#so i made this to calm my mind (:

[cherrirui-official]

I hope u guys don't mind me posting these au doodles while I work on things ahaha

I also gave JD slightly longer hair in these doodles as a funny haha but I don't think it's funny anymore he looks genuinely good with his hair like that ahahaha I hope you're not mad at me for changing his au design a bit

[aayakashii]

"Can I hug you?" You suddenly asked as you watched Haru's back while he closed the gate that led to the fields where bigger, bull-like anomalies roamed free.

"What? Now?" He turned around to look at you, eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise. He rubbed the back of his hand against his forehead, wiping the sweat on his brow that glistened under the harsh sun rays. You noticed how the white streaks of sunscreen you had demanded he applied on his face were already trailing down his freckled cheeks. He was already due for another coat.

You shrugged and nodded meekly.

"But I'm all sweaty, and there's dirt on my clothes." He said with a pout. His hands instinctively went to touch the place where Peekaboo would be, if he wasn't napping in his cradle back in the dorm.

"... I know." You muttered.

Haru straightened his posture and put his hands on his hips, leaning towards your face.

"Hmmm... Are you okay?" He asked, scanning your expressions.

You shrugged again and fidgeted with your hands.

"Not really."

He slowly leaned back with a sigh, face softening at your words. His eyebrows shot up again, now morphing his face into a look of sympathy.

"Okay..." he nodded. "But are you sure you wanna hug me?"

You nodded fiercely. Haru frowned.

"Even if I'm a bit yucky?"

"You're not yucky!" You immediately protested. You would never stand for his own self-deprecation.

"I just mean I'm sweaty" Haru raised his hands in surrender with a giggle.

"I don't care." You shook your head and looked at your feet. "I just wanna hug you."

Haru widened his eyes for a moment before raising the corner of his lips in a smile and shaking his head.

"I can't say no after that, now can I? Come here." He opened his arms with a grin and stepped closer to you.

You threw your arms around his neck and pressed yourself flush against his body. And as Haru circled your waist with his arms, your senses were quickly covered by all that encompassed him.

His messy mop of red hair grazed your forehead as you rested your head on the crook of his neck. The darkened tips were plastered together since they were damp, and they tickled your skin as they dragged softly on your face.

From up close, you could see that the freckles that adorned his cheeks and nose were also present on his clavicule, and you couldn't help but wonder if he also had them on his shoulders, on his back, on his chest.

His breathing was steady, grounding. He hummed quietly as his hands traced circles on your back, patiently waiting for you to leave the darker corners of your mind, luring you back to him with his voice.

But most importantly, there was his scent. Haru smelled like a mix of sunscreen, musk, and grocery store-bought baby cologne – he had told you before that it was the best way to make himself smell at least okay without spending too much money. It was all so undeniably "Haru" that, for a moment, you managed to focus only your senses and forget about everything else.

You exhaled shakily, and Haru tightened his hold on your waist, pressing you firmly (and impossibly closer) against his body. You felt supported. Protected. Safe.

You already knew it, but once again, you relished in the realization that Haru felt like home.

And, in that moment, you could believe that things could be okay someday – as long as you had that home to go back to.

[canisalbus]

I've had Ludovicas girlfriend on the brain for months and finally sketched her out. I see her as the opposite to machete in that she has dark colours and softer shapes. Her ears and facefur kinda blend together and she gets big soft browneyes..

.

[br-disaster]

My take on Baxia and Huaisang's unnamed saber, inspired by CQL's designs

[mblue-art]

"—matsukawa, quit pushing me down, asshat!" "nah." "i will kick your shins bro do not test me—"

alt. ver. before the redraw (bc i still kinda like this 😔)

[cutetanuki-chan]

do you have any alecto/anastasia hcs?

I think my biggest hc is that Anastasia wanted to be present at laying Alecto down in the tomb, but something went not as planned, cause she helped design it and it's her house, where is she

and not quite a hc but I want Alecto snatch some of Anastasia's bones before leaving the tomb

but tbh the moment I got the ask my mind completely blanked out on everything I was thinking about them, I'll add more to this post if I remember some of it

but thank you for asking!

[perilegs]

i know astrology is fake but i'm not too keen on how a lot of people on this website seem to be clowning on it as a hobby a bit too hard. i swear the woman who thinks it's neat how she and her friends with the same sun sign are all similar isn't trying to say that you are who you are born as and there is nothing you can do to change it. it's a hobby. an interest. what happened to finding meaning and joy in the small things. does it affect you if someone enjoys tarot reading or crystals. does it make you upset someone has interests that they enjoy.

[morganmnemonic]

I'm watching The Magnus Archives for the first time (i think im going to start tagging posts relevant to this with "tma liveblog" so I don't have to keep specifying). I just started season 2, and I've got to say I'm with Jon's paranoia on this one. Martin IS more competent than he's letting on. His soft, sweet, british voice is just so disarming that even hearing him talk about surviving the worm siege, I stilll mentally categorized him as "likely to die first". Sure he survived, but thats because Prentis let him go. If he actually got wormed, he'd probably just perish. Turns out, his initial idea for what would happen if he got wormed was performing emergency worm removal surgery on himself with a pocket knife. He sounded serious too, like he was mentally prepared to go through with it without hesitation if that's what it took. And if we look at what each of the characters did during the worm invasion,

Jon made no judgement calls that significantly impacted group survival one way or the other (+0) and got very wormed at the end (-1) for a grand total of -1 survival points.

Tim didn't notice that Prentis was in the archive and nearly got got (-1), sent Sasha ahead to get help, which resulted in the fire suppression system going off and saving himself and Jon from certain death (+2), got surrounded by worms in Jon's office (-1), and got very wormed at the end (-1), for a grand total of -1 survival points.

Sasha saved Tim from Prentis (+1), successfully got help, saving Tim and Jon from certain death (+2) and died (-1). For a total of 2 survival points.

Martin directed an injured Jon and Sasha to a safe place to hide from the worms and provided an effective tool for worm removal (+2), hid the stash of fire extinguishers that saved Tim from certain death (+1), and kept himself out of mortal peril for the entire duration of the invasion (+1). 4 survival points. He didn't even get injured. He's the only one who survived without intervention by forces beyond his control. Martin didn't play the part of first to die. No, this man was born for the roll of Final Girl.

And I don't think he's evil, and I don't think he killed Gertrude. But I do think that he's entirely capable of murder, if that's what it takes to survive. And I do think he will continue to exert his agency in the story in ways that the other characters and audience forget to expect from him. Not me, though. I learned my lesson. As entirely disarming as his demeanor is, I'm not going to underestimate him a second time.

[maybege]

btw i am still alive now that i have recovered from swiftkirchen and i hope you are all doing super well this summer! i am FLYING through my reading list atm which is amazing and i am feeling more and more inspired for things (footballer!paz anyone? roommate!paz as well maybe?) so hmu in the inbox it is TIME TO THIRST

[immortalsins]

the speed with which my father can turn a discussion into an opportunity to shout should be studied tbh

[puppppppppy]

save me old flipnote studio MVs.......

[nocentis]

Black Arum ┆ Siegrain

Content warning: main character death, cannibalism, gore, toxic/unreliable narrator, highly canon divergent character portrayal. Read at your own risk. You will probably take psychic damage from this.

╳┆A lure was stuck in the soot between his lungs. Many times he'd felt the tug — enough that the wire fray had worn a rut where his ribs met — and many times he'd found her on the other end, reeling for remnants of him that no longer existed. She would aim to break him open, sift around in the cinders for those specks of him she wanted to confiscate, keep for herself, so that she could finally be rid of him. Once those flecks were washed and panned, the remains would reek like plough mud closure. For that reason he would come to her whole, every whit of ash accounted for.

A cherry little game they'd play. Her with flint and steel, eager to reignite that paltry spark of "good" that flickered freely for a lapse before he remembered himself. Him with tinder and kindling, letting it light only to call on the rain again. Her with just enough hope. Him with just enough time.

That resolve was so very compelling. More than her beauty, her candor, and even that glow he so loved to bask in — that luster he wanted to hold between his teeth and bury under his nails — more than that, her tenacity was a toothsome temptation, and he wasn't keen to deny himself anything.

So when he felt the pull, he caved to the beck and spooled the lisle. That day, the line seemed lighter, thinner, than it ever had. It should've been strong. Tensile. Instead it felt gossamer fine and just as frail, poised to tear at an ill touch, and he wasn’t exactly renowned for his gentle hands. Still, he gathered it with both palms and wrapped it proudly around himself like a ceremonial sash, grin scrawled across his face something devilish.

╳┆He found her lying in the shade beneath a long-lived magnolia, still and silent as she never was, with the color of her namesake spread around her head in halo streaks. Battle-torn, as she so often was, and yet uncannily... passive.

Anything he'd planned to say went out the airlock. Instead, he stood there with an anchor in his stomach, reaping the benefit of doubt.

Not a frown nor a sigh when he darkened her sanctum, only heavenward eyes tearless and unblinking and a resigned breath just short of peaceful. That worn tether waned phantom thin, light as helium, and the tension in his chest went slack.

There was no definite snap. No dramatic severing or ear-popping moment of clarity. Only the vague sense of loss so fresh a wound that denial was a numbing salve.

“Get up,” his voice a command, sandgrit against whetstone, thickened by an unnamed antigen.

The silence felt like mockery. A placid scene void of chittering fauna, clouds' drum, or even the most timid breeze. It wanted him to hear the absence of her breath and the stillness of her chest. It wanted him to hear the hollow. The empty. The nothing. Wanted it to resonate; to find the furthest reaches of his mind and clean them out until all that was left was this icy, clarifying silence.

He knew the end when he saw it. This was something much worse. It was robbery.

Her life wasn’t for the world to take. It was for him to hold in his hands. 

Something wet and pathetic slicked his tongue — some whiny, pleading thing — and it was stubborn as oil. The authority slid to the back of his throat and left him choking, “You are the indomitable Titania. You’ve laced fingers with Death time and again only to rise and slay and conquer, so get up.”

Her warmth was set to a slow drip, spilling from her in tired beads and seeping soundlessly into her chosen ground. Little whispers of her lost to greedy loam, sullied, never to be returned.

A waste of precious love. The sod won’t drink of her as he will. It will take of her and give back what? New “life” so fragile and fleeting? A feeble weed will take root, bloom its days few, and curl itself inside out? Pathetic. An insult to her legacy. An insult to the diamond-split sharp of her bladesoul.

His heart boiled over — popping, sticking, simmering sicksweet saccharine. It colored him cloying, flooded his mouth, and forced him to kneel at her altar.

"Please," he keened, hollow and morose, and his own pleading sickened him, “Say something.”

The sun trickled through the leaves like ichor, lighting up her black-blown eyes and the thin ring of honey surrounding them. Dim, distant, and dead as the moon.

His hand carved a path to her face, fingers featherlight against her fading flush. He brushed her bangs from her eyes and forced an unbroken breath through his quavering mouth. He traced each scar too faint to see and the parts of her skin their star kissed. Memorized the map of her face — each curve and crease, each fine hair, and every eyelash. He would carve out a space in his mind in her shape and fill it with the thousand sweet nothings he kept in his pockets.

He gathered her hand and threaded it with his own. When he opened his mouth, a rickety twine escaped from the deepest point of his chest, so he forced his jaws shut to keep the grief corked. He uncurled her fingers and pressed his cheek into her palm, trapping her there against his own scarred skin. His eyes fell shut as he breathed in this borrowed touch — this moment fated, stolen from him by this world's insatiable avarice.

He kissed her palm directly in the center; held it against his mouth and felt his own ruined breath echo back to him from the deepest grooves of her skin. Again, he begged, “Please, Erza.”

Of the armors innumerable now haunting this hallowed ground, this one least befit her. 

He revered Death. If there was a god, surely it was Death, he thought, for Death asks for nothing but life. The dead don’t know that they’re dead. They know a split second of euphoria and then a sharp, definite end. Isn’t that the work of a gracious god? One last stroke of color whether in peace or peril, and then eternal rest. Back to the dust you sprouted from.

But now he couldn’t see any of that beauty he often waxed poetic about. All he could see was change yet to come. All he could see was her, and he wanted her back.

He wanted her back, yet he knew better than anyone that there was no such thing as resurrection. While Death might be gracious, it was not generous, and it was not to be reasoned with.

The thought of her buried deep, bathed by the dark and abandoned to rot — it washed his mouth acid sour. It ate straight through his tongue and lingered in the roots of his teeth, burning, raging redhot in his jaws’ marrow.  A grave didn't suit her anymore than a pyre.

Soon she would be cold. Stiff. A feast for flies and their insatiable young. In the days to come, she would bubble and bloat and sallow. Her skin would loosen and slough off. The sun would bleach her bones. The meat of her would melt into oil and fat and bogspit. She would mix in with the soil, the groundwater, and this thankless magnolia would thrive.

It was tall, thick, with branches spread in all directions. The lowest of its limbs showed off the varied deep greens of its large waxy leaves, their undersides a chalky brown. A few white flowers bloomed, palm-shaped petals open in praise like they'd come to witness and worship. There was no question why she'd chosen to crawl here. It must've reminded her of home.

Despite its beauty, it was hardly worthy of her. Nothing in this ravenous world was. Her grave should be carved within his chest. There, he could keep her warm. He could host her in his veins. One day, they would wade the waters of woe together. Until then she could live under his skin.

He wouldn’t allow her to spoil. Wouldn’t place her gently into time’s whittlesome hands only to lose her peel by peel by rotting peel.

This world has taken much from you. Do not allow it to take her too.

A carnal ache etched itself into bone, a depth of passion he hadn't felt since he wrought for a false Heaven.

She is a fruit, ripe as a plum and twice the taste. Peel her open. There is a seed at her core. Plant it in your soot-field chest and watch her bloom anew.

What are these hands for if not this?

Flesh like sheets of silk. Muscle like rope. Blood like honey. Bone like an ivory trove. The splitting, the squelching, the straining, ripping, snapping; it burrowed marrow-deep and lingered there. Her chest peeled apart like jagged teeth, jaws croaking their rusted tune, and inside that redslick maw was the center of the universe.

The heart upon its throne, still as she, shielded by her precious lungs. It slid into his palm like it was always meant to be there. Raw, rich, and so very scarlet. Its sinews strained against his pull — those hollow vines that fed even the furthest parts of her — so he wrenched them free and draped himself in them like matchless finery.

Eat. Eat ‘til you’re sick. There’s a hole the size of her in the pit of your stomach. Eat until you fill it. 

What are these teeth for if not this?

Tough as leather; smooth as rubber. His teeth slid right off the rind and clicked together with nothing but metallic sheen between them. He gnashed at that ink-dripping muscle until he found a spot weak enough to tear apart. It tasted of rare meat and iron; a heady gore thick enough to drown in. He swallowed, gasped, and that first new breath felt like a blade.

The child inside him saw her split-open ribs as his cradle. He wanted to crawl inside, curl up, and die. He wanted to paint himself her color.

He lost his vision to the hot, angry wash. His own sobs were a distant sound, muffled by meat and blood and his own desperate fingers. He was numb in the mouth and in the shake of his hands, but he forced himself to eat, eat despite the choking, the gagging, the wet, weeping remorse.

Don’t you dare throw her up. Be grateful. Swallow and say thank you and finish what you’ve started.

He bit into his own palm, indistinguishable from her core, and he cried out in sour relief. His hands spread raw grief over his face, through his hair, and down his neck.

You’re no better than this starving world.

He curled into himself, hands clutching his own aching chest, and despite the cloudless sky, he called upon the rain.

[rouge-fauna]

Just here to tell you how strong you are for dealing with these Drantis, they are the worst of all, and I don't understand why they keep bothering you in this aggressive way.

I blocked many people to avoid interacting with them in the future, and I can't understand why they keep going to fans and their spaces like this.

They are truly a bunch of bullies and you are so strong to keep being calm like this Bleue

Here, virtuals Hugs on your way

Aw thanks, most people haven’t been too bad, from what I’ve heard there are some really nasty people out there I have been lucky enough to dodge… perhaps I blocked them in September lol. I think the most recent ask might have been the most aggressive I’ve received or maybe I’m just tired of the same points being made, either way I kinda “crashed out” didn’t I lol. Oopsie. Anyways, thanks for your support, very much appreciate it. Nice to not be the only one frustrated with the drantis. :)

and yea… it is strange to see them invade spaces or go to fans where people clearly disagree, like they really are itching for a fight huh. Like as many posts as I’ve made it’s weird they’d come interact with me because I’m certainly avoiding all the innitors and drantis on my end. There’s no point to reason with people who have proven to be unreasonable.

[ashmp3]

my hater moment for the day yes it’s 8.30 in the morning but whatever like if you have a skinny narrow nose from the front in my head your nose is not big like at the very least it’s at the bottom of the big nose pyramid

[melonyfelonyfellonme]

Had the most false of false starts to this year (in work mainly) and I just went back to AC: Black Flag after a year

Realised that Past Me decided to pause playing just before starting one of the more devastating missions, and then was smacked in the face right after with Leave Her, Johnny

It's kl I still have tears left apparently pfffff

[sillyabtmusic]

it may come as a surprise to you all but im thinking about kingdom rn