#but feel free to interpret it however you want!

[gangstalia]

i like the thought of seborga / romeo being so stupid yet so smart . like how he might have caught himself swung upside down from a tree and immediately started bawling like a child when he got hit once , always yapping about girls and sexy ppl or just yapping in general

but out of all his yapping, he was the only one who found Ladonia lurking 😭 seb is so good at things nobody would really expect him to, apart from flirting and stuff. (that man definitely has more exes than population) one of those things being swimming!

imagine molossia trying to act tough infront of the micronations, so he dives into the pool anc tries to act all grumpy, telling the others the water isnt even that cold and yap yap (the water is freezing.) but as hes yapping he sloooowly starts drifting towards the deep end, where his feet barely reach the floor, and as he realizes it, he panics.

hes flailing, yelling in many emotions, probably sobbing, he already lost his glasses and his hair is back down to that little wisp of un-gelled mess. . then SPLOOSH seborga is like an olympic swimmer just charging at bro 😭 the deep end is probably deep for seborga too, maybe even deeper, but he’s had to do this for his brothers too. he takes one accidental molossian punch to the face before grabbing onto his wrist and trying his best to pull the flailing micronation far far away from the 7-8 feet deep pool.

so he does, albeit struggling! then, y’know, after molossia complains about his glasses being lost (theyre probably super expensive or super cheap ones, imagine as you wish) seb just laughs and puts his towel down, getting ready to get soaked again. and get soaked he does! because he dives head first into the 7-8 foot pool area, fumbling with the glasses for a couple seconds before hooking them with a finger and pushing himself back up to the blazing Nevadan sun.

his head snaps towards the rest of the crew helping the poorly soaked micronation on a beach chair, and his smile hurts his cheeks! the rest of them kinda stare at him, like “are you crazy?” but he thrusts his arm into the air, sunglasses gripped tightly in his fist and starts swimming back closer to the gang. Going up to molossia to retrieve his glasses, he’s like “i didnt ask u to get these for me. But ty >:(” while snatching his pair.

then romeo proceeds to shake himself off onto the micronations, getting rough specks of water on everybody, much to their annoyance

how do i finish this

[astroadonis]

A hug that all of them deserved

[voldkat]

decay

[jakehal-sometimes]

Imagine jakehal. But yuri. That is all. :3

4

only if it's toxic doomed android yuri. yay 💛

[koalchicine]

won’t you cut down that apple tree for me?

[nichiperi]

[cosmosnout]

Spoilers for Marineford and Wano!!

They were literally all I could think about after hearing this song.

Link to my TikTok so u can view this with the song!

[fave-fix]

disgusting.

@nopanamaman

[ryan1014n2]

On love

[dailynakaharachuuya]

(Here's a list of ideas and aus I made to [somewhat] follow! You can follow it too if you wish but no pressure!)

[kayawolfhorse]

A soft tune dances in the desert air around Grian as he gathers his leftover blocks and checks the creeper farm’s collection system one last time. It’s empty, of course, the creepers having yet to spawn in the platforms he’d built along the border high above, but the minecart seems sound on its track, and that’s enough to satisfy Grian for now. He’s already sunken hours into this thing, and he’s ready to call it quits.

The adrenaline that had carried him through much of the day dissipates further with every step Grian takes towards the base. Paired with the rapid chill that sets in soon after sunset that leaves Grian tugging his poncho tighter around his shoulders and pressing his wings further against his back, Grian’s ready to grab Scar and collapse into bed, stealing his partner’s body heat as he passes out into oblivion.

The music grows louder as Grian rounds the bend of the base. He pauses briefly at the front, casting a sweeping gaze across the sand below, before pushing open the door. Contained no longer, the notes pour out of the Sand Castle, accompanied by Scar’s humming and the clatter of dishes just barely audible underneath.

When Scar hears Grian, he turns and raises the wooden spoon in his hand in joyful greeting. “Hi, Grian!”

“Hi, Scar.” Grian steps inside and closes the door behind him. Warm torchlight and plucky music, loud enough to fill the space but not enough so to be a bother, envelopes him from all sides. “What’s all this?”

“Celebration, of course!” Scar holds up a bowl of what looks to be unmixed flour and sugar. His shirt is nowhere to be seen, brown poncho wrapped around bare shoulders, and the cheer on his face is infectious. “For that magnificent triple kill of yours earlier.”

Grian goes to object, insist that it’s Scar’s kill, or that all of this fanfare is useless, but finds himself smiling slightly instead, at the ridiculous red name who drags around bees on leads and never has his clothes on and carefully sets up the jukebox with their only music disk.

Peeling off his armor and leaving it hanging on the wall next to Scar’s, Grian walks up to the counter, where ingredients have been set out and already spilled. “Whatcha up to?”

“Making cookies! As proud as I am of us stealing BigB’s cookie, the wooden flavor isn’t to my tastes,” Scar answers with a wink. “I’ve got sugar, eggs, salt… oh, you can have chocolate, right? Since you’re a bird and all.”

Grian snorts, leaning against the crafting table. “Avian. I’m only part bird, and the chocolate intolerance doesn’t come with it.”

“Oh, good. I would’ve been willing to leave them out if I had to, but you’ve gotta admit, it would’ve been sad.” Scar nods solemnly, then grins. “Good thing we don’t have to!”

“Very good, indeed.” Grian glances around the counter. “Do you have instructions anywhere?”

“Oh, no, of course not. I’ve got it all memorized in my head!” Scar grabs the eggs and cracks one into the bowl.

With a huff, Grian says, “Well, how am I supposed to help you, then?”

Scar pats him on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry about that, it’s on me! It’s your success we’re celebrating, after all. Like not baking your own cake on your birthday, except instead of it being your birthday, you killed three people. Actually, it’s a win for both of us, now that I think about it, so how about you help me roll them out when the dough is ready?”

Laughing despite himself, Grian flashes Scar a thumbs up and sets about checking their supplies across the room. When he’s finished preparing the dough, Scar calls Grian back over, and together they shape hunks of dough into little balls, setting them upon the iron baking tray Scar had insisted on making early on. It’s coming into use now, and soon the kitchen smells of sweet, delicious cookies.

“You know, this was a great idea on my part,” Scar says through a mouthful of cookie from where he sits, back against the wall next to Grian.

Grian’s inclined to agree. “You did good, pal.”

It’s nice, just existing here for a while. The sandstone floor beneath Grian is cool, but the room is warm, especially so close to the furnaces, and even warmer is Scar’s arm where it’s pressed against his own. Grian chews slowly, deliberating the things he might say, and those he won’t. He finds that neither really matters at the moment.

Scar starts humming again, in time with the jaunty melody of ‘Cat’ that floats from the jukebox. It’s been long enough that the disk has looped a few times now.

The quiet is comfortable, and Grian lets it linger as they both finish their cookies. Eventually, though, he breaks it to ask, “D’you have any plans for tomorrow?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I got BigB’s cookie, that’s all I wanted,” Scar responds, eyes half-closed.

Grian lightly whacks him on the knee. “You’re a red name! You need more ambition than cookies, Scar,” he scolds, mostly teasingly.

“Fine, fine!” Scar concedes with a laugh, turning towards Grian with a thoughtful look on his face. “I mostly just want to kill Bdubs and Cleo, really.”

“We can work with that! How’s a siege of the Crastle sounding?” Even through the drowsiness, ideas start to swirl in Grian’s mind. “I’m talking infiltration, TNT cannons, the whole shabang.”

“Oh, a man after my own heart.” Scar places his hand on his heart in a mock-swoon. “Will we have enough TNT for it?”

“I just set up a creeper farm,” Grian reminds him. “Truthfully, I’ve been itching to set up a cannon for days. If the farm works out, we’ll have plenty of gunpowder for all the TNT we want.”

“I am glad you’re on my side, let me tell you.” Scar smiles at him, scheming, mischievous, and Grian gives him one in return. He’s glad he’s on Scar’s side, too, a confession he’ll take to his inevitable grave.

The music disk is retired to a chest next to the jukebox, the non-essential torches extinguished for the night. Together Grian and Scar clean up the mess made in the kitchen and head for their bed, with its cheerful yellow blanket and grains of sand Grian can’t quite fully shake out of it. Scar’s warm as he lays beside Grian, and warmer still when he pulls him close, Grian throwing a wing over them both.

Tomorrow, they siege the Crastle. Tonight, Grian’s content to sink under the covers and curl closer to Scar, drifting off to the melody that still dances in his mind, consciousness fading to a soft, pleasant black.

(Reblogs do more than likes!)

[willwriteforhugs]

when i'm looking at something that someone else did and it's not been done in the exact way i would have done it

[scritzar]

Guys he was just feeling a little silly goofy

This was meant to be a doodle but I just kept going and suddenly I blinked and had a full fledged painting

[cwritesfiction]

Share an excerpt where a character is 😳

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[quuma]

“SILENCE SPEAKS THE LOUDEST”

[not proof read - just forewarning you LOL goodluck,, there's likely many mispellings and inconsistencies in structure and past/present tense]

“silence speaks the loudest.”

a phrase that the boy had never fully understood. how could the lack of noise ever make comment? ever express itself? [he was never one to enjoy symbolism – preferring the objectiveness of facts. unfortunately, symbolism was something he needed to know for his final assessments. when one does not understand, they can do nothing but learn. alas, he had to try.]

sitting together in the common room one late night, air weighed down by the pressure of the upcoming O.W.L.s - silent, still; thinking. him, gaze fixed straight ahead, enraptured by the glowing fire in front of him, parchment and quill long abandoned and spilling in waves onto the cold floor below. [his hand aches, as does his head. unintelligible words bounce around, vaguely connecting to others before disappearing. he can’t remember anything he’s read in the past 2 hours.] you, tucked away in a corner, scribbled work illuminated only by a curtain of reflected moonlight creeping through the alcove windows and the lone candle melting above. drip, drip. the flame almost tickles the end of the wick – forewarning of the late hour. but neither of you make any sudden movement that suggests the intention of leaving anytime soon.

the room had once been full, bustling with frazzled teenagers and their shared confusion. shouts of questions juxtaposing aggressive hushes for silence. his friends had once been there too, now long retired to the comforting confines of their bedsheets. he cannot help but be jealous. [but a small part of him is guiltily glad to be away from them. don’t get him wrong, he loves his friends and fellow housemates, but sometimes he just needs space.]

seconds pass. minutes pass. wax drips to the floor one final time, announcing light’s departure. his eyelids struggle to remain open - fighting a losing battle - but his hands are still. his gaze is finally torn from the hypnotic fire, lethargically flicking around in a half-hearted attempt at waking himself of the enticing trance that orange light brings. they eventually reach you. you, now staring back at him.

the two of you had never been particularly close. it was no personal slight against one another, of course. you were friends of friends - skirting the edges of one another’s social groups, but never each other. there was simply no need to. no magical spark, no unexplainable invisible might bringing you together, no forced proximity in classes – he didn’t think he’d ever even accidently locked eyes with you before this.

silence. a heavy sigh escaped a pair of lips [he couldn’t tell if it had been yours or his, mind too fuzzy from hours of memorising equations, wand movements, and literary techniques.]

no words passed through that night air, but the message was still clear.

you looked away. so did he. movement ensued once more; quills flicking lethargically, eyes hesitantly blinking, the crackle of the fire filling the air.

silence, silence.

time had continued to run its course.

the night (or morning, as the faint light of dawn had replaced the moonlight) had ended with you suddenly rising from your chair, startling the boy from the half-asleep daze he hadn’t even realised he had slipped in to. upon realising that you were leaving, he too clumsily collected his things and stood. by the time he was done (which, admittedly, took an embarrassingly long amount of time. but who could blame him? he was attempting to function off less than an hour’s worth of half-conscious sleep) you were long gone. the sound of the common room door thumping gently behind you, paired with your fading tip-toed footsteps were all that reached him.

in the hours, days, months after that moment of eye contact, that moment of mutual understanding, nothing eventful followed. there were no sudden deep discussions, there were no shared inside jokes – but there was that passing moment. there was that presence. there was that tranquillity. there was that shared struggle of staying awake. there was the recognition of unspoken words; “i’m glad was not alone. i’m glad it was you. no expectations, no forced discussion, no preconceived notions. just two people, sitting, experiencing; living. normal, together. thank you.”

no words ever of acknowledgment of that moment ever cross either of your lips – no one admits the comfort of that silent scene. [but there are now locked gazes. there are now small smiles shared. there is now proximity. the social circles you two skirted are now closer, closing in on one another.]

but you both know. you know, he knows.

he thinks he understands now.

[greatprotector-if]

victoryne portrait!

i impulsively got rid of one of her eyes and gave her scars because i thought it would be awesome. you're welcome