#thank you for the meme opportunity

[danganronpa96]

jesse, we need to escape the island jesse, dont let anyone know of our meth empire jesse, dont let anyone know we killed anyone jesse - hypthetical words from our big methman from heaven ( i bet hes fuming bc jesse told natsuki hes killed people)

he is blue because he is ghost. or maybe he is meth

[xretiredcommanderx]

These JC Penny Photoshoots are getting wild...

@oneshallstand

@spymeister

[t-errifier]

woke up a little later than i intended, & i work a nine hour shift today. so, activity might be a little sporadic. but wow, i got such beautiful replies to all the ask memes that i sent out yesterday & the non - verbal memes were such a blessing. i am holding everyone in my hands. i am so excited to write with you guys, work is just holding me hostage for now.

[revenantghost]

I really want to thank you for throwing together Trigun Bookclub! I lurked, but it was a ton of fun seeing all the art and meta. I missed out on all this fun fandom stuff when I first saw Trigun cuz I didn’t know where it was on the internet or if it even was around. I appreciate your hard work!

Oh man, I feel like I've said this too many times, I'm like a broken record, but I'm so surprised and thrilled with how it turned out myself?! I really just slapped down the dates, threw some resources out there, and the bookclubbers carried this through to the very end--including lurkers! I've loved seeing people react to and support posts. It's really been an amazing experience, and I'm honored to have been a part of it.

I wasn't a part of Trigun back in ye olden days (I was a weeb, but I was painfully hipster about it, forgive me for my sins), but I can only imagine how isolated it was in the wild west of the internet! And yeah, from what I hear from the fandom olds, it was only a small percentage of the fandom that had even read Trimax because, like you said, it wasn't easy to find (and the only version for a hot second was the infamous bad translation), and it took awhile for Dark Horse to complete its run. I'm thrilled so many people are finding it now, because it absolutely rewrote my DNA upon reading. I'm just doing my part to spread the Trimax propaganda lol

[lifesupreme-if]

Character Playlist Two Truths and One Lie

tag game created by: @ibuprofen-exe

tagged by: @lnmmnl

Rules: Post a poll with three (or more) songs from one of your characters playlists, except there is a catch: one of the songs is not truly on their playlist. Have your followers guess, and when the poll is finished, reveal which song was the fake.

i do have 1 ½ playlists for her :3 but i'll be using [locked] today.

tagging!!!!!!!! @thirtybythirty @lapinlunairegames @blood-teeth @lacewing-if @magiciansvoyage @veirsewrites @deadweight-if @whatchique

and anyone who else wants to participate please say i tagged you so i can vote in your poll :3c

[cxpperhead]

❤️ for my favorite icon of my muse X3

what icon? ask meme.

I'm so sorry @muppeteyes1001, I zonked out before I got around to answering this last night! It's hard to pick an all-time favourite but this one right here is one I like a lot but rarely have an opportunity to use. It's just nice overall; the expression, the colouration, how his eyes pop with that bright green and the fangs combined with his pretty facial structure!

[adriartts]

Idk who you are and I found you in a friend's blog but I really like your oc Julian and his perpetuity for being covered in blood and surrounded by sheep (my two favourite things) can you tell me about him:))

Oh hell yes babey you're just like me for real. take my hand. let me tell you about my favorite guy

Julian was a shepherd through childhood and early adulthood, caring for the sheep was an obligation to his house but not a resented one- he liked it, and actually did care for the sheep quite a bit. He was a weird little girl who grew into an odd young woman, easily frustrated, very dismissive of other people, short-tempered and restless and always off who-knows-where doing god-knows-what. Some thought it was childishness, some thought he was just a bitch, both were right and also neither were. And then he just disappeared, not telling anyone where he went or why, but pretty much all of them knew he wasn't coming back.

A few years later and he would be unrecognizable to anyone who knew him then. He's a sailor now, babey, and finds an equal but opposite call in it as he did with the sheep. It's unfamiliar and dangerous and as he hops between crews he quickly finds himself with one full of scoundrels and shitheads and people that are as much a danger to themselves (and Julian) as they are to others but he stays there because they're also tough and rough and violent and that's the ship he wants to be a part of.

Restlessness turns to recklessness and everything he is is the same but louder, and, integrally, this is on purpose. He thinks he's better than everyone else, thinks he's invincible, thinks everything is a game and nobody else really matters. He has convictions in theory, because most of them can be broken if he thinks he's right to do so. He doesn't let anyone figure him out, he lies for fun and so nobody ever really knows anything about him for sure. He sees the world in transaction: kindness and favor are debts that can be held against you, everyone is trying to take something, so give as little as possible. Everyone has an angle, so he's always trying to decipher what it is. He makes more enemies than friends.

The violence is on purpose. The cockiness, to an extent, is on purpose. He can't stand something quiet and dull in the background so he wells it to the surface of someone else's skin. A fight has rules, a bruise or a cut heals in a predictable way that can be influenced one way or the other. Violence takes energy, it's physical and tangible and it makes sense. Blood comes from somewhere, you can staunch it or you can let it run, none of this in-between bullshit. The choice is there, you just have to make it.

[boy-oneder]

King of the Hill theme meme

Please be sure to check out the original post by @endlich-allein

[misscammiedawn]

you did outfits you haven't shown off before. Related one (and I can guess part of the answer, but still):

What outfits make each of y'all feel most like *yourself*?

[hourcat]

"You're ridiculous." :))💓

The watch on Pierre's hand feels heavy as he glances at it yet again--the moonlight is the only thing illuminating the footbridge, now, lights from the festival at the gazebo beginning to fade as people start to return to their homes. It's ticking closer and closer to 9, according to his timepiece. He'd told Charles 8:30 and watched the dazed, lovestruck expression on his face as he'd agreed, but...

What if he'd found out, and decided to stay away like any man with good sense should? Pierre has had a terrible feeling that the town is on to him as of late, which means he's likely on borrowed time until he can split for the next train out of town. It's nights like these that he thinks about maybe trying to become legitimate: turn into an actual traveling salesman instead of being a con-man. It has to be easier. Less lies to tell means less lies to get caught in, which means less fear of being pulverized by the small-town idiot mayor.

It's a thought that's never seriously crossed his mind until here and now: Pierre has been doing this for years, selling and running and selling and running before people realize he's not actually trained in any kind of musical arts whatsoever, and he's never regretted it. There's never been a conscience in him to feel guilty over this. But tonight, walking through the woods and chuckling softly at all the couples he'd passed, kissing and dancing and snuggling up together under the cover of darkness, it had occurred to him that these are good people, here in Iowa.

They're good people, and Pierre has been lying to them. To him.

"Pierrot!" Charles' voice bursts through his contemplative thought. He looks up, startled, only to find the librarian standing at the end of the footbridge, eyes sparkling and lit-up in the moonlight as he paces slowly towards where Pierre is trying desperately to not white-knuckle the bridge rail. He looks impossibly handsome, the pink of his collared shirt almost the same shade as the pink of his cheeks.

"Charles," he greets softly, taking a step closer before remembering his manners. Instead, Pierre takes his hand and squeezes it once before releasing him. "I didn't think you would come."

Charles looks aghast at the thought. "You're ridiculous," he half-says, half-gasps. The sound makes Pierre want to laugh. "I would not miss being here with you for the world." He's the one who moves closer, this time, and there are a thousand warning sirens blaring in Pierre's head about all of this: about the townspeople catching them together, about being honest about how he feels, about Charles falling for someone who has been lying to him. He shouldn't be letting this happen, whatever it is.

But he does. He does, because Pierre is nothing if not a thief, and he's too selfish to deny himself this: one last chance with the librarian he's become so fond of over the last few weeks. "I'm glad," he manages a beat too late. "You danced wonderfully out there tonight."

Charles ducks his head, the flush of his cheeks darkening. "You were something, too," he answers back. Steps closer. He's so close that he's within touching distance, and Pierre could just grab the lapels of his jacket and tug him close and give the only real thing he might ever be able to give. "Pierre..."

The cool night air keeps him from indulging, though. "Charles," Pierre says softly, quickly turning his attention to the ripple of the water to avoid Charles getting any closer, lest he...lest they..."I have to leave soon." He hears the sharp inhale that follows but knows he has to plow through. Charles can't be in love with a man like him. It will be easier for him, eventually, to forget about this: to forget about the music man who'd come to town and swept everyone off their feet and then fled. "The mayor, he's been on my case for days, now, and I don't..." he swallows. "I don't have the papers he's asking for, Charles. He could arrest me." It's a sobering thought. He's never gotten this lost in a town before.

But it's not the town, Pierre knows. Not really. When he turns his head, Charles is staring at him with wide, hurt eyes, and Pierre has never wanted to kiss anyone so badly in his life. "You can't leave, Pierre," he whispers. "What about the band? Arthur is so excited about his trumpet, and I have never seen him so happy about anything." There are tears in his eyes. God. "What about..." he trails off, then takes a slow breath and continues, "what about me?"

He's done for. Done. The next town he'll have to give in to the first woman who throws herself at him and pray she'll make him forget this moment, because Charles...he might love Charles, really and truly, with his entire dishonest heart. Con-men aren't supposed to fall like this. "Cheri," he says--barely audible, the confession weighing heavy on his voice. "I am not the man you think I am." It's the most he can say without saying it: I have been lying to you about every aspect of who I am, and I'm in love with you, and you'll hate me if you know the truth. Charles is young and handsome and full of life: he'll have no problem finding a wife and leaving the memory of Pierre behind, and as nauseating as the thought is to him, he knows it's what must happen.

Charles blinks at him slowly, then shakes his head. "Pierre," he begins, and then reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a folded, battered piece of paper. "I know."

And that...Pierre blinks, shakes his head once out of shock. "You know?"

"I know," Charles repeats, fiddling with the paper again. "Your name is not in the Indiana Conservatory records, Pierre Gasly." He unfolds the paper to reveal a page torn right from what must be the Conservatory records--a copy he'd seen in the library not too long ago. He swallows. "I looked not too long after you came to town, and when I didn't see your name..." He pauses. "I was going to hand this over to the mayor, but when Arthur's instrument came...I couldn't take that joy away from him." Pierre can't stop staring at him: at how beautiful he is with tears shining in his eyes, at how resolute his face looks as he tells Pierre that he...

He knew, all this time, and still let Pierre do as he does.

"And I don't care, Pierre," he continues fiercely, closing the distance between them and grabbing fistfuls of Pierre's jacket. "I do not care that you are not a music man, or that you were just a con-man who landed in our little town. I don't care at all."

Pierre is dizzy with it. "Charles." He's struck speechless for the first time in his life. What is he even supposed to say to this man who just turned his entire life upside down? "What are you saying?"

Charles surges forward and closes the last thread of moonlight between them, kissing Pierre so hard it's a wonder they don't tumble over the bridge's railing altogether. It's fast and a flurry, and he doesn't even have a chance to process it before Charles pulls away again and crumples the Conservatory record sheet in his hand. "I am saying," he murmurs, still leaned close enough that their noses are bumped together, "I love you. I love you as you are."

[despairforme]

👤+ Szayelaporro

For a meme I actually never reblogged --- .

❝ I didn't even fuckin' say I was gonna participate in that SHITTY game. Why do I gotta answer this? ❞

Szayelaporro, huh?

Nnoitra owed him a lot, as much as he hated to admit it. They weren't friends. Of course they weren't - Nnoitra didn't have ( and would never have ) friends. All they'd done was work together towards a mutual goal. Szayelaporro had gotten to test out one of his inventions, and Nnoitra...

Had been able to breathe again.

It was HE who had gone to Szayelaporro in the first place. Even though the other hadn't been an Espada at that time. He'd been desperate to get rid of Nelliel. She'd been suffocating him, and he'd been willing to do ANYTHING in order to get rid of her. Going as far as to humiliate himself by asking Szayelaporro for help...

It had been a difficult decision. He'd thought that the other would make it even harder for him, by fucking rubbing it in his face. However, to his surprise - Szayel had been surprisingly discreet about it. Almost like he could understand a little bit of what Nnoitra was going through.

Nnoitra was thankful to him. Not just for helping him get rid of Nelliel - but for how he had helped him. Without scorn. Without even demanding anything in return.

Perhaps it had been a sneaky way to gain Nnoitra's loyalty. It certainly was far more efficient than holding it against him, and telling him he now owed him one. Nnoitra could come to that conclusion on his own, without being told. He knew he owed him big time, and he hoped that - before they were ALL killed, he'd be able to repay Szayel. In some way.

[crossbackpoke-check]

re your notes on the mack post: oh. my. gosh and also 100% AGREED 😵‍💫

(he and will are both ******* those old men lbr)

- @bondedpairs

sometimes i have brief moments of introspection in which i wonder whether or not there are things better left in my drafts and usually i say fuck it we ball and then we DO ball and i love y’all for that. would you still love me if i whip out my footnotes and references

FOOTNOTES:

*somewhere in there is an aside about mack having to think about joe stroking somebody ELSE’s dick on the bench and having a panic about it.

**i DO see the will smith mackelini celebrini ?!;&/‘os everyone has been posting. that is the devil talking as in i cannot become invested or else it will ruin me. f1vegas you are NOT forgiven for putting ‘the tk/pat parking garage vibes of it’ in front of my eyes like my! god! i do NOT WANT TO KNOW THE NARRATIVE (too compelling i think. too much to get into with the bc(?)/bu rivalry and zeev buium was there and there’s another shark too somewhere??. i can’t care about a fish a MACKEREL you guys and will smith is not allowed to be my sharks bicycle because the team whoré borde already exists!!) where i was trying to go is sometimes you both fuck the same old man and he’s like. losers. get a polycule. and they end up together (obviously to me jumbo is in an ???? with patty and burnsie)

ABBV. REFERENCES:

ro’s other post where mack says to “ask smitty about [hunting cougars]” (src: holyjost)

ko’s transcript of fun facts from the interview that made me too endeared. girl nobody made you take advertising courses?? change your major

aforementioned f1vegas post. this is by tags alone because after reading that i was not capable of watching the video

[juliakristeva]

tagged by @northcountrymaid to post my top five songs atm- thank you!! the energy is a very dark wet autumn, all blackberries and plums and bruises.

tagging @persephonethewanderer @athinginmotion @hairtusk @hineinihineini and @artemisinfurs <3

[sae-mian]

🩷 Sensation - Do any specific textures or temperatures affect their enjoyment, such as wax, carpet, silk, feathers? Do they usually find pain a turn on or turn off?

thank you for the ask! i've answered this one for nira'sae here, so i'll answer for hana and minasha this time

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

[SENSATION /// MINASHA]

minasha is hardy. more so than he looks, for sure. he's also not afraid to experiment with different sensations and experiences. he enjoys many of them, though doesn't have affinity to any one in particular.

he can definitely get behind a little bit of pain, though. enjoys being bitten, scratched-- especially enjoys when nira'sae accidentally pulls his hair, lost to their own pleasure.

ultimately, no matter what, his enjoyment of any sensation is often made or broken by how in control of the situation he feels.

[SENSATION /// HANA]

hana is both similar to mina, and also strikingly different. he is also very durable, and has experimented with a great many things. unlike minasha, however, hana has settled on a few distinct preferences.

ever a lover of the soft and cushy, he adores silk - his binding of choice, if indulging in that kind of play. he also enjoys more abstract things like temperature play-- ice or wax, for example. doubly so when combined with sensory deprivation (like a blindfold, perhaps).

pleasure is his element, so, it stands to reason he's fairly attracted to things that heighten and elevate that.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

[Sinday Character Asks]

[novelconcepts]

10 with jackie & van in the feral van fic universe?

10 - Hair/Caressing/Braiding a scene from this 'verse

"It's better here, right?" Jackie eases the brush through a sheaf of molten fire, letting the soft strands run through her fingers. Van leans her head back, allowing the contact. Allowing the pressure of the teeth against her scalp to soothe the unsteady flutter in her chest.

Yes, it's better here. Anything is better than that room she'd spent a fucking decade memorizing, but that isn't really the point. The point is, Lottie's made something of merit. Something that, unlike the woods, might actually stand a chance of surviving.

It's fresh air, and it's sunlight without filter, and it's people who--by and large--leave Van be. They've been well-trained to tune her out, apart from deliveries of food or fresh laundry. They don't reach for her with zealous fingers. Don't eyeball her when she walks the grounds, hands in her pockets. No one wants a goddamn thing from her here.

There's just Jackie, and after more than a decade, Van's used to that much. Jackie still talks too much, still looks at her with faithful eyes, but it doesn't rankle like it once did. Unhinged though it might be, demented though it might feel, Jackie Taylor might be the best friend she's got.

Certainly, it's an improvement, that she doesn't push Van to speak. There's a notebook in her pocket, a pen tucked behind one ear in case she wishes to communicate, but more often than not, even Jackie doesn't ask. She just turns up with a smile, a hairbrush, a question unasked on her pink lips, and Van lets her in.

It's underrated, the art of silent communication. Underrated, like Lottie's method of handling her; which is to say, letting Van set her own pace. Van gets up on her own schedule, sleeps on her own schedule, eats when and what she feels like. Van dresses as she sees fit--all shades of purple, unfortunately, but otherwise chosen by her own two hands. There are no pills to be forced down her throat. No doctors demanding she try fresh therapies.

It's not something to be put lightly, this phrase, but Van's fairly certain this is as close to paradise as she's ever going to get.

She lets Jackie work the brush through her hair, which runs to the middle of her back. It reminds her of being very small. Reminds her of hands--whose? surely not Vicky's, though she can't imagine who else there might have been--twisting and dancing until a wild cascade found itself tamed into a single plait. Jackie's not as good as whoever had done it back then. Not as good as Taissa, either--a thought Van pointedly shoves down a mental flight of stairs whenever it crops up.

It's not about being good, she reminds herself. Not about skill or talent or affinity. It's about willingness. The simple warmth of hands eager to go to work.

Jackie brushes out the tangles, stroking without keeping count. She talks as she works, regaling Van with observations about the goats Lottie keeps, and the beehives, and the gardens. She talks of people whose names Van immediately forgets, and of her dreams for this place, which Lottie so gladly shares. She isn't just bringing Van into her day-to-day, it's understood. She's telling stories.

She's telling stories, because, after all this time, stories are all Van has. All she's ever had. The only thing that cannot, will not, walk away.

"Are you going out to the grove tonight?" she asks, setting the brush aside. She's beginning to work Van's hair into distinct divisions, preparing to braid them together.

Van shrugs. She hasn't decided yet. Lottie's built this place for her--though she pretends it's for anyone who happens to wander in--and the grove most especially. No one else ventures out there, to Van's knowledge, save for her. Her, and Lottie, and Jackie. The last of the pack.

It's quiet in the grove. If she really listens, she can almost hear the wind. Almost hear the trees. Almost hear the voice she once possessed, laughing merrily in the dark.

If there's a god, she thinks it might reside out there. In the grove. In the torches Lottie lights before her arrival, and the patience of open air. If there's ever been a god, she thinks it might well have a home in those trees, and though it is not her god, maybe it does not mind her company.

She might be going mad, it's true, but it doesn't feel like madness is meant to. Doesn't feel like a sickness spreading cancer-quick through her body. She sits in that grove sometimes, hands resting on crossed legs, and thinks she can almost taste the life she lost to the wolves. She can almost feel the presence of that girl, the one who retold movies around campfires, who trusted in Lottie's dreams, who loved Taissa Turner enough to risk everything for her.

"Well," says Jackie, twisting the braid into unhurried shape, "if you want, I can join you. I like it out there, too. It's peaceful."

Van draws a slow breath, fixating only on the tug of Jackie's hands in her hair, the cool air on her skin, the distant buzz of communal life. Peaceful. A good word. Peace is its own kind of god. Who might she be, if they'd left to her peace all those years ago?

She can't remember the last time she drew blood.

Can't remember the last time she snarled in a stranger's face.

Can't remember the last time she met demand with weary, reluctant acquiescence.

Peace.

They should have left her to it from the start.

[townofcadence]

25. your character

Munday Topics

GOSH I could say a lot about Artair!! He was the first character I ever rped, and he's changed a lot over the years as he became my own more and more. But every way he has has changed has made him more intimate to me, more mine and more unabashedly my own creation. I love all my characters, but there's just something so special about him, the way he thinks is a mindset I can slip into so easily. I know so much about his life and so many major events and how they shaped him, and I've forgotten so many moments on the blogs he's been on. Near as many as I'm sure I remember lol.

I don't even really know how to talk more about him. There's so much I could say that feels like a stack of layers. He's reckless and impulsive and self-sacrificing and sees himself as this corrupted horrific thing undeserving of love, but he pours every drop of himself into others and loving them so deeply. He doesn't want to save himself but he wants his pain to mean something because he can hold more if it means someone else holds less. He's believes himself incapable of being anything other than broken and monstrous, but in the same breath he can see the good in even the darkest of muses and he will reach out his hand for them. For someone who has fallen into so much darkness, he has so much hope and love to share, and he is so freaking kind and silly and tries to make you laugh.

He knows what it's like to be hurt, and chooses every day to be the person he needed. Every day chooses to make someone else's better. the pain and the horrors and the damage too deep to ever undo keeps coming for him, true to at least several of his abilities embodying misfortune, pain, and The End of All Things. He's been taken apart, he's died more times than you can count on both hands in terrible ways, and keeps his own tally of failings or people he's harmed or feels responsible for the death of.

But he always chooses to persevere despite what comes. He fights to keep going, even in the worst situations. If someone else is there, he might do sacrificial, foolish things to save them, but it's because he LOVES them. He loves people, he loves them being happy, finding what makes them feel good and like a person. He loves seeing them grow and smile and flourish. He loves them. He loves them he loves them to pieces and he loves seeing them find love and joy in the world, and he will put himself on a pyre as a willing lamb of sacrifice to protect that.

I don't know, there's something so fascinating by how deep and how gentle and how kind someone who has suffered beyond words can be. So many fall apart, but he desperately crushes his pieces together just so he can give you the hug you need and be there for you with every fiber of his being. It doesn't matter to him if he's okay-- what does is if you are. He still is flawed, imperfect, but he's still doing his best. He's NOT okay, he's twisted up in so many ways, taking what is usually a positive trait and it sometimes being the fatal flaw for him. But he hasn't lost what makes him human.

He's deeply tragic, written though horror after horror in past rps and blog events and M!As and such, but he is still so full of compassion and affection and still fights to be there for everyone, and to bring everyone home to those they love. And I love him so so so much.