#I may expand on this one day

[neiptune]

thinking about shoyo sprawled on your couch, barely big enough to fit a man who's all shoulders, arms and thighs. you're straddling him, cheeks warm and sore from how much you're giggling while insistently tickling his sides, his broad hands on your hips to keep you steady in case you lose your balance. shoyo's smiling so big, almost feels guilty that all your efforts are going to waste because he was not joking when he said he's simply not ticklish.

but you look so beautiful like that, frustrated and out of breath. he brings one of his hands to the back of his neck to prop his head further up, gaze going soft while you conduct your silly experiment.

eventually you give up, certainly annoyed and tired but mainly distracted by the swell of an impossibly large bicep. he's gorgeous and you still can't quite get over the adoration swarming in those eyes, an ever present reminder that incredibly, unbelievably, shoyo is all yours.

when you eventually let yourself fall onto him with a groan, his chest is solid and warm underneath yours, one massive arm curls around your frame as a quiet laugh shakes him.

you murmur something about how annoying he is, breath warm and lips brushing against the skin of his neck. right as you're considering whether you should nibble at the exposed skin, he jolts with a giggle. curious, you ask what's wrong and once more, your breath fans over a specific spot of his neck and shoyo jerks away so suddenly, he almost ends up on the floor.

“interesting” you mutter to yourself.

[applestorms]

on another note. it genuinely kinda surprises me how many people interpret ivan to be the type of person to Repress and Deny his feelings when, from all the evidence we actually have, he actually seems to be quite open about it?

he does do the dumb stare and watch from afar thing that till does with mizi, yeah, but even there i don’t know if i would necessarily interpret that as ivan like. pushing his feelings away. compare the difference between how till and ivan are framed in these two shots:

in till's, we are pushed way farther back, seeing his full face and a good deal of his body as he slouches back. the colors are bright, fitting in with most of the happier mizisua angst memories, and you can read till's expression pretty clearly, even with his face beaten up. it's cute and mostly innocent, the kind of thing that makes you want to gently push him out from behind the wall to watch him stutter and get all embarrassed but reach out and play with his friends.

in ivan's... jesus. i mean, he looks like a freak (affectionate). you can't read his expression, despite the fact that we are zoomed in much more closely, only really seeing his eye as the placement of his hand covers his mouth. there is very little body language to convey the same type of sweet, childhood Yearning that till has in his staring shot. instead, for ivan, it all comes down to the Eye, how intently he stares as he watches till and mizi. it almost doesn't even feel like he wants to join in at that moment, or not yet, like watching alone is enough to feed the starvation.

don't get me wrong, there's still plenty of Yearning and Angst in that boy-- round 3 alone is enough to demonstrate that. but what i think people sometimes forget to account for is the fact that ivan acts like that specifically because he has already been rejected.

up until [whenever this moment happens in the timeline] ivan seemingly has absolutely no qualms about getting all up close and personal with till. we see this in plenty of the round 6 flashbacks:

he is plenty comfortable getting all up in till's personal space, whether it be to beat him up or just exist near him.

i also like how in this shot (below) we can see him specifically stand up and move seats, just so that he can bother till during lunch and have his little vampire weirdo moment (aww).

ivan's behavior only really shifts after till has already rejected him-- which, i'd also like to note, seems to genuinely catch ivan off guard. perhaps he genuinely didn't even consider the possibility that till would ever push him away?? i guess it's hard to know the specifics of what he was feeling or thinking in that exact moment, but at the very least this speaks to the ease with which they existed around each other previously.

thus: ivan doesn't begin with the belief that till could never love him. he only starts to doubt whether or not his feelings are requited after he has already been rejected, after he pushed too hard and too quick.

after the failed meteor shower date, his affections become a lot more subtle-- sneaking around to take care of till when he needs it, but only when his eyes are closed. the love and obsession and watchfulness is all still there, but he takes more care to hide it better now. until... well, y'know.

he lets the selfishness win. :]

[originalartblog]

Happy first anniversary to my Dazai Goosamu AU! It has been one year since I made the edits that officially kickstarted this madness!!

I finally finished this tiny needle-felted guy and took him outside for a small photoshoot as celebration! 🦢

[mania-sama]

oikawa always knew what he wanted to be when he grew up. from the moment he saw jose blanco when they were seven years old, he became certain that he would be a professional player. before he was old enough to understand how long it would take or how much energy it would require, oikawa was telling iwaizumi what number jersey he would wear on the national team.

iwaizumi loved volleyball. there was no question about it; he loved the weight against his fingers as he lightly tossed it in the air. he loved the green and brown bruises littering his arms, proving he fought and played well. he loved crouching on the court with five other people, waiting in bated breath to score the next point. he loved the sound the ball made when he spiked it to the ground with enough power to shake the net. he loved springing in the air and diving to the ground.

he loved watching his teammates glow with pride at every point earned, at every win. he loved having support during the hard losses. he loved oikawa, who threw himself so deeply into the sport that it made iwaizumi try that much harder, practice that much longer, want to win that much more.

but, he always knew his love came at a price.

he could see himself playing professionally. he knew that he'd only want to do it if oikawa would be on the court with him. he knew he was only as good as he was when the best high school setter in miyagi brought out his talents. he knew that, at the end of the day, his drive to be an Olympic athlete was crutched by his best friend.

oikawa had developed it alone, separate from iwaizumi. iwaizumi could recognize that, and that was what set them apart.

iwaizumi didn't know what he wanted to be when he grew up. he threw around ideas in his head, every now and then. he knew he couldn't do a corporate job. he'd seen the way men fell asleep in bushes and in shops, never making it home, then waking up again to return to where they worked. it sounded like hell and misery, so he threw it out immediately. he supposed he wouldn't mind traveling the world, but he didn't know where he'd get the funds for that. he didn't care much for history or archaelogy, and those master's and phd's would be what would get him places. he even settled on the military for a time, if he really couldn't figure what he wanted from life by the time he graduated.

then, like dominos, everything began to fall into place. it started like this:

in his third year of middle school, he injured his wrist. he had to see the athletic trainer twice a week, for those were the days the trainer was available to assist the volleyball clubs. his mother was a nurse, so she made sure he kept up with his ice and stretches at home. he cared for himself and the trainer cared for him, coaching him through certain workouts and tracking his progress on a clipboard. he admired the trainer for the first time in his life. not because he was caring for iwaizumi specifically, but because iwaizumi was seeing all of it work. the ice, the workouts, the way his wrist gradually heals until he feels no pain anymore. he found himself curious about the clipboard, though he never asked.

oikawa overworked his ankle and twisted it in their first year of high school. iwaizumi's injury had been minor, but oikawa's was considerably worse. he limped as he walked, and iwaizumi went online and nearly keeled over when the results told him that oikawa would die in the next twenty-four days, that his ankle would never heal properly. mother iwaizumi was far more rational, and their trainer was available four of the five days of the work week, so oikawa was functionally okay. it didn't stop bothering iwaizumi, though. he was by oikawa's side the whole time despite their new friends', matsukawa and hanamaki, teasing. when oikawa allowed him, he examined the twisted ankle, pressing his fingers against the bone, carefully tracing the slightly discolored skin.

he started volunteering at the hospital when he could, though he found he didn't enjoy the atmosphere much. he saw charts, though. he started to get an idea of what was on the paper on the clipboard. that, he enjoyed. he enjoyed seeing patients walk away with grins at good news, and he eavesdropped on nurses and doctors discussing diagnoses he didn't fully understand. his favorites were the ones of athletes, good or bad. shin splints, they said with relief. tendonitis. dislocation. a torn acl, they gasped after coming out of a screaming girl's room.

someone caught wind of his volunteering. during a training camp, a fidgeting player from a different team corners him outside. he asked if iwaizumi had anything, anything, anything at all, though preferably xanax. please, man, he begged. i know you work at a hospital. i'll pay you back. i just- i think somebody stole mine out of my bag a while ago. i can't get through this weekend. hook me up? iwaizumi denied him, told him to get help, told a trusted adult because although he knew it was "uncool" and he was a "snitch", the kid was shaking and knee-deep in drug addiction, and iwaizumi couldn't ignore it no matter how hard he tried. his skin burned from where the guy grabbed him to plead. his tongue was dry from when he tried to gently let him down the first time. his head hurts from the idea betraying his peers, even though he knew they would cover his ass if he had alcohol on him.

they lose to shiratorizawa for the second time in high school, and oikawa tried to get himself another overworked limb. iwaizumi shouted, and shouted, and shouted, and he dragged oikawa out of the gym more nights than not. he sat with him when oikawa was determined to give himself dry-eye from watching volleyball matches all hours of the day. he kept oikawa going.

that addict player died over an overdose over the summer, the news hitting him at the same time as the rest of the miyagi volleyball community. and he started to understand. he understood the way the kid - for though he was older than iwaizumi, he was still just a kid - would react slowly to block the ball, or how he would twitch before his serve. he understood the first time oikawa hurt his ankle, how it had been nothing like iwaizumi’s wrist injury, or how taking xanax during a training camp was nothing like camping out in a basement with a couple of friends and a case of cheap liquor store beer.

on the first full day back to school in their second year, hanamaki pulled iwaizumi aside and said that matsukawa had passed out briefly on the train ride over. iwaizumi didn't know what to do, necessarily, or what it could mean that matsukawa passed out for seemingly no reason, but he decided to keep an eye out. he watched him at practice. watched the way he was slow to block, blinking blearily, swaying on his feet. it could be sleep deprivation, but matsukawa had said he wasn't tired. his second thought was of that player the year prior. he watched, and as much as it pained him, he waited. he waited until they could all get ramen together, because for one reason or another matsukawa found a reason to bail out of after-school food runs. when matsukawa got up to use the bathroom after finishing his food, iwaizuimi waited one, two, three, ten seconds to follow, similarly excusing himself. he listened to matsukawa heave and wretch, and he sat there until matsukawa came out, one hand hastily wiping his mouth. he froze when he saw iwaizumi, and it must've been something on his face, must've been the memory of how he failed to help a kid who was now six feet underground, because matsukawa broke down into tears. i can't stop. i can't, he said. i need to do this to be better at volleyball. i can't gain more weight. it'll bring me down. don't make me stop.

iwaizumi made him do one thing: see the athletic trainer. he got the athletic trainer to give them advice on a diet that would both build muscle and increase their overall health. iwaizumi sent matsukawa on his way with a detailed regimen, but he himself stayed behind with the trainer. he asked, doing his best to remain neutral: which do you think is more important? mental health or physical injuries?

after a while of deliberation, he got received the trainers honest answer. physical injuries. athletes can get severely stressed and disordered after even a minor injury.

iwaizumi nodded. how do i become an athletic trainer?

go to school, the trainer said, smiling. study hard.

taking that to heart, he left. he left with a plan: to go to university, study hard, and write a paper proving that trainer wrong. his paper would be on the psychology behind sports injuries, how its the state of an athelete's mental health that causes injuries. he would then work as an athletic trainer, and he wouldn't let a kid like oikawa overwork themselves, or kids like that player accost underclassmen and overdose, or kids like matsukawa avoid food and expel what little they consumed. because they all wanted one thing. to play better, to be better. and iwaizumi wanted to be there for them, to tell them that a game wasn't worth their lives.

he wanted to be there for the middle school kid with a wrist injury, whos only wish was to keep playing with his best friend.

iwaizumi studied hard. he researched and researched, and he kept volunteering at the hospital even though he hated the smell of sterile rooms and the miserable faces of interns and residents and the floor that housed most of the terminally ill. he shadowed the trainer as they worked with other seijoh clubs when he had the time. he worked, and he cared for oikawa and his various discreet attempts at overworking himself to death.

in his third year of high school, an acceptance letter from the university of california, his top choice of school, arrives at his front door with a full-ride scholarship.

[andorshitdaily]

The long-awaited, triumphant return of Incorrect Aldhani

[supernovasilence]

Speculating Wildly About Liliandil's Parentage

In the VDT movie, Liliandil is a star and comes down from the sky. However, in the books, Liliandil is described as the daughter of Ramandu, a star, and that "the blood of the stars flowed in her veins", but she's never called a star herself. In fact, when she first appears (walking very normally out of a door), she's described as carrying a candle for light; when Ramandu comes out, he's not carrying a candle, because he's glowing himself. All this implies Lili isn't a star, only the daughter of one. Which raises the question: who is Liliandil's mother? Some random theories:

Liliandil's mother is one of the Sea People

Liliandil's mother is a sailor or shipwrecked traveler who found her way to Ramandu's island and fell in love

Liliandil's mother is another star. Lili was born in the skies but chose to accompany her father down to earth when he retired

Liliandil's mother is another star, and assumes human form to visit her husband in the world below sometimes. Lili was conceived and born during one of these visits, and because of this the form most natural to her is human, not whatever a star's normal form is. She has to live with her father until she's older and more skilled at transforming

We shouldn't make assumptions about Ramandu's gender or star biology. Maybe he was pregnant when he retired and didn't realize until he'd already come down to land

Stars don't need a partner to reproduce. Ramandu is Liliandil's only parent

Ramandu is Lili's father in that he gave her life and raised her and loves her but she wasn't "born" per se. He created her magically somehow

Coriakin is Liliandil's mom

[notsocooljess]

Please Stay

hi… sorry about this. i mentioned about a month ago i was writing something outside of my comfort zone along the lines of fear. so here it is.

quarter quell AU

content warnings: major character death, canon-typical violence

read this in ao3 here

Katniss.

Her name rang through his head, managing to break through the aggressive clicks from the beetles they were fighting. At least “beetle” was the closest word Peeta could associate with the insect. These beetles were mutts, a creation of the Capitol’s design. With bodies as big as house cats' and pincers over a foot long, they were no feat of nature. Their shells were so strong that their weapons were nearly useless against the insects unless the blades were aimed at the beetles’ joints, which seemed to be left unshielded to aid in their mobility.

Katniss.

He can’t believe the gamemakers had managed to spin the arena on them again. He figured Beetee’s plan had satisfied all conditions necessary to buy them some time: it brought enough excitement to keep the Capitol citizens’ entertained while ending these unpopular Games as soon as possible. Was it not personal enough for them? Not gruesome enough? What, if anything, is ever enough for them?

They had spun it while they were close to starting the plan. It turned out Beetee and Katniss were right: the outer edge of the arena was able to spin as well. The centrifugal force of the outside spinning had sent their group barreling down the jungle and back to the sand of the beach. Their bodies had been launched into trees and rocks, leaving them bruised, bloody, and sore from head to toe. Any progress they had made in proceeding toward the midnight lightning tree was lost. Like before, they had to choose a wedge at random and hope it would be free of horrors until they regained their bearings on where they were on the clock face.

Johanna had made him choose which direction he wanted to go since he was the most familiar with the map.

Katniss.

She was all he could think about as he swung his machete into the unguarded area that would loosely be called the beetle’s neck. Johanna found her stride in using her axe to decapitate the beetles in rapid fashion, and Finnick was able to dual-wield his tridents to kill multiple beetles at once. Beetee sat on the ground between them, slinging a knife at any beetles that managed to make it past the two skilled fighters towards him. Their speed was impressive, but it was hardly fast enough to defeat the insects at the rate they were spawning.

Katniss seemed to be struggling against the mutts’ body armor. With no definitive eye location for her to strike and with little leverage from standing on the ground, her weapon of choice wasn’t ideal for the situation. From the corner of his eye, Peeta saw three arrows ricochet off of the backs of beetles into the winding trees.

“Katniss, climb if you can! Go!” he shouted at her as he sliced through two mutts in fast fashion. This is the quickest he’s moved since his heart stopped.

She was at his back, protecting the other side. He wanted to turn his attention to her and help her move up the tree, but the beetles were populating at such quick speeds that he could hardly pull his attention from the distance of his arm span in front of him.

At the speed they were generating, he was pretty sure the gamemakers were seeking one outcome: death.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, he heard her yelp.

“Katniss!” he yelled as loud as he could. As if on cue, the beetles started retreating from whatever hell they came from.

When Peeta turned around, he saw her. The fighting had shifted their position, and he was ten meters away.

She looked so small, her body dwarfed in its current position. Her knees drawn up to her chest as she laid on her left side, her eyes trained upward. Her chest heaved furiously with every breath. Her gray eyes panicked as they searched his. Her lithe hands desperately clutched her neck in an attempt to try to stop the bleeding from where the giant beetle-mutt’s pincers had severed her throat.

Peeta ran to her, his movements as fast as his false leg would allow. He kneeled right in front of her, and her face never stopped watching his.

“You’re OK. You’re OK. You’re gonna be OK,” Peeta repeated incessantly as he sprang into action. He ripped his undershirt off his back and tore the fabric into a strips he could tie around her neck to stop the bleeding.

When Peeta went to apply the compress, Katniss’s eyes grew wide, and she shook her head frantically. She didn’t dare to make a sound.

“Katniss, please. I can handle the looks of it. Please, let me help you,” Peeta pleaded with her. When she shook her head again, he saw streams of blood rush between the cracks between her fingers at the pulse rate of her slowing heart.

Desperate to help, Peeta went to remove her hands so he could quickly tie the fabric and stop the blood that was flowing freely from her neck. Katniss finally tried to protest his actions, but all she managed was an aggressive gurgling noise.

Peeta frantically searched her face, both terrified into action and paralyzed with fear. Katniss produced a singular cough that sprayed his face and chest with her hot blood.

Peeta’s head pounded. His face was hot from the weather and her blood and his tears. He went to move her hands one final time, but she responded with an almost imperceivable shake of her head. They had both faced death enough to know when it was inevitable.

He perched his body over her’s. His tears fell onto her, the tendrils of water leaving streaks in the dark crimson red that coated her hands and neck. Heavy tears gathered at the corners of her eyes.

“Please, Katniss. Please don’t die for me. Please stay,” he began, as sobs wracked through his body. His shoulders lurched forward as he watched her face scrunch in pain and agony and sorrow. The tears in the corners of her eyes finally rolled down the sides of her cheeks.

When she relaxed her face, her eyes met his sharply, the silver of her eyes rapidly transforming into a dull gray. Sorry, she mouthed to him, more tears trailing down her cheeks.

“Katniss, no. No. Don’t be sorry - please. Don’t be sorry. I wouldn’t be here without you. I couldn’t have done this without you. I can’t do it without you,” Peeta pleaded, his sobs pausing so words could escape him as quickly as possible, “I need you. I love you. I love you. Damn it, Katniss, I love you so much,” he finished through a choked sob.

Peeta could see she was trying to hold on for him, but the graying of her skin and the slowing of her heavy breaths told him his words were spoken on borrowed time. Her eyes searched his face again, saying everything she couldn’t.

As the heaving in her chest became dangerous, appearing painful, Katniss released the grip of her right hand from her neck. Using her last remaining strength, she extended her arm toward Peeta and placed it over the left side of his chest. Love, she mouthed to him.

She brought her bloodied hand up to his soaked cheek, and he clutched her hand with both of his. They stared at one another until the grip of her left hand loosened on her neck and her eyelids fluttered closed, shielding her silver eyes from the world for the last time. A second later, her canon fired.

[crossbackpoke-check]

Dysprosium, Mary Soon Lee

dysprosium, AN 66, is a silvery-white rare earth metal. its name is derived from the greek dysprositos, meaning “hard to get at”, owing to the difficulty in separating and isolating this rare earth element. dysprosium is used to measure neutron flux, to fuel reactors, and to activate phosphors. terfenol-d is a magnetorestrictive alloy, meaning that it changes shape when a magnetic field is applied, and is used to manufacture underwater acoustic systems.

jason “robo” robertson, dallas stars #21 for @simmyfrobby’s nhl periodic table poems <3

[psychotic-nonsense]

My favorite part about being obsessed with something is that you start looking for it everywhere. Especially in media that shares actors with the thing you’re obsessed with.

So thanks to the idea from one feralheartedalien here on tumblr and my current watching of A Quiet Place: Day One, I’m suddenly being roped into the Steddie Alternate Universe with Eric and Keys.

------ Minor "A Quiet Place: Day One" Spoilers after this point ------

Haven’t watched Free Guy in a while, but the dynamic is kinda sticking with me. Struggling, emotionally repressed, desperate, foreign exchange law student Eric, coming to the States for school due to parental pressure (can’t have a Steddie-like ship without some shitty parents). Redeemed bully, people pleaser, hopeless romantic, lonely Keys, trying to make something out of his love for programming and design while under his repressive boss (can’t have a Steddie-like ship without some doomed ambition).

Maybe next floor neighbors, Eric living right above Keys. He comes back to his basically empty apartment after school every day exhausted, collapsing on the carpet in his living room at 2am, lulled to sleep by the soft, muffled music in the place beneath him. Meanwhile, Keys only plays his "falling asleep" music when he's home, in hopes to calm the person above him, who has a habit of frequent pacing, self monologues, and unfortunately, breakdowns.

Maybe Eric just has a shit day at school one day; stressful projects, lack of progress in his studying, sleep deprived, and it’s absolutely fucking pouring on his way back home. Maybe Keys has accidentally memorized his neighbor’s schedule, accidentally began to care, and noticed how late it is. Maybe their floors are different but the rooms are the same, so when Eric pushes the wrong floor on the elevator, he ends up at Keys’s room. Breaks down when his key doesn’t work, falls to his knees in the hallway muffling sobs. Barely reacts when Keys opens his door because he’s so tired and cold and numb. Weakly tries to fight Keys’s attempts at help but nearly faints in this stranger’s arms. Eric finally lets himself be helped, loses himself in Keys’s thick blankets and soft music and well meaning rambling and killer hot chocolate-

Maybe that’s when Eric realizes how much this man has saved his life, and vows to return the favor.

[good-beanswrites]

Hello again, I'm here to request once more. Feel free to take all the time you need btw! I would always be patient for your wonderful works ^^

This time I'd like to request from the Drabble List#2 - 47 with the 020607 Trio (mainly Mahiru though). And yes, this is hugely inspired by that one minigram with Mahiru. And as usual, feel free to change the scenario and/or the characters.

Thank you again, good luck with your future studies and take all the time you need!!

Woo thank you so much!! :'D This one was a ton of fun (and once again led me to get smacked in the face with unlikely character parallels I wasn't aware of before). It's from Kazui's pov but it's still mainly about Mahiru. I ended up going canon-compliant, but I did consider sticking super close to the minigram and do a little normal-au where Mahiru drags them across Japan to make a perfectly homemade cake 😅

Everyone knew Mahiru had a tough time distinguishing genuine from joke, but Kazui hadn’t expected it to come back to bite him. Mahiru wasn’t stupid by any means; sometimes she just forgot that others weren’t as unabashedly honest as herself. When she said something, she meant it. Kazui… not so much.

Which is why, following a conversation about her skills in the kitchen, in response to being pressed about his own household, he thought it would be inconsequential to utter the following words to her.

“Bake me a cake, and we’ll talk.” 

Kazui had laughed his booming laugh, Mahiru had giggled in her sweet little way. Neither realized what had just transpired.

That is, until Yuno dragged Kazui across the prison the following day to make him aware of the monster he had released upon the kitchens. The two hurried over to find a massive operation underway: Mahiru had several layers in the works, she was stirring multiple fruit fillings, decoration choices scattered across the countertop, and anyone who dared venture too close was shooed away with a slap from her wooden spoon. 

It took a few minutes to get the situation all worked out.

“So… you didn’t really want a cake…?” She asked, pausing mid-stir. Her eyes were so big and round.

Yuno came to the rescue. “Of course he does!” She interrupted. “Everyone here would die for a taste of your baking~” 

Kazui nodded. “I just didn’t mean for you to work so hard for my sake. I’m really not worth all this effort…”

Mahiru’s jaw fell, offended on his behalf. “Yes you are!” Her attention was momentarily caught by a timer chiming. Kazui took the bowl from her so she could take a pan from the oven. He picked up where she left off stirring. 

“Either way, why don’t I help you out?” Yuno had grabbed some ingredients from the counter as well. “While we bake, I’ll tell you a little bit about myself. A little,” he repeated. 

And he did. Her questions were easier than he’d expected. While the others knew how to poke and prod about each other’s murders, Mahiru really did just want to know about his home life. While she buzzed around the kitchen switching pans and creating intricate icing patterns, she asked him about his childhood, his hobbies, his job. As soon as she saw his wife was a touchy subject, she let it drop (though with a bit of disappointment, to be sure). He scrambled a bit as Yuno the human lie detector would shoot him a look now and then. Overall, though, his measured answers managed to satisfy both women without giving much of himself away.

When they carried the spectacular cake into the common room to everyone’s amazement, Mahiru prodded him with her elbow.

“We should talk more! I mean, come on. How difficult was that?”

If only she knew the half of it.

———

“Hey, Mahiru.” Kazui traded weak smiles with Yuno as he joined her by the bed.

“Oh. Hi Kazui,” came her weak voice. She tried her best to smile under the tangle of bandages that surrounded her. Then, silence. 

Aside from a few coughs and small requests, that silence stretched on for hours. He and Yuno usually had a lot to talk about, but neither could muster anything up today.

He thought Mahiru had dozed off, but she surprised him by taking his hand. “Kazui?”

“Yes?”

“Do you really think I’m unforgivable?” 

He blinked. “I can’t really say.” 

The moment the words left his lips, he knew they were the wrong ones. Well, the glare that Yuno was trying to murder him with also helped. “Er, I forgive you, of course. But… I don’t know anything about you, Mahiru. Not really. I can’t say why others would think you’re unforgivable or not.” 

“...I see.”

Yuno looked like she wanted to add something, but couldn’t find the words. Traces of emotions flickered over her face before she could cover them up. Kazui guessed she wanted to defend Mahiru. But maybe she also agreed with him. And that was when the realization struck him.

“I guess, I always thought you were so much better than me and Yuno when it came to talking about yourself. You do it all the time, and very easily. But now that I think about it, I probably know just as much about your situation as you know about mine. For such an honest person, you hide everything just like we do. Or maybe, you hide from everything, like we do.”

More silence.

A teary smile appeared on her face. “You know… you could bake me a cake… and maybe we’ll talk.”

Kazui didn’t laugh, and she didn’t giggle. He nodded, solemnly. “I think that’s a good idea.”

[mariocki]

Shadows of Fear: Sour Grapes (1.9, Thames, 1971)

"Sprechen Sie Deutsch?"

"What? Uh, eh - eh, no. Nein."

"Habla... usted español?"

"Uh, no hablo. Inglés. English."

"Ich spreche kein Englisch."

"Oh, wonderful. Here we go."

"What d'you think he wants?"

"Feel free to ask."

[crimsonkenjii-writes]

Sleepy drunk Aki with sleepy drunk reader and they both all giggly and cute as they try having sex but fall asleep halfway

[lesbiancarat]

hello!!!! i just stumbled upon your carat resource carrd and want to thank you for putting in the effort and time for such a well made and informative library of seventeen content!! i noticed that there are a few songs missing: seungkwan's cover of 'text me merry christmas' w/ AKMU suhyun, and the HHU songs from the diamond edge tour (joker - wonwoo solo, what's the problem, and madness maxed out)

also i think the miss you by sicboy ft. vernon MV is missing from the carrd :)

ahh thank you! i try my best to get everything but sometimes little things slip through the cracks so i appreciate you letting me know! i can't believe i missed some of these lol. these should all be added now!

Music -> Covers -> Text Me Merry Christmas

Music -> Unofficial & Unreleased Songs -> Joker / What's the Problem / Madness Maxed Out

Music -> Collaborations -> Miss You

[vampmilf]

guess whos gonna fucking quit their job today <3 lmk if i should livestream the event with fireworks and a sad clown that follows my boss for the rest of the day mocking him ♡

[frootaye]

FROOTAYE FAVES SHOWCASE #001

@erindromeda's Video Game Music compilations!

My go-to whenever I'm looking for music to use in videos, ErinDromeda makes themed playlists using videogame music with a unique twist - each mix contains a story!

I really, REALLY appreciate how each playlist is labeled with a specific feeling, vibe, scenario. It's super helpful for my video making purposes! Most of the music in my videos has been found through an ErinDromeda mix, and I looove the variety of choice for anything you could need. You'll find both popular classics you could hear in any YouTube video, and obscure titles that you may have never of heard before!

I have to admit, I haven't been paying much attention to the story, but from what I've seen, It's genuinely interesting and fun. ErinDromeda uses videogame characters and adapts them to be parts of a large, continuous story that expands everytime a new mix is uploaded!

I discovered these playlists when one was recommended to me on the YouTube homepage - one of her more popular mixes, Video Game Music for Dancing in a Shopping Mall at 3AM! I enjoyed the variety and style, and ever since then I visit her channel whenever I'm in search of music for my videos.

For shorter versions of this and other FFS entries, check these out on twitter: https://twitter.com/frootaye/status/1647676584969531392

For videogame music lovers, storytelling enjoyers, video makers and curious viewers, check out ErinDromeda! :D

https://www.youtube.com/@ErinDromeda/featured

[scribeoffate]

If you’re open to an anon request: Scott/Derek, alternate universe (but still werewolves) + hurt/comfort, explicit rating welcome (but not required)

Thanks for the prompt! Scott and pack are part of a heist time a la Ocean's Eleven.

Derek crosses his arms and leans against the wall. He keeps his eyes on Laura as she works the room. If it so happens that Scott is working with Laura on this job- well- it’s not Derek’s fault that his dazzling smile lights up the room.

Or that his ass looks so good in those black slacks. Or that he can see the way the muscles of his back ripple through his white button down.

“You’re staring again,” Stiles mutters from his station carrying a plate of hours d ourves around the ballroom.

“I’m supposed to be watching them,” Derek points out mildly.

“Yeah okay, Intense McStalkerwolf,” Stiles murmurs before offering his tray to a well-dressed couple.

Scott shrugs his black jacket over his white button up top.

Derek stands a little taller as Stiles trips over the chair closest to him. The tray crashes onto the floor spilling pastries and meat pies onto the floor.

Laura, Scott and their target turn toward the commotion. Laura rushes to help while Scott swipes the key card they need from their mark’s jacket.

Quicker than any human eye could follow, he trades it for the fake Lydia and Mason had created. He flashes Derek that blinding smile as he finishes and joins the fray helping to clean up Stiles’s mess.

Derek keeps his eyes trained on his team, which absolutely includes Scott’s pristine ass, in case anything untoward happens.

“Oh my god.” Malia glances at him from her vantage point on the other side of the ballroom. “You are so far gone.”

Derek shrugs, but doesn’t breathe until Scott and Laura have pulled away to begin phase two.

-

He’s startled when Scott approaches him after passing off the card to Kira.

“It’s important,” Scott says, voice soft, “that I continue to be seen. And what better way to do that than to ask the handsome man in the corner to dance?”

“I don’t see any handsome men around,” Derek deadpans just to see Scott smile and maybe hear him laugh.

“Perhaps a handsome wolf, then?”

Derek take Scott’s outstretched hand and follows him to the dance floor.

Scott’s fingers are strong as they wrap around his waist and they start to move to the music. Derek easily follows the simple waltz steps despite the proximity of Scott’s right hand to his ass.

Or Scott’s left hand in his. Or the way he looks away when Derek tries to meet his eyes.

“That was nice,” Scott says as the dance finishes. “Thanks.”

“Nice?”

Scott has the grace to look flustered. “Why are you like this?”

“You like it.”

Scott shakes his head. His phone vibrates and he checks it, frowning.

“Looks like Kira may need some backup. You in?”

Derek nods once and follows Scott into the hallway.

He doesn’t expect Scott to slam him against the wall. Or brush his lips across Derek’s with a hesitation that doesn’t match the heat in his eyes.

Derek cups Scott’s cheek and pulls him closer. This time Scott’s kiss is demanding, insistent. Derek parts his lips and kisses back.

“God, it’s about time.”

Derek looks up as Stiles flies into the hallway, without his tray.

“Uhm,” Scott answers eloquently.

“Dude, I am happy for you both, I am. But right now we gotta go. Shit’s about to hit the fan. Kira’s been made.”

“Malia should have the car by now,” Laura says. She punches Derek in the shoulder. “Glad you finally got your man.”

A car pulls up at that moment.

Derek looks at Scott and reaches for his hand.

Scott’s smile is blinding. “You did want me?”

Derek blinks. “I thought it was obvious.”