#so tell me if they sound good!

[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

[royalarchivist]

Mine: Refer to me however you want!

Mike: Yeah, for me too. I think I use all pronouns too.

[They high-five and fist-bump each other]

Mine:

[via @barbmine]

[okiedojie25]

This tweet makes me feel things, and I don’t know how to process it

[hasellia]

[jedi-starbird]

My Feemor proposal

A popular headcanon for Feemor is that he's a Jedi Shadow. Shadows are spies and basically detectives. Feemor's lineage has a reputation for being eccentric, infamous, and finding trouble everywhere they go. So, walk with me here, Feemor's an eccentric, famous, blonde detective.

This is Feemor.

[deoidesign]

Time and Time Again comes back tonight!

Thank you all for being so patient with me, I know it was a long hiatus.

My health was struggling, my arm was (is) hurting, and I decided it wasn't worth it. I'd rather be slow!

So thank you for giving me that grace, and I hope you'll be there with me for the rest of the series.

[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.

[the-meme-monarch]

i love extrapolating on implied interactions to the point where it is thoroughly made up

if you ship scc go away please 👍

[cozylittleartblog]

me omw to scare mormons out of a wendys!! 🍂🖤🍟

ootd from like 2 weeks ago and yes that really happened

[marauderswolf22]

what about au WHERE SIRIUS WORKS IN A DOG SHELTER AND REMUS HAS SOME TRAUMA WITH WOLVES/DOGS (or both) AND FOR THERAPEUTICAL REASONS HE GOES THERE AS A VOLOUNTEER AND THEY FALL IN LOVEEEEEE

[corsairspade]

Halenthir scenario where they get married for tax benefits (in a platonic good friends sort of way) and fall in love long distance via sending each other letters with ideas on how to best leverage their marriage for tax evasion.

[bookinit02]

my application for hot girl halloween:

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Some Mountain and Ifrit fluff because i feel people kinda forget Mountain was also part of the Popestar ghouls and I need more of those two interacting.

Mountain's lips twitch up when the smell of cedar and caramel fills his nostrils, a second before strong arms wrap around his waist from behind.

"Hello, Ifrit. Everything alright ?"

The fire ghoul pushes his forhead between Mountain's shoulderblades with a small noise. It's an awfully warm day, everyone sweating bullets, and yet Mountain wouldn't dream of pushing Ifrit off him, as hot - in every ways- as he is, the fire ghoul's skin feeling like he laid down under the sun for hours.

Still bent over a wooden table in the greenhouse, Mountain checks one last time the state of the struggling plant he attempted to save for the better part of the day, before straightening and turning around in Ifrit's hold despite the fire ghoul's dramatic whining.

They both realize how the other is dressed at the same time, eyes raking up and down the other's frame.

Well, as for Ifrit, "dressed" is a generous word. In nothing but very short bright pink shorts with the ghost logo printed on the ass, hidding absolutely nothing, the fire ghoul looks positively slutty.

"Why are you dressed like those oversexualized characters in action movies ?"

Ifrit snorts.

"Just missing the shirt tied in a knot right under my huge tiddies, uh ? 's comfy. You're one to talk, looking like a victorian wet dream."

Mountain glances down at his brown pants, held by leather suspenders over a widely opened flowy white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and admits to himself that he does look nice.

"Point taken. Is there something I can do for you, firebird ?"

Ifrit grins, retrieving a bag he probably dropped to hug Mountain, from which he extirpates a reusable bottle with lemons and daises doodled on it. With a flourish, he hands it to the earth ghoul.

"Lemonade. Zephyr made it. They thought you'd be thirsty, working your ass off in that weather."

The bottle is blissfully cold in Mountain's hands, probably kept that way by the air ghoul's doing, but he doesn't even have time to thank anyone before a box is shoved in his arms.

"And that's from me. Cupcake. Pistacchio and raspberries. Fresh out the oven. They're still a bit hot though, so you can wait to eat them since it's like, so freaking hot already, but anywa-"

Mountain cuts Ifrit off with a kiss, tasting the raspberries the fire ghoul indoubtably snatched while cooking directly from his lips.

When Mountain leans back with a smug smirk, Ifrit just blinks at him, mouth hanging half opened and cheeks flushed.

"...what was that for ?"

Dragging Ifrit toward an old bench, Mountain huffs.

"That was a thank you."

With a wheezing laugh, Ifrit sits right after Mountain, not questioning the manhandling for a second.

"Remind me to cover you in gifts then."

The box of cupcakes is swiftly opened, filling the greenhouse with its mouth-watering smell, bottle uncapped just as quickly.

"We're sharing this," Mountain anounces.

Ifrit opens his mouth to protest, but the earth ghoul is faster, shoving a cupcake in the fire ghoul's mouth before any sound can be uttered. Only barely avoiding to drop it, green frosting smeared on his nose and upper lips, Ifrit cackles, nearly slipping off the bench and dragging Mountain with him in his attempt to keep his balance.

"You- mrgh - absolute bastard," the fire ghould chuckles in between bites.

The lemonade tastes divine in the suffocating atmosphere of the sun-drenched afternoon, the cupcakes a welcome sweetness after long hours of work, but better than anything, Mountain thinks, is Ifrit smiling soft and tender at him, eyes crinkling in the corners, his laughter bouncing off the greenhouse's glass panels.

[yume-fanfare]

day 7 of torikasa week is future! what will they do after graduation?

[canisalbus]

i had a strange dream in which Vasco and Machete were both a) in a modern day gang and b) were based on real people that you, the artist, personally knew. Someone made a trivia post about your blog saying “Y’know how all 12 of the high ranking gang members in that canis albus webcomic wear necklaces with a die hanging from them? (Both Vasco and Machete had four sided dice btw) This is actually based on a real thing that the real people who are in the gang it’s based on wear.”

then someone reblogged it with “I didn’t believe this until I learned that Machete’s real life counterpart is the one that designed all of them, and has spares of them all for safe keeping. Supposedly, his most unique password is the one that protects the safe that the spares are in, which, in turn, is based on the canis albus blog!”

idk if or how you’d even interpret this as a drawing, but i kinda just wanted to let you know that i dreamt about your pups

.

[plushie-lovey]

FINALLY!! At long last, I've gotten my hands on a Pumpkin Kitty, after a whole year of wanting and waiting.

Her name is Latte! (Short for Miss Pumpkin Spice Latte) You can also call her Miss Spice!