in this fandom has their own timeline of events since so much surrounding the games is headcanon that a lot of us just collectively accept a lot of the time (since we all take a little and make it a LOT)

But nyeah!! There ya go :3

[deus-ex-mona]

pretty minor thing to think about, but i find it interesting how chapter 7 is the first chapter illustration to show chizuutan as chizuru (instead of chuutan)

like, i get it’s a flashback chapter, but we hardly got to see her as chizuru in the previous few chapters thus far… maybe we’ll get to see more of her as her true self after the hiyori fight/make up? only future chapters may tell, i guess…

[b-blushes]

monday quest is to order the couple of supplies i need for a project. this is challenging to me because it combines 2 things that melt my brain: 'online shopping' and 'deciding between similar but subtly different things'. HOWEVER i can do it!!! and it will be fun to make things when they arrive >:) side quest make a different dinner, i have got some fresh fish to try and i have never cooked with it before due to we always bought it frozen. worst thing that can happen is it doesn't agree with my health stuff and i do not cook it again 👍 i'm making it so basic style for this reason. i feel like it could be delicious!

[eggwishing]

2 MY BEAUTIFUL AND DEAR WIFE HAPPY BIRTH DAY <3 <3 <3 <3 @skenpiel

[llumimoon]

The Talk (page 2)

Doodler AU post || start || next ||

Happy Lunar New Year!! Sorry about the repost, I got totally voided from the tags lol

This comic takes place shortly after the Doodler’s homunculus body was made. Lark and Sparrow try to figure out how they feel about the situation.

Dialogue under the cut!

Sparrow: Mae can barely keep track of the whole dungeon on her own and you want to add a magic child to her list?

Sparrow: The Doodler is our fault. It’s from our family, it’s our responsibility to take care of it.

Sparrow: (Plus you know Normal would be heartbroken if we got rid of them.)

Lark: Fine! What’s your grand idea then?

Sparrow: Uhhh… we could ask it what it wants to do…?

Lark: You’re kidding.

Sparrow: Seriously!! I mean it kind of worked last time?

Sparrow: Uhm, the… Doodler? Why do you want to look like… that? What are you trying to do here?

Doodle: [redacted]

Sparrow: Okay, I didn’t get that at all.

[captorcorp]

i wanted more dream machine content so i gotta learn to make it myself i guess (practicing drawing the machine, + felix and victor are there)

[vampmilf]

hold on im still too mad at this one fucking guest to take a nap i need to be a hater for a minute

[sea-buns]

i dunno how i fell so far behind in all things dropout and cr. idk how to recover. and im in no position to try rn but my most popular post atm is abt the minecraft live.

my blog bio says what it says and every time i see a dorym post or a mismag short i ache and yet my crunchy creak post is almost at 2k how did we get here

[headaching]

*guy who hasn’t posted in 8 weeks voice* um. hi for the love of god hello