#lesgo <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[aphicelend]

BUDDIES!!!

so today i was thinking of them and i had to draw!!!

i wonder what nore and den will think about ice's friend

[enukitake]

silly doods <3 (my lone at the bottom)

[lilacthebooklover]

my friend challenged me to make a (very mini) crk animatic in 15 minutes, so please take SiLlaY vAniLlAy

[jessamine-rose]

hello jess beloved..... made a little thing for phantom pain bc i saw this pose reference and immediately i think of jiejie and dain hehe

jiejie's pov? ;D

.............rin?? (。_°)☆

KSNE39E3VKVNVKNVRIK RIN WHAT THE FCK I THOUGHT THIS WAS GOING TO BE ONE OF OUR USUAL INTERACTIONS HOLD UP WHY IS THERE AN IMAGE OH SHIT IT'S FAN ART RIN WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?? I LOVE IT SO MUCH BUT RIN?? RIN??!!

*clears throat* Thank you so much for your fan art of Phantom Pain!! I rlly appreciate it, and my comments are in the tags <3

[altruistic-meme]

crochet jumpscare!!!!! boo!!!!!!!

[tothemoonandbacklove]

By the WAY! @h0bg0blin-meat and @that-bird-again are very great bhaiyya material

;)

OMG YAYYYY THANK YOU SO MUCH DIDIIIII🫂🫂💗💗🤭

[jout--jout]

Oh, right. The thursday. The thursday for Critical Role, the thursday chosen especially to watch Critical Role, Critical Role’s thursday.

[dxppercxdxver]

more! more for that collaboration with @chiropteracupola!!

lightning in my heels

Samuel knew he had to leave the night General Mann raised a toast in his honor, sloshing ale over the grimy tables of an inn just outside New York Island that had once belonged to a rebel couple; the patriarch of which Samuel had shot dead with calculated efficiency not three hours prior.

“I really must congratulate you, dear boy.” General Mann had taken Samuel aside, not long after their troops had overtaken the room and board of the inn, the smile playing over his thin lips walking the razor’s edge of pride and contempt. “You have secured us a rather valuable resource, and with so little trouble. I have to admit, I am impressed.”

Samuel shrugged, subtly pushing off the hand the general had rested upon his shoulder. It was almost certainly meant to be a show of camaraderie, but there was little comfort to be found in such a gesture, as General Mann reminded Samuel far more of a skeleton than of a man still at peace with the mortal plane. His sympathy for the living followed suit. The number of men slaughtered by his many subordinates’ blades rather made Samuel’s stomach turn.

“Just doing my job, Sir,” he said stiffly, pushing into the inn.

Now, with the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the clinking of innumerable glasses, Samuel was struck with the absolute certainty he could no longer remain in General Mann’s employ. Of course, there were logistical reasons aplenty—the pay was miserable for the amount of work he provided, for one—but truly, Samuel simply knew he could not live with himself if he continued on this path.

That, and…

Casting a furtive glance downward, Samuel retrieved a letter from an inside pocket, eyeing the unmistakable wax seal of General Saxton Hale, the premier Australian soldier who had recently thrown in his lot with the rebels. The missive had appeared outside the door of the bedroom Samuel had found himself quartered in for only a night, plain and unassuming if not for the crest splattered across the page in thick red droplets.

He frowned, then reached for a pocket knife, popping the seal with ease and unfurling the paper. It was but one sheet, and was as brief as it was damning.

In thin, looping script, the message read Mr. Mundy. Have need of your service. Rewards aplenty. Mann no trouble. Waiting at Teufort.

And, at once, the reverie was broken by the splash of ale across the page, smearing every last word into oblivion with a raucous cheer.

“Ah shit,” Samuel cursed, scrabbling to towel off the paper with the edge of his coat. It was, of course, too late, the letter was already dissolving into vaguely sticky sludge, but still, he felt compelled to try to salvage its remains, as if there was something more to be gleaned from the act of thoroughly soiling his clothing for the sake of having said he tried. Beside him, a bearded gentleman Samuel could never recall the name of elbowed him roughly.

“Stroke o’ luck, there, eh?” he laughed, much too loud and far too mean. “Who was that from? Has the Australian got himself a lady?”

“No.” Snatching the letter off the table, Samuel found himself concentrating on the wood grain in the table, stained darker by the spilled alcohol dripping onto his breeches. He could not say with any honesty that he much cared for his fellow soldiers, much less socializing with them, and he recoiled slightly, pulling his arms into his chest. “‘S nothing.”

The bearded man clapped him on the back, cackling uproariously. “Come on then, give us a look!”

“I would really rather not,” Samuel said, injecting as much force into his demeanor as he could manage. His skin seemed to prickle, the light from the room was beginning to wear on his eyes, and everything was too noisy, and the man’s hand was still touching him, and—

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, leave the poor fellow alone!”

General Mann’s words cut through the din with a quiet sort of violence. Joviality and mirth were at once snuffed out, replaced with a fervent attention, laced with a sinister fear lurking just under the surface. No one dared move against him, and while Samuel was grateful that the contact and the noise were gone, all of the room’s attention was on him now, and he wanted nothing more than to leave this wretched inn behind and never look back.

Alas, his options in that regard were far more limited.

The way General Mann conducted himself was of some note to any who had come to know him for their own. He was a slight man, with thinning silver hair and a shrewd face whose skin never seemed to sit quite right on the bone, but his posture, rasping voice, and air of cool menace belied something far more malevolent than one might have originally assumed. Samuel towered over him, boasting several more pounds of muscle and twenty fewer years to his name, and still, the General terrified him.

And now he was just… staring. Like he was waiting for something, although Samuel could not for the life of him figure out what that could be.

“Um… Thanks?”

“Oh, no need to thank me, Mr. Mundy,” General Mann sneered, placing a shining-booted foot atop the table until he was leaning over Samuel’s body, ale in hand. “I am simply… doing my job.”

The pointed echo of Samuel’s words plucked at his spine, sending a reverberating chill down his back. All eyes were on the two of them now, locked in this amorphous stalemate where the stakes were decidedly unknown but still high and sheer as any cliff face.

With a contemplative expression, the General reached down and swiped a mostly empty glass of ale from some wildly drunk Lieutenant or another, raising it triumphantly. Samuel rather felt as though the guillotine was being drawn to tension.

“A toast, I think.” Samuel’s heart hammered in his chest as the rest of the company raised their cups aloft, like the readying of so many rifles. His execution was drawing nearer, somehow he knew that, and although he had no earthly idea where he was going to go once he did so, Samuel was certain he had to leave this place.

But first, he had to survive his General’s congratulations.

“A toast!” Mann continued, offering a gloved hand for Samuel to take. When he did so, he found himself hoisted onto the table, Mann’s arm wrapped tightly around his lower back and sitting vice-like against his ribs. “A toast for Mr. Mundy, for securing our victory today, and for his fine marksmanship in service to our glorious king.” A cheer sounded round the inn, a gunshot roar, and Samuel grimaced, wincing as General Mann pulled him in closer; in a way, Samuel was reminded of a python, squeezing its prey until it suffocated. “Without him, well… We would surely still be crushing the rebels beneath our feet, but his unique talents have afforded us quite an advantage on that front, wouldn’t you say?”

“Hear, hear!”

The firelight was much too bright to Samuel’s eyes, facets of light lancing off the tankards in every hand, knives to his skin. General Mann’s hand held him ever tighter.

“And to that, dear boy, we offer our humble thanks,” General Mann said, sporting the air of a man who had never sincerely given his gratitude to anyone in his life, “and raise our cups to the bright future you will surely bring us and our cause. A toast, lads! A toast!”

Beyond this point, everything was suddenly happening to Samuel, as though he were no longer an active participant in his own body. Clumsily thrown liquids sloshed over his shoes, and the General was pressing a skeletal kiss to his cheek, and the chorus of praises battered at Samuel’s ears with a vengeance, driving deeper into his skull with every renewed whoop and holler. His mind was whirling, traversing the inn upstairs to his room, where his rifle and pack lay, as yet untouched, and then down again to the hitching post outside, to the quick loop of rope that would need undoing before he could saddle up and disappear. Inelegant, clumsy, but the only plan he had.

At last, General Mann seemed content to release him, and stepped down to the floor again, leaving Samuel trussed up like a Sunday roast for all to see. He nodded stiffly, unable to make eye contact with anyone in the room, before following the General’s lead and returning to his place on ground level. The festivities were already in the process of recovering from such a painful interruption. Samuel knew this would be his time.

With a swift tip of his hat to the only man who afforded him a second glance, Samuel stole up to the second story, slipping into his room with a pained sigh. His breaths came jagged and strained, and he fought the sensation of choking as he slung his rifle over his back, securing his ammo box at his side and pulling the breech open. Just in case.

Pack and equipment secured—though it provided precious little comfort—Samuel then turned to the bed, stuffing a pillow under the blankets. If anyone bothered to check, it would certainly not fool them for long, but he was hoping, perhaps foolishly, for the best, and thought it wise to cover his tracks all the same.

The steps creaked traitorously under his sodden shoes, though the roar of the celebration was more than enough to muffle his escape attempt. One of the colonels gave him some sort of look as he rushed for the back door, but Samuel surmised he was far too drunk to realize the import of whatever it was he was seeing. Or, at the very least, he hoped that was the case.

Late summer air, damp and unyielding, enveloped Samuel like a shroud. Flies buzzed in his ears, hovering over the troughs of stagnant water kept for the horses, and he followed the sound to the hitching posts, cloaked in relative darkness. Save the distant yellow glow through the grimy windows, the night was blessedly heavy, and afforded a great deal of cover.

Samuel’s horse was easy to pick out amongst the many boarded; a great tawny beast by the name of Gunpowder, her form was unmistakable, looming several hands higher than any of the others. She was a powerful, dexterous animal, light on her hooves, and carried Samuel through many a gauntlet in her time. He just hoped she had one more run in her.

“There’s a girl,” Samuel murmured, tying his pack to her saddle and hoisting himself up with a groan. Gunpowder shook her head, chuffing slightly, and Samuel idly patted her neck as he swung his rifle around to his front. It was better to be prepared, when one was in the process of commiting treason.

“Well, if you get arrested for horse thievery…” He reached for the bit of rope tying his horse to the post, and more philosophically, to that damnable redcoat army, and loosed her with a slash of his machete.

Gunpowder needed no instruction. The instant she was free, she turned toward the road, speeding to a gallop within moments. For one beautiful, fleeting instant, it seemed as though they would escape entirely unscathed.

And then the shots came.

The rat-a-tat crack of a line of muskets firing at once sounded from the inn, with the ensuing explosions of wood and bark sending splinters raining down over Samuel’s head. Behind him, hooves beat against the arid dirt. Samuel had company, and snapped Gunpowder’s reins, driving her into the forest.

Brawny as she was, Gunpowder was nimble, and Samuel had learned to work with her sharp turns and glorious leaps. He trusted her to guide them, leaving him time to ready his rifle, turn around, and pull the trigger.

A man he vaguely recognized fell from his own horse, limp as a ragdoll, before Samuel reloaded and aimed again. All the while, Gunpowder tore though the trees, hooves finding gaps in the gnarled roots as fast as they came. Her footing was sure, Samuel’s aim was straight, and they fled as they fought, felling their newfound enemies with ease. Despite the danger, Samuel’s blood sang, and he fought the urge to cry victory to the sky.

“Come and get me!” he yelled, a savage euphoria twisting his voice to a growl. “Come and fucking get me, you bastards!”

Samuel had no idea where he was headed. Once the morning light came again, he would certainly need to reorient, to figure out his game plan, but for now, the furious shrieks were dwindling behind him, and Gunpowder’s chest was sure against his legs, and he knew in his heart they were never going to catch him again.

[reinafish]

SEASON 3 SOON. SOON WE SHALL FEAST ON SILLY SHOW.

[pridewon]

@soverina​ said:  " nodding off... " / for the hubby !! ❤️

Towering over the world at over 192cm high, one might think that Ushijima Wakatoshi is not a man to let himself be trapped so easily. Generally speaking, one would be right to think so: crowds seldom contain him, and imposing presence tends to create a natural and comfortable space around him.Therefore, it might come as a surprise, to some, to people who don’t know him all that well or aren’t privy to his homelife, that there are two people more than capable of keeping him prisoner.

One of them is his (significantly more petite) girlfriend, currently wrapped up in a blanket and fully leaning into his side as she sleeps soundly, oblivious to the faint sound of the television still running in the background; strands of blond hair spilling over and framing regal features. The other is a very tiny baby - barely a few weeks old - sound asleep on his chest. 

... Wakatoshi has a distinct feeling / fear / concern that should he move even one inch, he would disturb either of them in their slumber. Doing so would feel like some form of unforgiveable offense. Peach needs rest as a young mother who has just given birth, and the baby... well. Is a baby. Babies sleep a lot. That much he has been able to learn. They sleep a lot, but almost never at the same time as their parents.

So... he’s trapped.

But -- that’s fine. Maybe his neck will be a little stiff by the time they wake up; but that’s nothing dramatic. Olive eyes fall down to baby Leonello, his little fist clutching to his shirt; then drift to the sleeping beauty under his arm. 

... it suddenly strikes him, that this is his family. That they are a family. It sounds like a silly realisation, after nine months of pregnancy and a few weeks into parenthood, but... maybe that is the time he needed to process it all. For the penny to drop, for realisation to integrate into soul and body alike. 

They are a family, and both Peach and the baby are asleep against him, in the safety of their home, and ---

Ushijima senses a quiet, but slightly overwhelming (it’s not necessarily a bad thing) wave of... something? In his chest. Ushijima sits with it, weighs it in the palm of his hand. Serenity? Happiness? Fondness? Gratitude? All of the above? 

Peach mumbles something against him, and the baby coos in his sleep.

... all of the above, he decides. And probably even more. Which he can figure out later, because hopefully, if all goes well? They have many years ahead of them still. 

[todds-rwby-liveblog]

we're so back. A couple of v9 tonight methinks

[lilacthebooklover]

Rating: Mature Fandom: Heathers: The Musical Relationship: Jason "J.D" Dean/Veronica Sawyer

The moonlight shines on the crown of her head, painting it as a silvery halo as a steely yet unfocused gaze wanders to his own. Her hair is messy and he cheeks are flushed, and there's a sort of reckless determination hanging off of her that J.D.'s never seen before. Something's happened.

"What are you doing in my room?" he asks, his eyes narrowed and his stance cautious as he hurries to his feet. His limbs are still slightly lethargic as he stands, but full awareness comes back to him in a rush as she takes a step closer.

"Sh." It's a long, hissing sound. The sort of noise a bomb makes before setting off, that a stick of TNT fizzles with before the inevitable explosion hits.

J.D. can't help but find himself enraptured by it.

OR: J.D.'s thoughts on the night Veronica broke into his house- and during all that ensued as a result.

[rushingexpress]

UHH, HELLO!

fun fact? random fact? one time I swallowed a kinder egg whole and ended up choking on it, but I got a little toy dinosaur after the whole situation :3

@shikariiin @maxwellscorner @theredengineapologist @savs-avvy >:3

Hey this is to all my mutuals! Ala eighth grade introductions, please share a fun fact about yourselves! No pressure, I just find it interesting!

@cheriboms

@kirks-slutty-red-tights

@spocks-husband

@emperorsfoot

@eternally-intermittent who I was inspired by

@h0l0gramglasses

@kingof-the-crossroads

[altruistic-meme]

twenty questions for fic writers

i got tagged by @irregularcollapse thank you!

How many works do you have on AO3?

currently, I'm at 33 on my main account and another 3 that are under a pseud :)

What’s your total AO3 word count?

166,992 in total!

What fandoms do you write for?

as of right now, i'd say i write for All For The Game, Captive Prince, and Young Royals. i have kind of written a little for Good Omens, but i'm not really counting it bc i'm not sure i'll ever finish it or post it. and i used to write for Yuri!!! On Ice and Hetalia as well, but i don't anymore (and likely never will again).

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

oh man, i was actually kind of surprised about the last two!

the beginnings just another end (Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Yuri!!! On Ice) Victor Nikiforov has friends. He's four time world champion, figure skating god, beloved by most. He's won more medals than he knows what to do with, has more fans than anyone could count, and more money than he could ever possibly spend all of. Only one problem; Victor Nikiforov has no friends. So, he searches for some. And he finds them in a group chat room titled "crazy people talk about figure skating".

(why is there) joy in this poison (Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, All For the Game) Because for as much as Kevin would talk to Andrew about the Ravens, whine about Riko, warn him about Tetsuji, explain to him why he trusted Jean… he had never really mentioned Nathaniel. In a story, once or twice. In passing, perhaps a few times. And Andrew found that he trusted Nathaniel less each and every time he heard the name. Andrew is propositioned at a summer exy banquet, and a deal is proposed.

The Bet (Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, All For the Game) Andrew decides it's finally time to introduce his partner Neil to the Foxes on a summer weekend vacation, but Nicky has a better plan.

running from my heart (Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Yuri!!! On Ice) When Victor arrives the night before the men's short programs at the Grand Prix Final, he's not expecting to run into another skater. Or run into him again. Or again.

Vicchan's Pet Café (Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Yuri!!! On Ice) "It's alright, really. It allowed me to get a closer look at your gorgeous brown eyes." Wow. Wow Victor. Victor Nikiforov, five time Emmy Award winner, actor in countless romances, well-known playboy, just made the most ridiculous pick-up line that could have possibly come from that moment. In which Victor is an actor, Yuuri owns a café, and their dogs just want them to be together.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

i try to, but i am incredibly bad at it :') i always want to reply, even if it's something small like just a "<3" or "thanks!" but i often forget to reply for a long time. or at all.

but i always try my absolute best to reply to comments with questions or any that really touch me in some way

What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

in general, i do try not to write angsty endings (although i know i've had some ideas for some, just never written the)

however, that said, swaying as the room burned down is still the worst i've written! it does come with the knowledge that things get better, having been written as a missing scene from yr2 which ends better than the fic leaves off, but the fic itself still ends in a pretty sad place.

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

honestly? Where There is Love, There is Life. the entire fic was meant to be pure fluff and sweetness. most of my fics have happy endings (when i actually. ended them.) and i do have some other fics that were meant to just be fluff, but i think this one takes the cake.

Do you get hate on fics?

no, i haven't! i've gotten some... sort of mean-spirited comments or comments that come across that way, but i don't think they were really meant as hate so much as the tone fell flat.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

i have not. yet. i have one WIP that will have smut at some point in it, but that's the only one i have planned and i haven't gotten to that point in writing it yet!

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

not really. i think i did, a very long time ago, but i can't remember it at all.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of, and also i sure hope not.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

not that i'm really aware of, but i think it'd be cool!

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

that's tough. it's probably Andreil, though. just everything about their relationship, from beginning to end of the series, is so so good and they've always meant so much to me as characters.

What’s a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

the beginnings just another end. i really wish i could've finished it sooner. it was my first long fic, and it kept the status as my longest fic for years. i still remember how it was meant to end, too. ultimately, if i ever even write YOI again, i think i'd rather rewrite the entire story than just finish it as is. but i really don't think i'll ever complete it.

What are your writing strengths?

Cliffhangers. Dialogue. Humor, at least in my opinion. Ideas galore.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Consistency. i have terrible memory and will often write something in, planning to make use of it later in the story, and then completely forget about it.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

ouhhhh it depends. my opinion on it has changed from when i was younger. i think it can add to the story, like if it's used because the POV character doesn't know the language, but in general i'd prefer not to do it (especially since i'm monolingual rip ;;;)

First fandom you wrote for?

ahhhhhhh Hetalia

Favorite fic you’ve written?

without a doubt, (why is there) joy in this poison. it means so much to me i cannot even begin to explain it. and even aside from that, the story itself is something i LOVE rereading since it was written to my own tastes, and every time i look back in the story to fact-check myself, i end up getting lost in the story again and again. it also makes me feel so good about my writing, it's such a confidence boost and rereading it helps me realize why people actually like my writing!

i'm going to tag @daylightsimon @zee-has-commitment-issues and @spaghett-onaplate for this if you guys want to <3

[birbmanman]

had to draw something for the new trailer yesterday :3

also I AM GOING TO GO INSANE YIPPEE YIPPEE NEW MD SOON LESGO !!!

[gracklecracklepop]

i need to make a post on why i draw 3/4 of the pd nonwhite can i trust the jrwi fandom 2 be normal. awesome. lots of posts today lesgo (this got really long so under the cut)

vyncent is like canonically vaguely asian whatever the fuck that means but he is just generically mixed SEAsian king 2 me. he cannot name any part of his heritage and he’s real 4 that. anyhoo. i think his actual like straight up immigrant allegory is smth more people should think about!!! people are thinking your weird for not knowing what something is??? holy fuck!!! social fumbles??? fuck!!! yeah!! anyway. and the assumption of a dumb immigrant and how people perceive him as that and are actually confused when he can stand his ground and say stop talking at me. yeah. anyway asian king and the feeling of being stuck in someone’s perception of you is something imma bring up w dakota too so.

dakota. yeah. i usually draw him Black or mixed and i think this is important regarding his backstoryyyyy. poc and esp Black families aren’t given the same support sometimes in grieving and that Can lead to drug abuse moreoften so. that happens with alaska. and dakota is in this place of i need to be strong because people will pick on me if im weak and alaska needs me. that’s basically canon but boy if you imagine it in a poc way. 100 damage. so you look outwardly strong to everyone else but like!! you’re just a kid!!! and adultification!! ur a 16 year old boy and you just want to be silly!!! and then people still see you like this and you think but that’s not me!!! but you can’t drop this now either. so you’re stuck between being seen as weird by white peers and weak by poc peers.

mixed latina-white for our girl ashe and it Is important that she doesn’t remember anything she might’ve learned from her mother. her brain made space for the demon language by shoving out her other language or smth. but yeah so you kill your mother and a couple years later you realise oh, i have nothing from my culture and my father can’t help me with this. he doesn’t know how to help keep my hair healthy or what those words mean or how to throw a quince. so ashe spends her time in online school clubs and internet forums but somethings still missing. she finds tutorials for her hair and starts doing language courses but there’s still Something missing. because she’s being taught this by someone she doesn’t know or who’s just a face behind a screen and. yeah. the disconnect from her culture is something vyncent Kind of gets but she’s alone in this. so yeah ashe is someone who became moreeee. timid. in physical spaces. to keep eyes off of her and not dissect whatever is wrong with her. why she doesn’t pronounce that correctly or why she walks around with a white father.

anyway. thats it. dont kill me.