#I'm desperate to talk about him

[unmotivatedartistry]

Smile :) Or don't. That's ok <3

anyways the Narrator but doodle. I'm not dead. yet.

[deliciousnecks]

WWDITS;; 5.02

[flowerakatsuka]

smoke break & a familiar customer

more fanart of @brofightiscancelled & @awittlebabbyboy's postgrad plan au! no matter what, i'll always be obsessed with kara and had to draw his au design. he's so cutes and weighed down by so much regret, i'm absolutely captivated by him.

also, since a certain someone rides a moped, i hope it's alright if they stop by his mechanic shop. 👉👈

[humlase]

Neil's mother may have been abusive, but that doesn't stop him from missing his mom and Abby is right there to pick up the pieces.

Or in other words, Abby gives great mom hugs.

[chloecherrysip]

We're going to save your brother.

[tin-can-iron-man]

I'm just gonna say it again real quick:

Yes!! Iron Man is a tragedy! It has and always has been since the very first appearance in 1963 which describes itself, Tony's life, and legacy, as such.

Tony causes most of his issues himself, he is his biggest villain, a majority of his rogues gallery are caricatures of the worst versions of himself brought to life (when they're not just being racist cuz...60s...). The worst thing about being Tony Stark is that he can't stop being Tony Stark (he tried!!) That is the point.

The majority of pain Tony goes through, is pain he inflicts on himself, whether intentionally or inadvertently. That is the point.

He is not A villain (at least. Not usually. There are...some rough moments and arcs that are. Not great. As there is with any character as old as he is). But he is his own main antagonist.

[soyochii]

Baldur's Gate 3 targets the mentally ill. (I am the mentally ill)

[ontosgold]

Honestly Ryomina makes me fucking insane like everytime i think about them i start to combust and fly around like a rocket

Just .. Them being together ever since Minato was ten, i imagine them as childhood friends of sorts, but in a extremely gut wrenching way, Ryoji learned everything through the eyes of Minato, and even when there was nothing but sadness in Minato's life, im sure Ryoji just saw all that with so much wonder

and i imagine Ryoji not understanding everything in his surroundings, but everytime Minato feels bad, he himself feels as if his entire being is set on fire

SO IMAGINE, Minato crying on the floor, back on the wall, hes just a little child with so much sadness within himself for whatever reason, and he just hears a voice that seems like his own, but also completely different "I'm with you, it's okay." and he doesn't understand, but he knows it's true, the only person who's with him through it all is himself, and for some reason, he feels it really is okay.

YEAH ME TOO ANON ME TOO 🤝🤝 YOU UNDERSTAND YOU GET ME if i think about them too hard i feel like I'm gonna explode. I'm internally bouncing around the walls.

ALSO OUUUGGGH WHY DID U HAVE TO COME INTO MY INBOX WITH THIS :(( <- /POS ryoji feeling everything minato's feeling with so much intensity... (bcs he's never experienced anything like emotions before) AUGH... I love them being unaware childhood friends, but also something so much more intimate than just childhood friends soso much, I'm nodding. you get it anon. ough. (also I'm not gonna get the image of little mina being comforted by ryoji out of my brain orz) The strange familiarity when ryoji and minato "meet" and the inescapable feeling that they've known eachother their entire lives and they know eachother like they know themselves. yeah.

I adore the idea death being minato's only comfort throughout those 10 years... death took so much and yet it was the only sort of companion mina had. death was right there with him for every dark hour he had to experience alone for those 10 years of his life...

thank u sm for the ask anon ^_^ I'm gonna spend the entire day brainrotting about this 👍

[kangaracha]

daffodil + chan

a song

the prompt: daffodil (a god bows before a mortal)

read it on ao3

---

"You have no power over me."

running through his hands like water, and suddenly the earth is not his to control. The skies do not turn with the twist of his head, lightning does not fork in the air when his eyes, dark as night and yet still lit by some unearthly light, fall upon you, his mouth wide as if to gasp for a breath he cannot take-

And yet, still, it shivers down your spine; the magic that draws you here even as you rip it apart, the prize of your conquest to rip the world into two.

"Take it back," he hisses through his teeth, the ground trembling with every syllable that slides down his tongue. You watch his mouth as it forms the words, the flash of teeth behind thin lips reminding you of the way that the swordsman you'd fought through to get here had smiled at you - the last of his seven challenges, the last of his demons, or angels, or citizens of the sprawling, damned city he claimed as his kingdom.

And here you stood, at the pinnacle of the eighth, and stared him in the eye without cringing away because now you knew the truth. Now you knew that what he whispered in the dark was a lie and what you saw with your eyes wasn't always true, and though he may be a god and a king amongst beings that you could never hope to rival, a god can only hold as much power as you give him. A god can only claim dominion over a beast that bowed to his dogma. 

You see now that you are no beast. You are no believer in any lie he utters to the darkness.

"Take it back," he says again, the note of his voice changing. He pleads, his brow furrowing and his shoulders curling in as if waiting for the final blow. "Take it back now, before it's too late."

"I can't," you tell him, and you watch him fall to his knees, and you know that it's wrong and your heart pounds in your chest and it

like the ground does at the impact of his knees, crumbling into the pieces it was in when you first took his hand, alone on the side of the road with only one thing to call your own. And what was that thing, the little warmth you'd held to your chest in the dark and the cold? What had you traded away for the comfort of the house that crumbled around you now? Why had you destroyed him to get it back, where was it now, why did it not appear within his hands at this, the hour of his reckoning?

"Please," he spits into the cold ground, the dirt and the leaves and the curl of ivy that grows up the walls around you, old and ancient and not yet sprouted from its roots all at the same time. His hands curl in the dirt like he can reach down and pull the earth to him, like he can stop the wane of his power if he just tries to hold on a little bit tighter. "I know what you want, and I don't have it. I can't lose-"

Broken, fragile thing. Small god of limited earth, crouched at your feet like he might worship you instead. You'd thought him all-powerful once, and then you'd thought him severe and his servants and beasts and playthings petty, and then you'd thought him

because he'd smiled at you in the garden that bloomed from his own hands when you expressed your desire for a flower to tuck in the braid of your dark hair, and his hand had been soft in yours, and when he looked out across his kingdom and the clamouring faces of the people he'd brought to live there, he'd looked at them the same way that he'd looked at you.

Beneath your foot, the ground cracks, fracturing outwards like a spiderweb. It's your heart, you realise morosely, sinking from your chest and into the depths of the earth, disappearing with whatever he'd taken from you; and it was a wretched thing and it had betrayed you a hundred times over, but you still mourn at the loss of it and all the dreams it had carried with it. It blooms in your flowers in the corners of the room, embeds itself into the land and sings along with the song of his power, a thing you can hear but cannot touch, a beast once born that now does not belong to you.

"I'm sorry," he says, his breath like mist in the cold air, and even without your heart, you can't bear to see him so cold.

Your hands reach for him without permission, your body kneeling in the dirt before you can stand your feet firm upon the earth and refuse to move. He flinches away, but your fingers are soft upon his chin and the curve of his jaw, gentle when they brush the soft dip of his neck. "I only wanted to know what it was," you tell him with a voice that cannot hold itself steady. "I thought if you loved me, you would give it back." It's the only voice you have - you are not like him, or like Felix, speaking with many tongues. You don't have any power of your own.

"It's because I love you that I can't give it back." His voice is hoarse, every word a knife that he swallows without ever once flinching. "It's because I love you that I couldn't tell you what it was."

"But didn't I deserve to know?" you question. "Doesn't my life belong to me?"

Finally, his eyes rise, looking up at you with a fire that belies the cold of his skin. "Of course it does," he gasps, and his hand reaches up, dirt-stained fingers dragging at your cheek. "That's why I gave it to you, and I never asked for anything else."

"But you wouldn't give back what you took in the first place."

The sudden violence of his voice crumbles the walls and fractures the sky, the clouds blooming te dark colours of a bruise. The absence of his hand on your cheek stings in the cold; his face turns away, screwed up in regret and a pain he won't allow you to feel. You lurch forward before he can disappear, drawing him into your arms; stiff shoulders, spine of beaten steel, slow beat of a heart you once held in your hands. 

He'd stood so tall and unmoving in the morning light, when you'd first walked down this path, and now in the dark of the setting sun and the ending of the earth, his weight slumps into your grasp, his resolve melting into the warmth of your body. "I didn't want you to suffer again," he says to the soft cotton of your shirt and the curve of your collarbone, his breath a whisper against your skin. "I couldn't watch that, when you asked me to make sure it would never happen again."

Surprise comes in the pause of your breath and the still of your arms, the jump of a heart you're not sure you still possess. "I asked you to make me forget?" you question the world behind his back, and into your neck, he sighs.

"You couldn't forget," he murmurs. "She was dead before I found you, and when I took her from your arms - you couldn't forget. There was nothing I could do to fix what had been broken. And then you begged me to let you forget, so I remembered her for you." He pauses, his throat hitching like he's swallowing something down. A sob maybe, or the tears he will never let fall. "I can't give her back though. She's not here anymore."

You push him upright, your hands on his shoulders, his neck, his face. Brushing away the hair that falls in his eyes, wiping at the blood that drips from the cut on his cheek. "Why didn't you tell me?" you ask, because the answer is incomprehensible. "Why did you let me go this far?"

"Because I was scared," he admits, and his teeth clench and his spine stiffens against the urge to hide away from you again. "Because I'm a wretched, evil, stupid thing who thinks they can-"

His words die in your throat; vile, wretched things that you store away to spit out later, into the ground where they belong. He is none of that; he is soft, and hesitant, until your fingers find the sharp curve of his hip and the lines of his back, dragging him closer and his lips open like there is nothing in the world to devour but you and

[luxurysystems]

Too 🌟stupid🌟 to be his partner.

[shoccolat]

thinking about,, how sega managed to unintentionally make a character that is so Autistic and Gay

[shevinyl]

I'm looking for mutuals Or blogs to follow who watch ongoing kdramas. reblog if you watch ongoing kdramas and would like to be my mutuals. thank you so much

[reggieblk]

i finished reading The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt yesterday and i have a lot of thoughts and feelings about every single thing about it, but what I would like to address here, and it speaks for itself;

"8R, two keys and a combination padlock, 7522, the last four digits of Boris's home phone in Vegas."

- The Goldfinch, Donna Tartt, IV, chapter 9, X, page 532

and and and.....8 yrs later, the passcode is still the same.....it's the way Theo, 8 yrs earlier, didn't hesitate a second....it's the way Boris's home number guards Theo's dearest possession, the remnant of his mother, his very heart....it's the way it isn't Pippa's bday, or anything like that.....it's the way i sobbed when reading this line

(not to mention....not to mention....how "Popper" is "Popchyk" for as long as Theo gets back to NY and is with Hobie, never once Popper always Popchyk until.....until Boris comes back, and calls him Popchyk, and then, immediately, for the first time since Vegas, Popchyk is Popper in Theo's mind....because....because the rightful person who calls him Popchyk is back, and Theo no longer has to fill in for him, and, and, and--)

[dootznbootz]

With how I'm planning my fics, since Menelaus and Agamemnon spend some years at Tyndarius' palace, I kind of have them all be childhood friends in a way before Agamemnon and Menelaus take back their kingdom (Aga is around 19, Menelaus 15 when they leave. 5-6 years later they get married.) With how their marriages work out when talking about "Old times", Odysseus is the "odd one out" as he was the only one who didn't grow up alongside them. The poor guy is left out.

Odysseus: "Wait, why is everyone laughing? What does that mean? I don't get it." Penelope: "Well you see-" Goes on about a silly story but the inside joke is dumb. "...You probably would've had to have been there to get it" Odysseus:

[koalas-koalas-everywhere]

The way Alastor jumps almost directly from "great Alastor altruist died for his friends" to wanting out of his deal makes me wonder if he's not just hanging around the hotel hoping to get closer to Charlie, enough to get her to make a deal and/or gain influence through her, but also because his deal is forcing him to. I mean, he's probably gonna grow to care for all of them, eventually, but it's the mocking yet horrified way he says it, like the very thought of him being altruistic and dying for friends is preposterous. Like something else is what forced him into a place where he almost had to do that.

[tyrantwombat]

No, but seriously, can you imagine how utterly surreal it is to be Song Taewon and have two of the most unhinged people on the planet both decide to become intensely invested in your life and health after knowing you for like five seconds? One of them uses aggressive mob tactics to try and get you to let them chauffeur you around, the other is a little guy you could crush with your pinky on accident who hunts you down in the middle of a pit of monsters with a packed lunch convinced you will starve if he doesn’t personally feed you. You have to play an intense game of de-escalation at literally all times to keep this same random guy from calling and yelling at your boss about your sleep schedule, and this is still an improvement on that time you barely convinced him it wasn’t necessary to utterly annihilate your place of work to get you more vacation time. The other one has probably historically attempted to set your closet and/or you yourself on fire so he can buy you clothes.

You just want to live your corporate slave life and resist the dark yearnings of your soul in PEACE but instead you’re having to dodge two very powerful men who both desperately want to take care of you.