#for a split second anyway

[monochromeia]

prowlerr

[faivsz]

|| cal's journey i tried to incorporate the pivotal moments for cal during fallen order's story into this piece such as how his journey started to its closing

[novamayhem]

Stars, double cherries!

I decided to do this with my absolute favorite ship ever

[bikefuckersoftheworldunite]

Valentino and Sete at post race press cons throughout 2004

Welkom | Mugello | Catalunya | Donington Park | Brno

[dieselocelot]

are you going to strangle me next?

[kingdomhearts-and-soriku-trash]

I love when Riku is in the room where Sora’s sleeping pod is in, and he doesn’t see Sora at first, but when he does he RUNS to him. And then he’s panicked and says, “What have you done to Sora?!” And the way he calms down when he knows he’s not dead or hurt. He’s simply sleeping to get his memories back. And Naminé’s gasp before she says, “Nothing!” Just makes us all feel Riku’s wrath at that moment since she was like “!!!” At his words.

AND THEN!! How when Riku is talking to Xion in 358/2 days, and she asks about where Sora is at the time, Riku’s voice is a little sharper on the ‘that’ when he says, “That secret stays with me.”

AND HIM ADMITTING HE’S NOT MAD…HE’S JUST SAD!!! And wants his best friend back!!!

I love protective Riku when he’s actively showing it😭😭.

[kalashnikovlobotomy]

serious and significantly less serious

[geodesick]

[ID: a drawing of pye from outer wilds, standing with her writing staff. she's wearing an orange nomai space suit without the helmet, and she has a light brown face with curly darker brown fur. end ID]

figuring out how i want to draw the nomai, so here's a pye since i am obsessed with her !!!

[supercalime]

Just thought about sharing this frame right here

Do with it what you will

[nectarinesinthesun444]

I was looking at my own post as I do and i had to pause on this cause look at how close neil and todd’s heads are???

anderperry crumb I found from my post about this scene ig

[jklpopcorn]

crying and sobbing i was supposed to draw doodles of my ocs but instead all there is is Siffrin

they're so shaped i have to draw them

also

100% :)

[heynhay]

i love everybody because i love you

[doctorsiren]

post 7-year gap and after fusing together again, can phoenix still unfuse into nick and feenie? also i love your art and i hope you have a lovely day! :D

He’s having a Stevonnie moment

So after getting their names cleared, they were able to find that unity with each other and become whole again

However, they had been split apart and had been 2 people for 7 years. At first, he was super happy about feeling complete finally, but then he began to miss himself

The two of them never fit together perfectly before the split, but it seems that even more so now that they’ve had to develop as their own people for 7 years that they don’t fit together perfectly all the time

And when they had become one again, they saw each other’s memories and thoughts and feelings about those 7 years as separate people, which is why Nick is finally able to cry and hug Feenie

Because now they both feel each other’s emotions in a way that they couldn’t before when they had been split for 7 years.

There is a unity and understanding between them, but both of them were so used to having another person with them that it feels lonely

Nick especially is having a hard time, as now all these emotions from Feenie are a part of him and he doesn’t know how to handle it and he just wishes that they either never split apart in the first place or that they never became whole again

They work through it, and eventually get to a point where they feel comfortable and whole being Phoenix for most of the time, but there will be times where they split for whatever reason (so they’ve basically become Garnet-)

I’m so incredibly normal about this I swear :)))

[girlsn0t]

sunlight in the temple of aphrodite- h/ades + e/pic snz, a/pollo and a/phrodite

@stargazersnz and i have become deranged about a/pollo. please enjoy this absurdly flowery fic about a/phrodite, snzfucker and messfucker extraordinaire, looking after an ailing a/pollo. not actually this much snz in this one but don't worry, there Will Be More.

sunlight in the temple of aphrodite- aphrodite takes care of an ailing apollo and muses upon how undeniably beautiful he is while sick.

contains: mess, nonsexual nudity but definitely implied sexual thoughts from aphrodite, inducing someone while they sleep (consent established off-screen and pre-fic; further elaboration in tags).

Aphrodite’s palace upon Olympus is beautiful even by the standards of the heavens themselves. Of course, it could not be anything but beautiful, for Love herself resides within it. The palace is not too unlike her temples in Corinth and Kythira; the building is composed of carved white marble and gold, offset by seastone and burnished bronze. All manner of ever-blooming flora surround it, and birds of all varieties pay pilgrimage to her gardens. Doors and windows are covered only by sheets of sheer, gauzy fabric, further adorned by windchimes of seashells and uncut gemstones. 

The interior, of course, is full of that which Aphrodite treasures. Trinkets from her lovers, busts in her likeness, little perches for doves. Everything inside is bright, as if doused in perpetual sunlight, and it always smells of crocus and hyacinth. There is no place Aphrodite would rather resides with that which she adores.

Perhaps most adored of all, right now, is the fellow god resting upon her bosom. 

Her dearest songbird, Apollo, lies beside her with his head resting upon her chest and one muscular arm resting limp across her midsection. His knee just barely presses against the soft curve of her inner thigh. Sheets of fine silk and warm downy feathers has been strewn to either side of the bed, and its two occupants are entirely nude. The warm weather, along with Apollo’s fever, have made bedding unnecessary for now.

The poor thing has been resting for some time, albeit a bit fitfully. Artemis had practically dumped him at Aphrodite’s door, claiming she could no longer stand his whining and dramatics. And of course, Aphrodite had jumped on the opportunity to care for her ailing songbird. 

It had been no struggle at all to coax Apollo into bed for a much-needed nap, leaving Aphrodite free to admire his beauty. Golden afternoon light emphasizes the rich bronze tone of his skin. Well-trained muscles adorn his arms and back. Soft locks of hair the same color as sunlight spill over his shoulders and through Aphrodite’s fingers as she gently runs her fingernails over his scalp, again and again, soothing the poor thing whenever he shivers in his sleep. His entire body radiates sickly heat, and a deep flush colors his cheeks and nose. Oh, his poor, beautiful nose…

Aphrodite could admire Apollo’s nose all day. It is perfectly suited for his face, straight and elegant. A perfect balance of soft, androgynous beauty and sharp, knowing angles. Presently that lovely nose is red and raw at the nostrils, warmer than the rest of him where it presses, just barely, against Aphrodite’s clavicle. 

A dreadful cold has taken up residence inside that perfect nose. Apollo had been sniffling from the moment he arrived, and congestion altered the harmony of his voice when he spoke. He would frequently wipe at the appendage with a silk handkerchief. And, of course, he was sneezing. Quite frequently.

It is a melody that Aphrodite will simply never tire of hearing! Watching the swell of his defined chest and the sudden hazy, needy expression that would overtake his handsome face- it was a performance unmatched by anything the Muses or poets could create. Apollo’s sneezes always had the soft yet pronounced quality of a hymn, melodic and lovely and desperate in ways that made Aphrodite’s heart flutter. This is emphasized further by how shy the poor songbird is about being ill. It is unbecoming, he says, for a god of plagues to be brought low by his own element; for the sun to not shine as brightly, for notes to fall flat. 

Utter foolishness, Aphrodite thinks. There is nothing so beautiful and perfect as when Apollo gives in. 

“Nhhh…”

Aphrodite is torn from her musings by a soft, congested whimper from Apollo. He’s still asleep, but a crease has formed between his brows, and his nostrils flare and twitch. 

“Poor thing,” Aphrodite hums as she runs her fingers through his hair again, voice low and tender. “You must be so itchy.”

As if to agree, Apollo twists a bit in his sleep, instinctively rubbing the tip of his nose against Aphrodite’s bare collarbone. Sudden warmth races up and down her body, yet she remains perfectly still, save for the hand playing with Apollo’s sunny locks. 

“ihhh….hh!” A note of desperation accompanies the next whine. Apollo shifts again, and Aphrodite admires every new angle she witnesses. The faintest glimmer of wetness shines at the base of his nostrils, which crease and twitch once more. His lips, full and fever-warm, part just slightly as his breath hitches. 

Apollo’s whole face becomes a stage for unresolved nasal torment, and it is a beautiful performance.

Aphrodite knows she ought to leave Apollo be, but how can she, with such neediness and desperation literally laying atop her? The idea of letting this tickle crescendo naturally is indeed pleasant, but Aphrodite has never been one for patience. Apollo needs relief from that awful itch, and he certainly won’t find it without some help. 

She takes a piece of her own hair between her fingers and guides the end of it to Apollo’s beautiful, cold-ridden nose. Delicately, Aphrodite brushes her hair under Apollo’s nostrils. His nose immediately scrunches in response from even that faint brush, and Aphrodite has to hold back a fond chuckle. Apollo is typically the very picture of poise and elegance, and there is something quite wonderful about watching him come undone like this.

Aphrodite can see a drowsy trickle of snot beginning to leak from one reddened nostril. Her poor songbird must be so terribly congested and itchy…all the better to sneeze all that mess out, then. 

Again Aphrodite sweeps her hair beneath Apollo’s nostrils, this time with more speed and pressure. The god’s breath hitches, brow creasing and expression becoming hazy. The tickle is undoubtedly mounting even as he slumbers, but it will take more than just a tickle to draw it out completely. With traces of his snot making the ends of her hair clumped and stiff, Aphrodite gently traces the outline of one flaring nostril before slipping the strand in.

The reaction is instantaneous. Gorgeous, melodic hitches pour from Apollo with increased intensity as Aphrodite tickles the sensitive, inflamed lining of his nose. 

Normally he isn’t so easy to induce while ill, but his body is desperate to expel this irritant. Apollo’s shoulders quiver and his expression becomes almost pleading as Aphrodite tickles his nose. She swirls the strand of hair about until one particular pass makes his whines pitch upwards, and she focuses her attention there until Apollo finally erupts with a set of sneezes.

“Ihh’HHTSHhh’uue!” That perfect nose finally achieves relief. Startled into wakefulness, Apollo’s entire body moves with the sneeze, pressing against Aphrodite, head bowing forward gracefully. A generous amount of mess splatters across her breasts, and a heavy, gleaming cord of snot connects his nose with the strand of hair she had used to induce him. “-hhhah! Ahh-hhAH— HHIH-!”Another symphonic swell of hitching. Now conscious and fully surrendered to the sensation, Apollo’s head tips back a bit as he builds up, giving her a front-seat ticket to the performance. His gorgeous face crumples once more, every muscle and bit of breath giving into this undeniable urge. “IHHH’TSHH’hiew! hhh-hh’HIH’PSH’hue!”

More snot sprays across Aphrodite’s bare skin. Apollo coughs a bit, dazed and breathless in the aftermath of that dazzling display. Aphrodite herself feels a bit lightheaded, heart dancing in her chest and warmth stirring within her.

“Bless you, little songbird. My, what a lovely gift to wake up to, those gorgeous sneezes of yours,” Aphrodite praises, voice flush with genuine affection. She brings a single delicate finger to Apollo’s nose and wipes it beneath his leaking nostrils.

“Nhh…lovely for you, perhaps,” Apollo rasps, melodic voice thick with congestion. He winces a bit at the mess he’s made over Aphrodite, and moves to sit up- but she keeps an arm around his shoulders to dissuade him. 

“Here, let me…”

Aphrodite plucks a silk handkerchief from thin air and tenderly begins cleaning Apollo, starting with his sculpted chin and moving up over his lips until she finally starts wiping mess from his nose. He flushes red as if embarrassed, but they both know he secretly adores the attention and doting care. “How are you feeling, love?”

“Uh…uhh’TSHh’iew!” Apollo sneezes again in response, muffled into the folds of the handkerchief. He sniffles thickly on instinct, but it accomplishes nothing. “Unwell.”

Apollo must be feeling truly awful, if he’s settling on such low-syllable, non-evocative adjectives. Aphrodite coos in sympathy and folds the handkerchief over. “Poor thing…blow for me.”

There’s a beat of hesitation, but Apollo complies, blowing as gently as he can. It still creates a snotty gurgle that makes Aphrodite shiver, and she hums in appreciation as she wipes his nose in the aftermath of it. “Good, so good for me…” Apollo shivers in her arms, and Aphrodite knows it has nothing to do with his fever. “My dear, how does a hot bath sound? It will ease your congestion and soothe your muscles.”

Apollo looks up at Aphrodite, pupils dilated and cheeks flushed darkly. Despite his ailment, a small smile begins forming on his face. “A bath sounds lovely.” 

No further discussion is had before Aphrodite leads him to her bathing chambers- and though she forgets a robe, she is sure to grab a fresh handkerchief on the way. 

[improvised-finish]

Miqo March Day #27 - Hope

Our song of hope, she dances on the wind

Higher, oh higher

E'er our hearts endure and remain forever strong

Standing tall through the dark do we carry on

On wings of hope you rise up through the night

Higher, oh higher

Carrying our song cradled fast within your arms

That its chorus might ring for all

Even with the burden halved, the hopes of Eorzea– nay, the whole of existence– are an impossibly heavy weight on the shoulders of the Warriors of Light.

And yet, one foot in front of another, they press on.

[see-arcane]

This part focuses on Quincey in particular instead of everyone, "Quincey raised his eyebrows slightly and looked at her intently", and I wonder if it connects with what he had said before: "And I promise you, too, that I shall make all certain, for if I am only doubtful I shall take it that the time has come!" Because Quincey is the one who always clocks on the situation at hand first, and patrols for threats (and if he spots one he shoots first asks questions later)

He does clock things very fast and takes action just as quickly. When he's facing the right way.

But in this scene, our favorite Texan isn't looking the right way or even reacting safely as much as he is quick about it. Even if his reaction was entirely innocent surprise, the fact that he made clear how ready he was to serve Mina's euthanasia request--seemingly with more readiness than even Dr. Jack Malpractice who must 'steel' himself to the idea--has absolutely stuck in Jonathan's mind.

Hence Jonathan death gripping the kukri as Quincey gets (to his eyes) the wrong kind of interested.

The whole story could have gone very nasty very fast if Mr. 'You've yeed your last haw' Morris had made a wrong move at that moment.