#purest form of love i think

[hjarta]

everyday i wake up and send multiple instagram reels to my friends like it's my job

[thedaythatwas]

one of my favorite post-canon komahina tropes has got to be uncannily observant komaeda. he knows which detergent scent hinata prefers to snag from future foundation's monthly supply drops. he knows that hinata prefers pens to pencils, and pens that click open to pens with caps that detach. he knows what time hinata tends to show up for meals, and how hinata takes his coffee (one sugar and a splash of low-fat milk. not black, but not too sweet, either).

(my drabble got out of hand, watch that happen below the cut lol.)

it's not that hinata himself isn't observant... well. alright. he isn't always observant. but he can lock in when he knows he needs to! he wouldn't have survived a killing game otherwise, and he's got some extra help now (when he decides to tap into it).

he just doesn't understand how komaeda keeps it up around the clock. he assumes it must be because his brain never really turns off. and, well. he's half right. komaeda has a hard time letting his guard down. actually, "hard" might win understatement of the century.

but it's more than that. of course, knowing the full truth would demand that hinata acknowledge the way komaeda's eyes trace his movements over breakfast, like he's mapping out a crime scene, or plotting the perfect kill. like hinata's some sort of prey. like he's special.

strip down hope's peak's dubiously ethical upgrades, and hinata's a reserve course student. he knows it. he knows that komaeda knows it, too. the attention he pays him doesn't add up, so he writes it off. he's imagining things.

so, when komaeda walks over to hinata's table to bring him coffee exactly how he likes it, it takes him off guard. he chalks it up to an exhaustingly keen eye, and maybe a bit of luck. komaeda's an anomaly, hinata has always known that. he rolls his eyes as the other slinks into the chair across from his own, props his elbows up on the table.

(he doesn't question why komaeda's bringing him coffee in the first place. komaeda knows better than anyone: hinata's whole "observant" thing... it comes and goes.)

[cordiallyfuturedwight]

hobi & his fellow members

your love is tough, your love is tried & true blue for @leesjieuns & @hopeinthebox & @eoieopda

[yuridovewing]

thinking about my old post where I said tigerstar was kind of a family man before he was exiled and how he knew exactly how the agony of losing a child young felt with Lynxkit and Swiftpaw, how he mourned for them and raged at their deaths in grief... and yet he still slaughters gorsepaw in front of his mother, and attempts to have stormpaw and featherpaw publically excused, purely out of spite.

[papertowness]

why are we here . just to suffer ? every day james wilson is fictional and i can’t give the bridge of his nose a little kiss

[mayahawkeswife]

a lot of y’all are gonna be mad at me… (or have no clue what i’m talking about), but will has definitely cried to Somewhere That’s Green from The Little Shop of Horrors. i see that poster on your wall, william.

[dent-de-leon]

If you are considering prompts, how about a widomauk with:

4. “Would you like a hug?”

Hi!! Oh thank you, this is such a sweet prompt and it works so well for widomauk

Molly looks like he’s just fallen into a deep sleep. Wildflowers bloom to life all around him, sprigs of bluebells and unfurling ferns and blossoms of moonflower beside morning glory. Until he’s laying on a flowerbed, peacefully resting in a sea of verdant greenery. 

Caleb can’t help thinking of childhood fairytales. Stories of royalty charmed into eternal sleep, denizens of the fey born among flowering fields. A prince or princess locked away, caged by a nightmarish monster. A cursed spirit finally set free.

Here in all this ruin and decay, Molly is glowing and radiant, surrounded by new life. So ethereally beautiful, he seems unreal. Like a dream. His hair falls in long flowing curls, threaded with budding blooms of soft baby blue, delicate petals unfurling in his lovely violet locks, spilling over the spirals of his ram horns. 

They all watch with bated breath, congregating around their long lost friend. A chorus of gasps and soft sighs as Molly begins to stir; his tail flicking idly, swishing to and fro. He twists and turns in aborted little movements, fidgeting as he slowly comes to wake, caught in this strange patch of sun and the scent of a calm ocean breeze, cradled safely in the Wildmother’s embrace. 

Dark lashes flutter. Brilliant red eyes finally open and Mollymauk Tealeaf looks at the world again for the first time in the longest time. Once upon a time--

That spark of Molly’s life thrumming under Caleb’s hands, resonating with his very soul. Pouring an endless wellspring of tumultuous magic and emotion into this one spell, this last chance. Molly’s heart beating faintly in time with Caleb’s own, their souls inexorably bound as he wills this infernal blood to flow. Daring the Matron to just try and take him—He’s ours. And he’s coming home. A fervent promise. A crushed stone and tearful kiss. Kneeling over Molly’s still, lifeless form and wishing he had anything left to give. 

It’s chilling, to lose Molly’s last shard of a soul like this. His light snuffed out in the empty carcass of a dead empire, one more lost soul claimed by the wrath of the gods and hubris of wizards. To fade away into nothing here in the dark, banished to the astral sea, so far from the light of his beloved moon. Alone. Empty. 

When his Transmuter stone was alight with the soft glow of arcana and hope, Caleb swears he could see Molly bathed in the light of full moon, lucent and beautiful. A ghost of his still lingering soul, or else a vision sent by the gods to torment him. And if he strains his ears, he can just barely hear that familiar, haunting voice, Molly singing softly to soothe his anguished heart.

“For the dead yellow king, a throng came and song. On the longest day of rain, he would rise again. Long, long may he reign."

Molly stumbles forward, wobbly and wide-eyed in wonder as a newborn faun, and Yasha’s strong, steady arms are there to catch him, holding him tight as he takes his first fumbling steps back into the world. 

“Molly. Mollymauk Tealeaf.” 

They all hold their breath, time suspended in a single moment that stretched on for all eternity. A soft cry, a sharp intake of breath. And then, in the gentlest voice, so soft and full of tortured longing, “Love.” 

Everything was worth it, just for this. For Yasha’s sob of relief that breaks off in a warbling laugh, for Molly’s own breathless chuckle as she wraps him up in a warm embrace, holds him tight and vows to never let go. From there it's all a rush, a flurry of tears and laughter as they all embrace Mollymauk.

Caleb is spellbound. He simply can’t look away as Molly spins around and tilts his head up at the starscape shimmering above, tail swishing in glee. Eyes twinkling with mirth as he watches Jester dance around drawing ornate silks in midair. 

Caleb can hardly breathe. He’d just kissed him, lost in the moment of gutting, grievous pain and guilt ridden grief. But now that Molly is here, awake, he finds himself too afraid to reach for him. As though Molly’s soul might slip away at any moment. As if the spell would be broken by his touch. 

He holds himself back. He is content to watch, to let the others have their moment with the dear friend they all lost. They are—more deserving, certainly. Caleb has no right or claim to Molly’s attention, not when they were never particularly close to begin with. Not when he did not even have the courage to present his own offering at the ritual—not when it was his magic that failed Mollymauk when he desperately needed him most.

All that time, that wasted effort, pouring every ounce of sheer willpower into that ritual, channeling all the arcane power he’d painstakingly honed since childhood, and still, it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. He gave everything, and he was still too weak to many any difference. 

He is happy just to have this chance to see Mollymauk wake again, to hear his warm burst of laughter and watch their little family all flock to embrace him. It is enough of a joy to admire the tiefling from a distance, to bask in that spark of light he always carried with him. 

He doesn’t need anything else. 

But then Molly turns and meets his gaze from across the Astral Sea, gleaming red eyes shining bright. He starts forward, just a step, hand cautiously outstretched—reaching for him, of all people. 

Caleb’s heart seizes. 

Yasha is there beside her tiefling still, angelic wings enfolding him in soft feathers and ethereal light, sheltering him from the wreckage of Lucien’s decaying husk in this city of bones.

She catches it, that moment that passes between them, enthralling and electric. Yasha, who had fallen to her knees beside Caleb only moments before, choking back tears as she begged him to do something, anything, to save him—

When Molly hesitates, Yasha gives his hand a reassuring little squeeze.

“It’s okay,” she says, promises. But it’s Caleb she’s looking in the eye, her gentle voice just loud enough to reach him. “Go on.”

It's all the encouragement Molly needs. He gently pads forward barefoot, tail swishing in glee, a slow smile spreading across his face. Long, sweeping folds of red velvet wrapped around him, the ostentatious red coat draped over his bony shoulders. Hands bunched up in the rich crimson fabric, reveling in the feel of something tactile and real.

Words fail Caleb, now that this gentle soul is standing proud before him. Now that he can finally see the warmth of Mollymauk's beaming smile again.

"I. Would...would you like a hug?" he babbles, eyes downcast and cheeks flushed, suddenly very aware of all the eyes on him, of Yasha's soft smile and Jester's delighted gasp.

He still doesn't trust that any of this is real.

But even as he falters, Molly crept closer, nestling into the crook of Caleb’s shoulder, settling into the solace of his still trembling arms. And when Caleb's breath caught, doleful eyes stinging with the blur of hot tears, the tiefling nuzzled into his neck, burying his face in the soft folds of a cozy scarf, sighing in sheer content. 

“Magician,” Molly murmurs, soft and bubbling with warmth. Then, nuzzling closer, eyes lighting up, “Magician!” 

Caleb can't help but chuckle softly as Molly reaches for him, claws gently skimming over the place where his heart lay.

"It is good to see you too, Circus Man."

[peppermint-rat]

I think we all need to keep working on being normal about how many or how few people someone chooses to date at any given time

[rocketbirdie]

I completely agree with ur point on localization but do you have any "This Guy Are Sick" games examples? I love poorly translated games with a passion

Probably the most infamous is Pokemon Vietnamese Crystal, an egregiously awful bootleg version of the game that, if I'm not mistaken, was translated from Japanese into Chinese into Vietnamese and then into English. It's... bad.

And one of my recent favorites is this google translated version of Portal, complete with voice acting!

[titanbabyeams]

I have been trying to stop thinking about ‘oh, but if readers prefer this—‘ or something similar when I’m trying to write, and to focus solely on writing what I want to write.

Which is great, yeah! I love it! I’m trying!

But it also leads to entertaining brainrot (/pos) ideas like Single-Dad Edward Elric moving to Japan and ending up with Hawks and Winry.

It’s the image of Hawks and Edward casually hanging out, getting close, and then Winry appearing. Winry, who unashamedly hangs off of Edward and teases and argues with him, like they’ve been married ten years but they’ve instead known each other their entire lives. The image of Hawks seeing their interactions and simply being… curious about the depths of it, of what exactly he’s missing about Edward Elric.

It’s the image of Winry instantly mothering Edward’s child, and Edward doing his best with said child, and Hawks being able to openly observe the growth of decent parents. Of Winry and Edward having a too-close, not close-enough relationship, that they’re still learning how to navigate the boundaries of in adulthood.

Besides, how do you think Hawks would react to having their overwhelming about of love directed at him? Gosh. I love brainrot sometimes.

[alvie-pines]

alrihgt. jesus christ. no more cosmic horrors at 1 am 

[lonelyplanetfag]

[professional-writher]

Genuinely the feeling of having someone who loves you so much they dedicate so much of their time and their talent and their effort into something specially for you is so genuinely utterly devastating in the most beautiful way. I love my friends. I love being loved. I love being wanted. I love people that treat me like I mean something to them

[infizero]

also having now actually seen the whole thing adventure time has skyrocketed into one of my favorite shows ever. like for real i liked it as a kid and have always had a fondness for it ever since but rewatching it now has made me realize Just how fucking good it is and how unlike anything else it is. its so good and appeals to ME specifically in so many ways please for the love of god if you haven't watched adventure time WATCH IT. WATCH IT RIGHT NOW

[isyaelwrites]

a fire will always leave its ashes

in poetry class, i wrote today in free verse where we were told to never hold back; our words are like gas, petroleum, oil—  i first heard the word "kerosene" used in a movie—  a rope soaked in it and lit by a single match producing an upburst, gradual and sure. often, when i doubt, my heart would rhyme a two or five or seven lines doubled, with your name within, strikethrough several times and rewritten as if i never had it memorized this whole time, as if we only met for the first time, you were saying something about the test and then you were asking me about August 29—  21 is still 20-something and i wanted to know you with a mind of my own and a pulse that don't static nor tremor when cold. but what of the warmth that grows from the underfur? it seeps through the skin, keeping a furnace glowing. the more it gets deeper, the cutting it gets, blood running through; the redder it gets, the darker the ashes, burning faster, dying too.

in lecture today, you were a shutter to my thoughts, erratic, i was thinking of the word, no matter how much i like her i would never be able to; erratic, too, damn it— the rope, burnt, smelt like aftershave—  it was a kindling, then a falling through.

in poetry class today, we were asked to think of two things: of love, and everything we were indiffferent about—  and so my thoughts were cushioned by the thought of you. i wrote in free verse; maybe it will save me from the words that rhyme strictly with only the words that makes you. or like kerosene put to fire, maybe, like a spark flaming upward, it shall make sense, epiphanic in its bursting, once brought out to be seen. the coiled feeling within my ribs may then unspool to teach me how to love like poets do; towards the plains, the delicate hem of dresses wetted by morning dew—  soft, sincere, glowing, and new.

[vexx-the-egg]

Deeply deeply love that Luffy has manged to collect a bunch of absolute monsters who are dangerously powerful at this point in lore and who have toppled countless pirates/marine/institutions alike. But when asked why they still follow him ,despite being strong on there own they would probably answer with" uh duh he's my best freind".