#ifykyk and by means

[numbbface]

Loverboy 🫂

Drew this back in june and just thought i'd have a little fun using one of the references i've saved the past year. Impressed myself quite a bit on how smooth the line art looks.

Referenced used is of Hyunsik (Left) and Ilhoon (Right. omg he's back🙌✨) of BtoB.

just guys being dudes…dudes being guys🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️

extra :)

[mithrandirl]

In that dream I thought the eastern sky grew dark and there was a growing thunder, but in the West a pale light lingered, and out of it I heard a voice, remote but clear, crying...

[miidnightpoet]

i don’t want to sleep

i don’t want to think about art museums

or orange muffins

or houses with green and red shutters

or late night tea

or dancing on kitchen counters

i don’t want to think about the sky

i don’t want to think about Copenhagen



[secretagentsagainstwhatever]

To all the Americans worrying that Kamala won’t be a good first female president, don’t worry it can’t be any worse than the UK’s three attempts

[strawberrypinky]

~ just because recent events have called for this again ~

-

read my psa on consent (in fanfiction) HERE

[v5b5]

Period.

[julietasgf]

not tagging this and DEFINITELY deleting later (fr this time), but personally I just can't feel comfortable writing a fluffy dynamic between a heavily bigoted character x character from the group they hatecrime, but that's just me I guess

[crabcakesartblog]

Sometimes I feel like O'saa is popular and everyone likes him but other times it feels like he doesn't get enough love and idk why

[guardianof4elements]

// @multifandomer537 and I have made new names for ourselves:

Pure Doe (@multifandomer537)

Roman Soldier (me)

Tags: @oh-to-be-a-murderer @iwasmadetobeasoldier @serenastark-official @mutantwitchgirl

@the-best-black-widow @your-fav-russian-assassin

[connormccafferyhater]

ngl i would be sniffin ts

[ghostpebble]

love wips in which i continue to mentally damage the main character further than they already were in canon

[what-a-weird-rose]

November 3, 1981

Happy birthday, Sirius Black!

[cw: a bit of swearing, implied wolfstar, oct. 31, 1981 angst]

The moon hung fat in the sky, glowering over the world in infinite glory. Sirius could see how it curled around the angry clouds high above Azkaban. The sky was always angry looking, and he had decided one day, not long after getting here. A breeze passes through the cell, carrying the drunken smell of rot and death. He squints at the sky, some tiny part of him hoping that the moon might come down, places a soft kiss on his skin, and brings him home and back to James. 

Sirius licks his lips and tastes how the skin has cracked without water. The act does nothing; his mouth is even drier if one could believe it, but the feeling of the act grounds him. The feeling, as strange as it seems in this hellscape, of dragging his tongue along the cracks of his lips brings him back to his center.

The moon does not come down to deliver him to James. Instead, it continues to be full and happy in the dark, cloudy sky. Sirius wishes he could be full; even without the happiness, fullness would be enough.

He can hear Bellatrix down the long, seemingly ceaseless halls, the way she screeches, sings, and cackles at his dementor-induced screams.

Sirius breathes, forcing her out of his mind as though her legilimency could reach into his mind, tear through the hundreds of cells between them, and tangle through his memories like Mother had so often done in his youth. Her choking screeches become distant– as though her cell has begun freefalling through to the bottom of Azkaban– the idea brings a small, reserved smile to his face. 

He smells the dementors as they turn to lord over him, and he instinctively screeches—the memories of his family flooding into his mind’s eye are more than enough to drown out any and all joy that remained from the moment.

The floating creatures are gone faster than they had arrived, gliding away gracefully toward their next victim. Sirius doesn’t feel bad for the soul they try for next; he tells himself that they deserve it—he whispers it aloud in the cold confines of his cell. Azkaban is for criminals, he thinks, when the moon is covered by thick, slightly less-gray-than-usual clouds.

“Azkaban is for the worst of the worst,” he says quietly as the moon slowly reemerges, beautiful and blinding to his overly sensitive eyes.

He crouches and feels the way Padfoot’s fur overtakes Sirius’ skin. He revels in how Padfoot moves– the instinctive agility topped with reflects Sirius’ human body could never achieve. Padfoot was synonymous with freedom– as silly as it felt to be free in prison, the idea of never becoming Padfoot again was horrifying; the thought brought with it an intense sickness that caused severe remembrance of eyeing James’ corpse for the first time on the thirty-first of October, 11:17 P.M. 

Padfoot twitches. An insatiable itch erupts along his back and haunches that, no matter how aggressively he rolls and shakes, he cannot satisfy. The moonlight slowly consumes his cell, casting grand, white light over the crackling, ugly black stone. 

Despite the persistent itch, he retreats and rescinds himself to the shadow of the back wall below the barred window. 

He can hear it distantly– the distinct, guttural sound of Moony’s howl– the anger, resentment, sorrow, and anticipation that meld into one another to become the eye-splitting, blood-curdling howl that haunts him. Padfoot’s blood freezes, as it always has at the sound of a creature so far removed from the natural world that the idea of investigating -of interacting with it- made him shake. He reverts to Sirius and tries to suppress the memories of Remus’ screaming, which preceded the howling. 

He finds his fingers coiled tightly by his hair when he wakes later. The moon is out of sight, likely sitting high and mighty above the horrendously massive prison like some demented warden of tortured souls.

Somewhere far away, Sirius can hear one of the Lestranges yelling at his brother and the other Lestrange yelling back. He distantly thinks he can relate to it, but the reason behind the connection is lost. 

James is with him today; he thinks it was sometime after the yelling had ceased. He stands tall and proud in the corner furthest from the window–and from Sirius. The residual moonlight highlights James in a way reminiscent of something holy. 

“What are you doing, Sirius?” James asks, not accusatory but more distant. As though he has a checklist of questions to ask, and he simply wants to complete it as quickly as possible. 

“Sitting.” Sirius mumbles, looking at anything in the tiny cell but James. 

Something about this James makes him feel sickly– the way his eyes pierce with a ring of emerald laced around his irises like one of Mother’s doilies. 

“Why are you being so difficult?” James asks, but his voice has shifted from soft and uninterested to sharp and overbearing. “Why do you refuse to be helped?” James asks in Mother’s sharp, keen voice.

“’m s’rry,” Sirius says, quieter than before, and he vaguely remembers being small and young once.

“You should be,” Lily sneers, though her eyes don’t quite reach him. Her voice is James’, deep and rumbly, as though she had just woken up and had rolled out of bed to scold him. “Why are you here, Sirius?” She asks him, though James’s voice is gone and replaced with Lily’s. 

I don’t remember; he tries, but his voice fails him. Lily looks down at him and squints, looking vaguely toward his tattoos.

I did something awful. He tries again, but this time, his throat closes tightly, leaving him with a hoarse gurgling sound.

“Don’t lie to me,” James says. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest, and his eyes look over Sirius suspiciously before roaming up toward the window.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius says again, though James looks unimpressed.

“Do you know why Remus isn’t here, Sirius?” Sirius’ head begins to feel heavy, thick, and floaty with nausea. “I’ll tell you, hmm? It’s because he couldn’t stand it. No, he couldn’t,” James says, though his voice is thick as though his mouth is full of peanut butter. “He couldn’t stand to be lied to by you. You fucked with him before, you remember that?” James laughs loudly, and for a moment, Sirius worries the dementors will come for him next. “Remus could get you out of here, he could– but why would he when all you’ve ever done is fuck with him?”

Sirius nods. The words don’t quite sink in, but the feeling behind them sits on his skin and bites.

“I’m sorry, Prongs.”

“Don’t call me that.” James says quickly. “It’s your fault I’m here, you know– your fault you’re here, too.” 

Sirius rolls over, watching his hair fall limply in front of his eyes like a curtain calling for the close of a show. 

“I didn’t do it.” Sirius whimpers and doesn’t know whether he wants James to hear him.

“No, you’re right, Sirius.” James whispers from somewhere close to his head. “But you could have stopped it. You could have plead your case. You could have stayed with Harry. You could have seen through Peter. You could have known Remus would never betray us. So maybe,” James says quietly, oh-so-close to his ear, “you did kill us, Sirius. You killed me and my wife, and for that, I hope you rot.”

[pamouche]

different ways of holding hands in THE ECLIPSE (akkayan)

[fricc-darn]

Can you go into more what kisses with Ben would be like? Like, do the other moon children like being kissed? Not on the lips neesciartly, but like on the cheek or forehead?

Kisses depend on whoever fronts! Though there is a common pattern depending on the age, some are exceptions. 

The younger individuals typically like getting or giving kisses on the cheek, forehead, and nose. Older Moon Children are a bit more lenient about where they receive or give kisses. They prefer being kissed on the lips or cheeks. 

Kissing is a gamble, since some aren't good at it. The kiss will never be sloppy, but sometimes it can be too firm, have clashing teeth, or be just awkward. Those Moon Children don't kiss often because of that. The ones who are good at it are very tender and playful; you'd wish it lasted longer. 

Since BEN isn't human, kissing feels weird and different. If you don't think too much about it, it's easier to get used to. Kissing BEN would feel like kissing one of those realistic silicone dolls.

[noroalia]

love ignoring the op when reblogging posts

[notquiteaghost]

this is about a specific ship but this is gonna be an ifykyk post. sometimes characters being shy & non-demonstrative & cryptic & doing overly complicated intricate rituals with in-jokes and references. does NOT mean they aren't on the same page re: their mutual strength of feelings. and in fact this kind of autism4autism 4D chess communication is only sustainable if they ARE on the same page about it. sometimes you meet someone and you click so immediately and completely that even tho you are both skittish horses– because you are both skittish horses, you know the depth of feeling is mutual. you recognise the love confessions within the skittish horse behaviour because you are also a skittish horse. there is no "but do they really like me......", there is the exact opposite. idly musing on potential wedding locations one day without either of you actually proposing type of unspoken surety.