#it sounded so good in my head and then

[hinamie]

playing around w slightly different hair renders

[teddybeartoji]

it's not often you get to see a sleepy suguru.

it's not like he's not tired – he's fucking exhausted; the dreams just don't seem to like him all that much. but he's usually toughing it out, trying to seem as composed and put-together as possible. the dark skin underneath his eyes betray him, though.

so you don't really know why today is different. is he just more tired? have all of the sleepless hours caught up with him? or is it just you; could it be that your body is the most comfortable place to rest his heavy head? or is it your perfume that's soothing him to sleep?

or is it the fingers in his hair?

he doesn't really let others play with his hair too ofter either. satoru and shoko had been the only exceptions but that was before you came along. satoru uses his hair as a stim, something to play with when he's bored. suguru has taught him manners though – a few slaps against satoru's fingers and chest to remind him to be more careful. and shoko is just more likely to brush a strand from his eyes or help him tie them up in a half-assed bun whenever his own hands are full with whatever.

you like playing with hair, always have and always will. it's relaxing and it's fun and it's calming and you love it. when you first met suguru, his hair was the second thing you noticed about him (his keen purple eyes being the first). an irresistible itch burned in your fingertips everytime you saw him, everytime he wore his hair down. it just looked so pretty and soft.

he takes very good care of his hair, you know that much. specific shampoos and conditioners, masks and all – he's all in. and nobody bats an eye. not that they should but satoru definitely gets made fun of because of his stupidly expensive collection of figurines and shoko gets teased for her silly mug shelf – and yet, neither of them ever comment on the bottles and tubs of fancy products that lay on his bathroom counter.

his hair also smells good. the compliment always hangs on the tip of your tongue but stays hidden in fear of coming off too weird. too creepy. but he doesn smell good. even with closed eyes and ears and you'd find him in a crowd. you wonder whether he knows that.

as you grew closer and closer, the now scorching itch only doubled in need. you never did gather the strenght to outwardly ask him – if you could play with his hair? if you could caress it? comb through it? it was an accident.

a simple gloomy friday afternoon: you're both lazing on your couch, staring at the screen. it's funny – you find yourself muffling your already quiet bursts of laughter, suguru alongside you. he's sitting close by, closer than usual. you don't ask him about it.

he asked to come over; something-something about being sick of his own apartment. you understand that, so you tell him that your home is his home (you'd tell him that even if you didn't understand). you hear the faint smile when he thanks you over the phone.

even when he looks like he hasn't slept in months – he looks good. you can tell he's overexaggerating his smile a bit but don't say anything about it, rewarding him with a grin of your own. his eyes flick to your lips and how they curve and he thinks about how warm it feels to look at you. maybe he's not exaggerating anymore.

your arms open wide, inviting him into you and he obliges, as always. he smells good. as always.

his hands lock behind your back and your behind his neck. your hearts meet and they greet each other with a fastened beat, eager to be in sync – to feel each other again.

he pulls back and the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. he's not doing it anymore and you're happy to relieve him even if it's for mere moments.

he's wearing a sweather and his hair is down. he has lip gloss on; you try to think whether he's more of a mint guy or more of a shea guy. it remains a mystery.

and now you're on the couch with two cups of warm tea waiting for you on the small table. he smells good. he's so close. he snickers at the screen and you can't take your eyes off of him. it's the same small crinkle of the eyes and the faintest pink tint on his cheeks.

you know he knows that you're looking at him. you've been told to have a staring problem and he's just an observant guy. it's a terrible match. or a perfect one.

he doesn't say anything though; instead he leans his head back and little to the side against the headrest (he's even closer now) and you find yourself shifting an inch aswell. perhaps magnets are involved? the iron in your blood pulling you together?

no, that can't be. you'd have to be polar opposites for that to work. warm-blooded and cold-blooded? would that work? you're getting too poetic and he's looking at you now.

it's an accident. it slips out on its own. you smell good. caught off guard by your own comment, you're about to apologize when a hand on your thigh almost makes you suffocate on the words stuck in your throat.

he laughs and it feels so good. he thanks you. he means it, you see it in his tired eyes. he likes the way you blush.

turning his focus back to the tv, you try to collect yourself. a deep breath in and a deep one out and a deep one in and a de—

a weight on your shoulder. he smells so good. he's so close. you peek down, curious as to whether this is a dream or not. but suguru's head is in fact laid on your body, sinking a bit more into you by the second. a deep breath in and a deep one out.

seeking for a more comfortable position, you snuggle closer to him. it's hard to focus but you're making it your sole mission to make him feel safe. your arm curls around his body, his shoulder, and rests right by a flock of his hair.

his cheek is now smushed against the top of your chest and the weight of love doesn't seem as bad as everyone keeps telling you. his hand finds a place around your waist; loosely – as if he's the one who's afraid to scare you off. silly.

his breath against you feels right and the butterflies in your stomach refuse to calm down. so you do what you always do when you get nervous – completely on their own, your fingers caress his hair. just smoothing over it at first but before you know it, they're combing through a strand and twirling the ends between themselves.

you wanna apologize, again, but the soft little grunt that emits from the man keeps you from doing so.

don't stop.

+ this is for @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat just bc it feels right

[cheriboms]

spirit boys 🤝 hats

[not-rigel]

deep sigh.... councilwoman sevika<3

[somerandomcockroach]

A large burning canvas could be seen in the distance.

The neat fingers, full of small dents from the friction of the sword handle, caught a small flame, which immediately went out from faint pressure.

There was silence, a living silence, one of those that strains with its sound. A warm wind heated his battered, but carefully polished armor.

"You want to say something"

"I want" Blurr answered, turning sharply to the dark silhouette behind him that was quietly watching him until now. He clenched his fist with a grinding sound, where the spark died out, and demonstratively opened it towards the darkness. "And this is how you are paid for making the world freer! This is what remains of your legacy, and you react as if it doesn’t concern you at all!"

"It does not concern me anymore" the figure answered him calmly.

"Shockwave, stop!"

"Is that an order?"

"It's a request” His angry expression made it clear that this request was an obligation. “I just don't recognize you for these few months." His hand shook slightly with anger. Black smoke seeped through the cracks in his armor.

"I don't recognize myself for even longer time." Blurr visibly trembled at these words, realizing where the dialogue was leading. Shockwave slowly approached, his long, deformed fingers, three times longer than one of Blurr's fingers, carefully reached out to his hand and wrapped his palms in his huge paws, kneeling down to be on the same level with him. "Blurr, I-"

Blurr turned his head away so as not to see one piercing, but such a swampy dim light of his terrifying eye, which had become more precious to him than his weekly knightly brigandage. "Shut up. It's too early, we haven't agreed on when exactly to do this"

The dull mass of metal, which was only a tangible casing, after some hope of catching at least a spark of doubt, only lowered its head heavily. The crackling of the fire continued to be heard around. The soot reached them, gifting them with at least some warm light among the shades of cold before dying. Realization, regret, reluctance were not reflected in the knight's optics. His armor, always proudly looking into the face of danger, now reflected only the cowardly lights of the fire from behind. Despite this, he did not remove his hand from the strong lock until the blades themselves parted. Shockwave disappeared. Disappeared as he had done for the past few months.

Blurr turned back to the burning wall. From afar were heard screams, squeals, grinding, clanking. The column of fire did not subside, as if it was fed by fuel from secret reserves. It had been burning like that for hours, as if to show the greatness of this building over others that would have left only a column of smoke long ago.

Shockwave's last school of dark magic was burning out, as was the will of its creator to live.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

A victory for the Empire it would be.

[aru-loves-krishnaxarjuna]

Krishna, in Vishwaroop, asks his Beloved Parth, "Am I not scary?"

And Arjuna replies, "Scary? My God, you're Divine!"

[darkxsoulzyx]

POV: You join the fnaf security breach fandom / DCA fandom

[shotmrmiller]

That SD!Simon who took a one night stand would have me accepting a babysitting job across the city. The that requires Reader to stay with the kids for a week cause the parents need the vacation. Maybe, possibly meeting someone from that side and 👀

i hear that LOUD AND CLEAR. LIKE GLASS.

listen i ooooooh i would be reaching out to my toxic but great lay ex like pull up neoooowww

gotta have him being a big gross grump who takes care of his own kid now. stop knocking on our door asking how much formula she takes read the can brother

naw i'd be hella moving on. catch me firmly setting lines he cannot and will not cross. no i don't give a damn how tired you are, get your baby and go back to your own flat. no i cannot watch your child mr. riley im gonna have a guy over and you will not interrupt my date with him.

girllll (gn) i'd be howling like a cat in heat during sex too js.

[haveihitanerve]

Dick hated heights. He wasn’t afraid of them, that would be silly. He just… didn’t like them very much. He liked his feet on the ground, thank you very much. But he couldn’t tell his parents that, they were acrobats, they would be ruined. (Not likely but dick was six so he’s not very reasonable) And then his parents fell and dick felt justified in his hatred of heights. But then Bruce came along. And Dick told him, because he figured it was something Bruce should know if they were to be partners, if Bruce was going to rely on him in the field. And Bruce didn’t laugh or yell or do anything really, just looked thoughtful for a while and then went “well. That’s something we’ll have to work on I suppose.” And they did. They practiced distraction, so dick wouldn’t notice he was up high, they practiced balance, so dick would know, logically, that he was safe, and most of all they practiced trust, so dick would know that Bruce would always be there to catch him if he fell. Always. And he was there, every time. He never let dick fall. Dick hates his father for many things, even resented him for some, but he never hated how much he trusted Bruce. Even if they fought, even if they said things they didn’t mean, dick knew Bruce would still be there to catch him. He might wait a few seconds, being petty being a bitch, but he would catch him. Dick loved him for that. And Dick chased Bruce across rooftops with the balance and strength of an acrobat, and Robin flew across Gotham with all the steady assurance of one who knew he wouldn’t fall, and if he did that he would be caught. Dick Grayson hated heights, it was true, but Dick Grayson-Wayne, the first Robin, Nightwing, leader of the Teen Titans and Young Justice… Well, he thrives in the sky.

[kagoutiss]

green beetle black beetle

[ahollowgrave]

-- all saints' wake.

[momentomori24]

During my playthrough, based on the way she said this and Wenona's grossed out reaction afterwards, I could only assume this was an innuendo or weird joke I couldn't understand. So I looked it up today and apparently when adding the two words together it's a pun for "Cunninglinguists" which 💀 Like damn, no wonder everyone was so sure you two were fucking as bunk buddies.

[sualne]

JOY BOY HAS ARRIVED.

[ladyinthebluebox]

goodbye, my dearest hellsite friends user @legionofpotatoes just came in and assassinated me with this (and i'm very serious about it) incredibly thoughtful gift idea:

[itwoodbeprefect]

the great thing about falling really deep into a new media niche is developing opinions on many new things. the terrible thing about falling really deep into a new media niche is developing opinions on many new things