#feeling v unwell :)))
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dog-teeth · 1 year ago
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something to recognize that choosing recovery again and again is difficult work, and you are not weak for faltering
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scionshtola · 2 months ago
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🖤🤍🖤
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aceghosts · 4 months ago
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Rooney Shepard (They/Them)/Yorinobu Arasaka Screenshots (13/X)
And I know, I know the way that it goes You get what you give, you reap what you sow And I can see you in my fate And I know, I know I am what I am The mouth of the wolf, the eyes of the lamb
-Rain by Sleep Token
MOD LIST
Taglist (Like this post to opt in/out for edits): @bbrocklesnar, @alexxmason, @sergeiravenov, @tommyarashikage, @voidika,
@carlosoliveiraa, @confidentandgood, @imogenkol, @direwombat, @raresvtm,
@socially-awkward-skeleton, @cloudofbutterflies92, @theelderhazelnut, @icecutioner, @inafieldofdaisies,
@captastra, @strangefable, @katsigian, @g0dspeeed,
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oh-katsuki · 1 year ago
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what the fuck am i supposed to do knowing this. like okay what if i die?
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galaxythreads · 4 months ago
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i mean. like. I'm not going to argue, but i think you missed the point bud.
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wetcatspellcaster · 5 months ago
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I have never heard of dragon age and now I’m seeing it everywhere. I need something else to cling to because I fear I’m getting too used to bg3, is that a good transition?
Honestly, I would say yes, bc some parts of BG3 game design (the campsite/long rest settings in particular) are directly inspired by Dragon Age. In creating a very good fantasy RPG, Larian definitely knowingly used which things fans liked most about bioware games (that EA was moving away from at the time), and incorporated them into their game, knowing this would only improve their game and it's appeal to this subset of fans. There's more reasons there's such a huge crossover on fandoms, but them both being fantasy video games with extensive world lore (not always coherent, but then, this is being compared to Faerun so it's fine), and love interests and companions who you can interact with and influence is the main draw.
I would say bg3 is a much better game mechanically, as the combat encounters across the levels are unique and very well designed, and dragon age class mechanics are SCUFFED. But as I am personally a bad gamer who plays games for the story I do not mind this (although it is why I play mage exclusively in dragon age, as these are the mechanics I can enjoy most and not just for wizardcore reasons).
If youre in bg3 bc of narrative and blorbo serotonin, dragon age is for you! the best companion experience I recommend Dragon Age Origins, as this is my favourite cast of characters and love interests. But Dragon Age 2 is great is you love tragic narrative and bisexuality, and Inquisition is good for OC serotonin from the moment of character creation alone (it also gives you voiced cut scenes for your romance and companion scenes, with the player character also voiced.)
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a1lsunday · 28 days ago
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your vibe, your curse
iselda ... lonely bird.
You drift through life like a solitary bird, searching for a place to land but never quite finding it. Your heart longs for connection and belonging, yet you remain adrift, feeling isolated even when surrounded by others. Your journey is marked by a deep sense of solitude and a desire for a true home. Your curse; Fated to wander endlessly, never finding a place to call home, always yearning for a sense of belonging that remains elusive.
nina ... perfected yet still flawed.
You are a master of crafting an image of perfection, yet beneath the surface lies a ceaseless dissatisfaction with yourself. Every achievement feels hollow, overshadowed by the relentless pursuit of an ideal that remains just out of reach. Your greatest struggle is reconciling your desire for flawlessness with the reality of human imperfection. Your curse; Perpetually striving for unattainable perfection, never finding satisfaction, and forever burdened by the weight of imperfection.
tagged by ... @shipwrght ! :'))
tagging ... YOU !
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happi-tree · 1 year ago
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midnight (close to you)
Taylor ❤️‍🔥                  just now u up
Lincoln grimaces at the 03:27 in bold numbers across the top of his screen before swiping on the message and unlocking his phone to type out a quick reply. 
Me                  Yeah. 
Lincoln is no stranger to seeing Taylor up at weird hours, but as he glances at past messages (filled on Taylor’s part with lots of exclamation points and cutesy little emotes), he suddenly feels a bit more awake. 
A chat bubble appears below, animated dots appearing and disappearing as he waits. 
Taylor ❤️‍🔥                   🕯️?
Me                  On it.
Or: Taylor has a bad night, and Lincoln tries his best to make it more bearable.
ao3
Swiftli time, lovebirds!!! Here’s my fic for day 5: demons/nightmares. Like days 1 and 3, this is part of the supernatural au @llumimoon, @kaseyskat, and I planned out together. Hope you enjoy!
(Title taken from "Sleep-walking" by Dreamcatcher).
Lincoln Li-Wilson is tossing and turning in a vain attempt at sleep when his phone buzzes.
Blearily, he wipes at his eyes as he focuses on the screen, wincing at the sudden brightness.
Taylor ❤️‍🔥                  just now
u up
Lincoln grimaces at the 03:27 in bold numbers across the top of his screen before swiping on the message and unlocking his phone to type out a quick reply. 
Me                 
Yeah. 
Lincoln is no stranger to seeing Taylor up at weird hours, but as he glances at past messages (filled on Taylor’s part with lots of exclamation points and cutesy little emotes), he suddenly feels a bit more awake. 
A chat bubble appears below, animated dots appearing and disappearing as he waits. 
Taylor ❤️‍🔥                  
🕯️?
Me                 
On it.
Lincoln pushes himself out of bed, making his way over to turn on his fairy lights (a joke gift from Normal, tiny pairs of butterfly wings casting the room in warm-tinted pinpricks of light) and opens one of his dresser drawers, pulling out the components he needs.
Next to go is the area rug, rolled up and pushed to the side to uncover the large pentagram painted into the floor, encircled by runes Lincoln had checked and double-checked, written in Taylor’s steady hand. 
He places the red taper candles in the direction of each of the four winds, scatters coarse salt atop the inked circle (a formality at this point, but he can never be too careful). He fumbles with the lighter, trying a few times before remembering to shut off the ceiling fan. 
Lincoln makes sure to crack the door open (the increasingly invasive questions from both of his dads had been downright embarrassing the last time they did this and he is not in the mood for a repeat experience). They won’t mind, he knows.
Besides, there are many worse things a teenage boy like Lincoln could be doing than ritually summoning a demon. Half-demon. Whatever. 
At each point of the star, he places small offerings: an unopened box of strawberry crunch Pocky; a Garfield plush (which he deeply hopes Taylor will give back to him, since it’s one of his favorites); a room-temperature Ramune; a sparkly sticker; a homemade charm bracelet (no iron or silver, of course, warded for protection and serenity). 
In the very center of the pentagram, Lincoln carefully places the Hatsune Miku keychain Taylor had lent him for this exact purpose.
Lincoln pricks his finger and lets a drop of blood fall to the outer edge of the circle, lets the sizzle of it drown out the soft mutterings of the incantation.
Five pinpricks of flame flare higher, brighter, and brilliant ribbons of fire spread outward to conjoin in the center of the circle. Lincoln watches warily as the ball of flame grows and grows, expanding outward and beginning to color with the reddish-magenta hue of his friend’s aura, casting the room in stark maroon shadows.
Before his eyes, the blaze grows brighter, burns hotter, practically pushing at the bounds of its ink-carved confinement, and Lincoln feels the heat lick at his face, warm against his cheeks.
As suddenly as it began, the light is extinguished, revealing the hunched pajama-clad form of Taylor amidst the embers and smoke, the faint cerise glow around him fading until he’s backlit by Lincoln’s fairy lights.
It’s an enchanting sight, normally, one that Lincoln cherishes, but not when Taylor’s glancing down at the painted floorboards with glossed-over eyes, trembling slightly.
“Hey,” Lincoln says, breaking the line of salt with a nudge of his socked foot, crawling forward until their knees touch.
A single, long strand of Taylor’s fringe is still aflame, so Lincoln leans inward and pinches it gently between his thumb and forefinger and extinguishes it with a hiss.
“Taylor,” Lincoln calls, voice hushed in the night but hopefully loud enough to get through to him. He tucks the midnight-dark strand behind the delicate, reddened point of Taylor’s ear.
When he doesn’t respond, doesn’t look up, worry settles further in his stomach, a leaden weight.
His hand cups his best friend’s face, carefully guiding upward until Taylor meets his gaze.
Glazed-over and deeply tired, Taylor stares blinkingly at him for a moment, eyes welling with tears.
“Hey,” Lincoln tries again, “what’s going o-” The air is knocked out of him in a quiet oof as Taylor lunges forward into his chest. He’s uncomfortably warm to the touch in such a way that would burn most people but only leaves Lincoln with a tingling sensation, kind of like sitting by a fireplace for a bit too long. He can feel the fabric of his sleep shirt growing wet where Taylor’s buried his face into his shoulder, and his arms come around to encircle his friend instinctively. 
“You’re burning up,” Lincoln frets as he touches the back of his hand to Taylor’s forehead. It feels like stretching his hands out over a bonfire rather than a candle, like usual, and he frowns at the way the heat pushes angrily against his wardings, making his hand glow a barely-perceptible gold. He frowns even deeper when Taylor only wriggles further into his arms, making a sad, distressed sort of sound.
Lincoln notices the way Taylor presses his ear into the left side of his chest, pushing against him like he’s searching out his heartbeat, and something in him twists a little. 
This floor can’t be comfortable for him, especially not when he’s shaking and breathing unevenly. 
Lincoln looks behind him, opens more of the salt circle with his bare foot, knocks over a crimson candle in the process.
Whatever, he’ll clean it up in the morning. 
“Gonna pick you up now, okay?” Lincoln murmurs, ducking his head so he doesn’t have to speak too loud and making sure to keep his voice slow and steady and reassuring.
Taylor nods against him, and Lincoln allows himself a shadow of a smile. 
“Good,” he says, and adjusts his hold, sliding one arm under Taylor’s knees and another along his back (beneath his shoulder blades, just in case). Something thin and warm coils itself around his forearm and squeezes, and Lincoln doesn’t need to look to know that Taylor’s wrapped his tail around him for support as his clawed hands scramble for purchase on his upper back. The fabric of Lincoln’s shirt shreds a little, but as always, Taylor’s scratching doesn’t manage to break through the latent magic just atop his skin. 
“Up we go!” Lincoln says, and Taylor clings to him even tighter as he holds his smaller friend aloft, carrying them both to his twin XL bed and depositing Taylor as gracefully as he can.
Which isn’t very graceful at all, since Taylor refuses to let go of him.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Lincoln soothes - or at least tries to. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I just need you to let me go, ‘kay?”
Taylor shakes his head, mumbling something almost inaudible into his chest.
“What was that?” he says, even though he knows he heard the muffled no, not again the first time.
“Can’t,” Taylor says instead, leaving Lincoln leaning awkwardly over the edge of the bed, feeling oddly cold despite the feverish boy in his arms. 
“Okay,” Lincoln mutters, shifting his hold a little (because while Taylor is relatively easy to pick up, soccer has, admittedly, not done much for his arm strength). “Can I move my hand so you can hold it, maybe? So I can be next to you?”
Taylor hums in the affirmative, so Lincoln slides a hand from beneath his friend’s back, and Taylor takes it the second it’s offered, clutching it with clawed fingers like a lifeline as Lincoln climbs into the narrow bed beside him.
That doesn’t last long, though, because Taylor is quick to throw an arm across Link’s shoulders and drape his leg across Lincoln’s own in a strange, full body half-hug. 
Lincoln hums a little in concern, worry pulling at his brow. Taylor really must not be feeling well with the way that every point of contact between them burns the tiniest bit, despite the layers and layers of enchantments and wards and immunities that have woven themselves into Lincoln’s cells.
Taylor’s head buries just below Link’s jaw, the way Normal tends to do when he’s feeling needy or sad and wants their pack’s scent around him. His horns, still growing by the day, clip against the side of Lincoln’s face harmlessly as he shuffles into him. 
Lincoln takes a minute to marvel at the close bond he has with his friends that defies human description. To go from having nobody his own age to talk to, much less be around, to having three people who care about him - despite rocky introductions - who love him enough to call him family, to be pack, to choose him, to come to him for comfort and camaraderie, to want him… it’s a lot.
 Sometimes, if Lincoln thinks about it too hard, the way his friends give him affection so freely - the way Normal nearly tackles him to the ground with the force of his hug and calls him by Name when the world gets to be too much, the way Scary leans into him without hesitation, the way Taylor curls into him now without reigning in his infernal traits - he could almost cry.
Taylor’s tail wraps around Lincoln’s waist, steadfast and needy, the spaded tip of it thumping irregularly against Lincoln’s side. 
They rest like that for several moments that seem simultaneously like an instant and like they stretch on into eternity, eons passing with each movement of Lincoln’s fingers through Taylor’s sleep-mussed hair.
Since Lincoln can’t really look at Taylor without craning his neck awkwardly, he chooses a spot on the ceiling to stare at, reveling in the feeling of Taylor cuddling up against him and taking obviously deep, slow breaths so that Taylor can match them. The heat at his side slowly abates from almost-singeing to a comforting warmth, and just as slowly, Taylor’s breath evens out from where it fans against his neck.
Lincoln lets the relative silence wash over him, waiting.
“Link?” Taylor asks, voice slightly muffled. 
(Taylor’s lips brush against the side of Lincoln’s throat in a way that makes his breath catch, sends his heart fluttering in his chest, but that’s not something he wants to think too hard about right now.)
“Yeah?” he responds quietly, and thankfully his voice doesn’t sound too strangled as he whispers.
“Thanks.” Taylor doesn’t look up, doesn’t let go, but he’s relaxed more fully into Lincoln’s side rather than grasping in a desperate panic. 
“Anytime, man.” It’s amazing, the way Taylor’s presence can warm him from the inside out without even trying, without even factoring in his demonic abilities.
Lincoln doesn’t press for answers. 
At this point, he doesn’t really need to. It’s become something of a routine for them over the past few months - whenever Taylor is left in an empty house and craves company, whenever Lincoln is feeling a little too cold, whenever sleep eludes them, the summoning circle is there, just to the side of Lincoln’s bed, and suddenly, things are a little less lonely.
Sometimes, Taylor wants to talk. Sometimes, he keeps to himself, and Lincoln tries not to let it worry him too much.
Anxiety meds are great for that, but the haunted look in his friends’ eyes is an unknown that Lincoln can’t protect them from, can only try his best to understand, fumbling and human as he is. 
“I, uh. Had a bad dream,” Taylor starts, tucking his head out of Lincoln’s neck to face him.
Ah. Tonight falls in the former category, then.
“Yeah?” Lincoln hears himself say, though he had figured as much.
“Yeah. Really, uh. Really bad.”
Taylor’s voice sounds so small in the mostly-dark quiet of the room. 
Lincoln squeezes their hands, still conjoined, a tiny, wordless reassurance.
“You’re safe now,” Lincoln tells him. “My dad’s warded this entire house like crazy.”
Taylor scoffs. “Yeah, like I could forget after the first time you snuck me in.”
“I thought we agreed we would never talk about that again,” Lincoln responds, mock-shuddering.
“You begged me not to bring it up, I promised nothing. Not the same thing.”
Lincoln likes seeing Taylor’s smile again, even if it’s just the barest flash of fang glinting in the soft glow of his distant fairy lights. Even when it fades a few seconds later.
Taylor’s tail squeezes around Lincoln’s middle, and Lincoln brings a hand to rest on his shoulder.
“Hey,” He murmurs. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, I won’t let anything hurt you.”
Taylor laughs again, but it’s a shaky, mirthless sound, this time.
“I know you wouldn’t,” He says quietly. Then, “You didn’t, in my dream. You, uh, died.”
“Oh,” Lincoln says.
“Didn’t wanna bother you with it, but you were awake, and it’s stupid, but…” Taylor’s voice trails off.
Lincoln exhales, holds his friend closer.
“I wouldn’t wanna lose you, either,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, just between his horns.
Taylor’s warmth flares in his hold, just a little bit, and the corners of Lincoln’s lips turn up a fraction. Even despite everything, his best friend is incredibly easy to fluster. 
“There were… hunters,” he mumbles, looking down at Lincoln’s orange-and-black striped comforter, grasping for his hands and fidgeting with their loosely-locked fingers to distract Lincoln (and maybe himself, too) from the way his shoulders still tremble. “They were coming for us - Norm, Scary, Hermie. Me.”
Something in Lincoln’s stomach feels like it just twisted, and pressure builds behind his eyes - half-exhaustion, half-sorrow.
“Taylor - hey, Tay, look at me, please?”
Lincoln sees the way that Taylor’s downturned, red-tinged mahogany eyes brim with tears, threatening to spill over onto his cheeks.
Lincoln gently extricates a hand from Taylor’s grasp, brings it to rest under his chin, tilting it upward until they are face to face again and he can peer into his eyes.
Taylor’s eyes have a fire lit behind them, one he’s always noticed in the back of his mind before either of them were aware of his demonic heritage. It’s captivating, the way that they catch in the light, spark to match the bright burn of Taylor’s convictions. Again and again, they’ve drawn Lincoln in like a moth to a flame, crimson-brown-black and enchanting in an entirely different way than anything of the fae.
Lincoln thinks he would jump into the fire and set himself ablaze if it meant that he would never have to see the light behind his eyes shrink to the pinpricks that he sees now.
Hot tears stream down Taylor’s cheeks, silent except for the small hiss the droplets make as they hit the fabric of Lincoln’s bedspread.
Lincoln thumbs the rest away as Taylor leans into the affection, catlike, and the thing in Lincoln’s stomach writhes again.
“Taylor,” he says again, “Look at me.”
Dark eyelashes flutter open, and Taylor looks so, so tired, so haunted.
(Lincoln’s seen that look before on the face of someone else he loves, and he’d give anything to never see it on either of them again.)
“I need you to listen to me.”
Lincoln has… a hard time making eye contact, sometimes, but this is important, so he stares into his friend’s eyes, doesn’t back off or let his gaze slide away. 
“You know my family wouldn’t let that happen. That - my dad - it’s his whole thing, you know?”
“Your dad wasn’t there,” Taylor says. “Just you.”
“Then I wouldn’t let that happen. You know I wouldn’t, if it came down to it.”
“I know,” Taylor replies, miserably. “That’s the problem.”
Oh.
“The jackass - in my dream, y’know - the guy that shot you, you know what he said? He said that it was a shame that he had to waste a silver bullet on a pesky human. That it was sad that we’d, like, magicked you into siding with us. Which was so fucked up and I - I couldn’t move, I was so angry. And scared, god, I was terrified, and Norm and Scary were, too, and then it all went black, and-”
“And you woke up?” Lincoln guessed.
“Yeah,” Taylor says. “Nearly melted my phone trying to text you.”
Lincoln frowns, scooches closer to him. Rests a hand on Taylor’s cheek, leans in to press their foreheads together.
Taylor’s horns poke uncomfortably against his skull, but Lincoln ignores it - besides, with all of the immunities he’s built up, the pain barely registers.
“I’m here,” Lincoln says.
“I know,” Taylor responds, and his voice is hoarse.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You - Link, you can’t just say that. I know you’ve got some weird, fucked-up magic shit protecting you, but you’re human, and I’m -”
“Half-human,” Lincoln reminds him, not unkindly. “You didn’t ask for this.”
“Well, you didn’t, either!”
“I know,” Lincoln responds. “We’re both new to this, and there’s horrible people out there that have it out for us, and we just gotta… live with that.”
“It’s not fair,” Taylor groans, resting his face in the crook of Lincoln’s neck again.
“It isn’t,” Lincoln agrees as he begins to card fingers through warm, dark hair. Taylor makes a soft, whispery sort of sound like the crackling of a campfire, resonating from his chest in the demonic equivalent of purring. 
“You’re right. I’m human, even if I’m harder to mess with than most,” Lincoln says. “But I chose this, at least a little bit. I chose you, all of you. And I’m not gonna back out. We’re in this together, dude. As long as you’ll have me?”
“You say that like it’s a question. I’ll always want you. I’m a selfish bitch like that.”
“Hey, don’t talk about my best friend like that,” Lincoln teases, and presses another kiss to the top of Taylor’s head for emphasis.
He chuckles. “You keep that up, and people are gonna think we’re more than best friends.”
“Pretty allonormative of you, Taylor,” Lincoln snipes. “Plus, I don’t see anyone else here…”
“Well, then, I guess I can retaliate without an audience,” Taylor responds, and Lincoln can hear the familiar mischief in his voice.
“Retal- ah,” the air leaves Lincoln’s lungs as Taylor presses his lips against the side of his neck, purposefully lets a fang graze against the delicate skin there.
“Mm,” Taylor hums. Lincoln can feel the vibration of it against his throat, and the sound goes straight to his head, warm and sleep-fuzzed and more than a little deliriously dizzy.
“Sorry,” Taylor says, not sounding the least bit apologetic as he pulls away after a moment with a soft popping sound. “You were saying?”
Taylor’s tail sways back and forth behind him, giving him the appearance of a predator ready to pounce.
“Guh,” Lincoln responds intelligibly, trying to get his brain back online. “You’re the worst, sometimes, you know that? Like, I was going somewhere with that, and then - you -”
“I am pretty insufferable, huh,” Taylor says with a close-lipped grin, sounding far too self-satisfied.
“Guess I’ll just have to suffer you, then,” Lincoln replies with a small grin of his own, dragging Taylor down into his arms.
Taylor gives in easily, tail brushing against the side of Lincoln’s leg affectionately.
“Taking one for the team,” Lincoln says. “I’m pretty good at that.”
“Too good,” Taylor says, looking up at him from the circle of his arms. “I don’t need you throwing yourself into the, like, line of fire for me when I’m immune, yeah?”
“The dream wasn’t real, you know.”
“Could be, someday,” Taylor muses, and though the tear tracks have evaporated from his face, there’s still a twist of uncharacteristic melancholy in his expression. 
Lincoln hums. “Well, in the meantime, maybe we can protect each other? And the others. That sound okay?” he asks. “Because I’m not gonna stop having your back anytime soon.”
“Same here,” Taylor says. “You’re ours, and anyone who comes at us can take you away over my dead body.”
“Possessive,” Link notes, pointedly ignoring the way his heart jolts. “And kinda morbid.” “Eh, it’s a demon thing, I think,” Taylor shrugs. 
“Dork.”
“I dunno, I think it’s kinda hot.” 
“Taylor, you’re part demon. Being hot is your thing.”
“Oh, so I’m attractive to you, huh? What are you gonna do, kiss me about it?” There’s a single fang poking out of Taylor’s smile, and Lincoln fails not to think about the way it felt brushing over his pulse.
“Maybe. If we both go to sleep after this.”
Taylor blinks lazily at him. “Sleep sounds nice,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Think you could keep the nightmares away?” His eyes, as tired as they are, are so deep and dark and beautiful.
“I’ve got a few charms for that,” Lincoln answers, pointing around the room at bundles of herbs and twine and rune-inscribed parchment that Marco had strung up along corners of the ceiling.
“Link, I was trying to be flirty.”
“Oh,” Lincoln says. Then, “So if I kiss you, you’ll go to sleep?”
“Mm, that can be arranged,” Taylor agrees, his tail snaking around to tap against Lincoln’s nose affectionately before wrapping around his waist.
“Good,” Lincoln breathes, and he leans in to meet Taylor halfway. 
In the end, Lincoln loses count of how many lazy kisses they exchange in the faint glow of the fairy lights before they succumb to slumber, but when he wakes, Taylor is still in his arms, a faint smile on his face in his sleep.
Lincoln can feel his face mirror the expression as he wipes a bit of Taylor’s drool away with the back of his hand. He leans down and ghosts his lips over Taylor’s temple, tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear, filled with an uncomfortable-yet-comforting warmth wherever their bodies overlap.
Lincoln basks in it as he closes his eyes again, resting against the pillows, and knows that whatever dangers lurk ahead, they’ll face them together. 
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crehador · 11 months ago
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hi so i was thinking about revenger again today and even though i've talked about this before i can't not talk about it again
i am usually not the type to complain about translations (unless it is something especially egregious such as the yuzuki-san ep1 debacle) and i wouldn't even call this a complaint really
but something so significant and so beautiful was lost in translation in ep8 of revenger
this is the relevant scene:
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background for context:
raizou (black hair here) is on a quest for revenge after the death of his wife (the woman in the painting, which raizou painted himself) and he's taken on 'taishin' as a pseudonym to sell his art (for which he discovered a talent and passion during this revenge quest)
his wife's name was yui, and white hair here (the leader of this ragtag band of revengers) is named usui yuen
all of this is relevant
the main issue here is... the character 唯, which was originally written on the painting, has been translated as 'tai' which later becomes 'taishin' when raizou adds a few strokes and a second character to form his pseudonym
but what is 唯 actually? it's... yui
the original character on the painting, 唯, is his wife's name. and usui's name? 碓氷幽��
key character being: 碓
the subtitles do capture the significance of raizou taking a character from usui's name to make his pseudonym, and that's great. but that isn't all he did. with two strokes he changed the 口 to a 石, he changed his wife's name into a character from usui's name and then added a 心 (heart!) to make it his own
there are a whole lot of reasons this is Special to me but that would require going into the rest of the show which i won't do lol, the dynamics are fascinating but this post is already getting way too long
anyway i just think this is a suuuper normal and well-adjusted thing he did there, didn't alter my brain chemistry at all (lying) and i just need more people to know about it because i think the subs (while doing imo as best as they could!) really did not make it possible for most viewers to catch this
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r-18g · 4 months ago
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akiha's evil anons...
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darkgifted · 1 year ago
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arlis + act ii : moonrise towers
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ef-1 · 1 year ago
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I'M BROKEN, BUT I'M TRYING | MAY'23
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aceghosts · 9 months ago
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Rooney Shepard/Yorinobu Arasaka Screenshots (2/X)
MOD LIST
Taglist (Like this post to opt in/out for edits): @bbrocklesnar, @marivenah, @carlosoliveiraa, @nightbloodbix, @strangefable, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @captmactavish, @captastra, @alexxmason, @voidika, @amalkavian, @inafieldofdaisies, @fourlittleseedlings, @theelderhazelnut, @cloudofbutterflies92, @clicheantagonist, @katsigian, @cassietrn
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cxnsolatio · 6 months ago
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[-Yeets Aya towards Law-] ❛ Tell me what you want me to do. ❜
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✚✚✚ @bucketfullofocs
tell me starters ⁽ ᵃᶜᶜᵉᵖᵗᶦⁿᵍ ⁾
The smile that had surfaced to his features at the sound of her obliging query faded into a glower as he took a moment to contemplate upon meaning and semantics, fond as always of going beyond the immediate and palpable, rendering poor Aya's words of willingness void. Law was a professional, low-maintenance grump, meaning not much was needed to get him vexed and sour. Aya's words, so sweet off her mouth, held a more sinister meaning only one, posssessor of a mind of equal darkness, would have caught on; the question being whether Law would brush them off as a linguistic faux pas and cut Aya some much-needed slack, or if he would weaponise them for the sake of teasing the pink-haired creature.
❝ Mind your words. ❞ He ordered, not unkindly. His legs spread wide open, taking much of the space as if the barrel of ale he sat on was a throne, Law's knees served as the support for his elbows, so that he could join his fingers together under his chin in curious introspection. ❝ I am serious, Pinky. Rethink what you just said, word by word. ❞ Law shot his index like a gun at each of his own words. ❝ Now, can you see how that sentence could possibly be reconstructed into something more baleful? Dare I say it, something sexual? ❞
Of course he dared. Law would never let the most minute chance to tease innocent Aya and watch her cheeks turn the colour of her hair strands escape through his fingers. He clutched to these opportunities like a lifeline. It was one of the purposes to his current existence: perhaps not the most urgent or noble, but a good one to uphold, if not entertaining.
He chuckled, sure that Aya would soon be connecting the dots and understanding how a man with one step up in the hierarchy of power and control could transform her friendly intentions into dirty bidding, and call on her to fulfill his carnal desires. How fun it would be to see her beet-red and looking for a place to hide.
❝ Those are very dangerous words to say to a man, more so a pirate. Rascals and brutes, the lot of them. ❞ Law spoke as though he set himself apart from said demographic, and while not being golden wheat, he certainly was elite among the chaff that were pirates. ❝ They would not think twice before telling you just what to do… Salacious, yes. ❞
Getting up, Law wiped nonexistent dirt from his jeans and stretched out his arms with a crack of his bones before grabbing his sword and hip. His expression softened, but his voice betrayed a drop of possessiveness. ❝ So don't say them to anyone else but me, understood? Now come. I've got business to attend to. ❞
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monstersmade · 7 months ago
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//puts kadaj in my muoth
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ladyinthebluebox · 7 months ago
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oh dear oh my, not me trying find an angle or two to take some kissy caps during a romance scene and somewhat regretting my CC choices aside being extremely unwell about blorbos affectionaly touching hands.
like. sex is fine but gentle hand touching? beyond comparison.
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