#that just makes it not to yall's tastes

[modeus-the-misanthrope]

Everyone saying "Night Reign isn't Elden Ring" I am sorry, but yall sound like all the oldheads who proclaimed "This shit ain't hip-hop!" When Ganster Rap stopped being the default style.

[choccy-milky]

So I've been re-reading "The Raven and the Snake" and I love Clora and Seb together. Unfortunately, I am not much of an artist - unless you count stick figures wearing top hats as art - but it has inspired me to get back into writing. So I guess my ask is, if I wrote something inspired by Clora/Seb, would you be okay if I posted it?

OMG YES YES OF COURSE!! 😭😭🧎‍♀️& gonna highjack this to say @magic-in-onyx is actually working on an older seb/clora curse-breaker story rn, and i consider it canon and got so inspired i drew a 5 page comic based on it that ill post along with it when its ready!!

heres one of my fav wip pages from it so far that i had to share BAHAH....bc i love angy protective seb what can i say💖....(her ao3 is mageonx go sub to her shes an amazing writer and altho the seb/clora story isnt out yet, she also has an amazing wip story called pearls of golden about MC saving a merman garreth from a poacher camp) ANYWAY ALL THAT TO SAY, YES ANYONE CAN WRITE ABOUT SEB AND CLORA/ANYTHING INSPIRED BY SEB AND CLORA AND ID LOVE TO READ IT BC IM SEB AND CLORAS #1 FAN AND WOULD LOVE TO SEE IT

[hinamie]

doodles

[virescent-v]

Love Languages

Summary: Love is a weird soup. Word count: 851 Warnings: None. It's fluff. :) *This also has absolutely nothing to do with the 'Lauren' arch. thanks to @mrs-prentiss for sending the gif that inspired this :)

You love spoiling your girlfriend. 

At work, she’s a total badass, analyzing psychopaths, chasing killers, and putting the bad guys behind bars. You’ve been in the office at Quantico and Emily is a completely different person there. She’s still funny, cracking a light joke here and there, bonding with her team, but there is an air of seriousness that clouds the demeanor you see at home. 

At home, Emily is soft. She wears comfortable fabrics that hang almost loosely off of her, her face is usually free of makeup, and the stoic lines on her face ease. She is more carefree, laughing at her own jokes as well as yours. 

She is also more touchy. Her hands find your body any chance they get. A hand at the small of your back when you’re both in the kitchen cooking dinner and she needs a way around you, a hand rubbing your foot as you both lay on the couch watching tv, playing with your hair any time you cuddle. 

Emily loves you fearlessly, endlessly, but quietly. 

You love her loudly. Constant gestures, words of affirmation, quality time. You are the embodiment of every love language, a way to combat the neglect and angst of Emily’s previous relationships, both platonically and romantically. 

You know a little of her past, her sharing bits and pieces as your relationship has progressed. You understand that those relationships, along with her job, have cracked and damaged parts of Emily that she shields from most of the world. So, you do everything you can to show her how much you love her. 

Thankful for the ‘sharing location’ feature on your phones, you can watch her as she approaches your house, giving you ample time to get things together. It’s been a few days since you’ve seen her, a case dragging her to the other side of the country. She gets home late into the evening, exhaustion rolling off of her. 

You meet her at the door, kissing her gently, before shooing her upstairs to shower the case off of her. 

Sometime later, she comes down in a cream colored sweater, her hair a little wavy. Emily can immediately tell you went to some lengths to make things relaxing for her. There’s a smell of some sort of red sauce pasta cooking, candles lit in the dining room. 

She comes over to you, wrapping her arms loosely around you as you stir the pasta on the stove. You feel her inhale deeply against your neck, breathing in not only the scent of your perfume, but also the smell of the food cooking before you. She pulls away, moving to grab glasses for wine, choosing a red she knows will go well with your pasta. 

She moves over to the table, settling in the seat and watching you. You move with ease, a comfortability that she’s never had in the kitchen. With her chin in her hand resting on the table, her mind wanders to all of the ways that you love her. Sometimes it overwhelms her, makes her feel as if she’s not enough, because she knows that she doesn’t express love in the same way, her past experiences making her more timid with her affection.

You remind her constantly that love can be shown in so many different ways; you don’t require grand gestures or expensive gifts or countless exclamations of love. You appreciate the quiet, subtle expressions of devotion: a good morning text, when she brings a little treat from the gas station on her way home, when she makes time to leave work on time to spend more time with you. 

Knowing her is loving her. 

Emily snaps back to reality as plates are put on the table, you smiling gently at her as you settle into the seat beside her. You rub her knee a few times before picking up your cutlery and digging into the meal. 

There are no words shared between you, a serene silence filling the space, each lost in your own thoughts. 

As the meal is finished, you clear the dishes away, shuffling back and forth to the kitchen. 

Tenderly, you walk over and grab her hand, dragging her up, making your way towards the living room with the intention of going upstairs to get some sleep…or do something else, awaiting to see what vibe meets you upstairs. 

Emily draws up short, her hand falling from yours. She waits until you turn around, confused. 

“I love you.” 

She’s said the words to you many times, but each feels like the first. You feel yourself blush, warming at the affection and attention her eyes are trying to portray. 

“I love you, Emily Elizabeth Prentiss.” You reach your hand back out. “Now come to bed with me,” you say, a devious look in your eyes, hinting at what more you expect to occur once you make your way upstairs. 

Emily’s face heats, her smile extending wide before she pulls her lip between her teeth. She looks back up at you, sheepish and coy, her hands on her hips. 

“I’d follow you anywhere.” 

[askthisfishprince]

((Eridan seems like the kind of person who would make an effort to discover obscure underground music that "sounds cool," regardless of whether he genuinely enjoys it, just to appear more impressive..))

((so that is the vibe here lol))

((this isn't music that reminds me of him really??. For the most part This is just.…the playlist of a guy who curated it specifically so he could go “oh you don't knoww them? 🙄 typical…”))

((shout out to the love of my life @fleshisfun for helping me compile a majority of the music ❤️))

[d1sc01nf3rn0]

I'm seeing a lot of people with neurodivergency, specially under the autism spectrum say that "Laios is annoying, never shuts up, is insensitive, and I can't stand him"; and the irony is not lost on me lmao.

[trashbag-usa]

it feels like a lot of people have given up on fully connecting ISWM/Engie Mark to the wider lore (aka WKM) since IRL Mark straight up told us he wasn't Actor.

but not only am i a stubborn son of a bitch, but yknow what Mark also said?

"Engineer Mark isn't Actor Mark, but Actor Mark just might be Engineer Mark."

so hear me out, y'all.

preamble; if you saw this in a yt comment section, no you didn't. (that was also me i didnt steal this i prommy-)

i have this entirely insane theory about iswm that Engineer Mark is actually Damien, but only sometimes.

the most obvious places i can spot him is in the abandoned ship with the candles ("captain needs their sleep" and whatnot), as Old Mark (specifically in the empty diner), and most definitely as the "Mark" we see as part of the finale, the one who realizes he was wrong.

Actor is allergic to admitting fault so I Don't Believe That's Him.

this explains the thematic focus on sleep and rest in these scenes, things told to Damien and told to US by DARK several times.

("Don't remember" anyone?)

speaking of Dark, it explains why he isn't there. we DO however see the suspiciously Darkiplier-esqe Ms. Whitacre, which it isn't controversial to say atp is CLEARLY Celine.

that is, until the universe does its final kablooey and Dark as we know him, Damien attributes and all, comes to take the warp-crystal.

and besides, think about it.

given Actor's whole goal in all this, as laid out in the Damien Project, do you REALLY think he would write a story in which all problems arise from HIS OWN NEGLIGENCE? NO!

that would make him a villain, and all he ever wants is to be portrayed as the hero, literally for eternity!

but you know what i think he would do? set up a farce for the most troublesome of his "co-stars".

you, the viewer, want genuine choices? you want to have some real control over the story? some responsibility? FINE.

everyone looks to you, but under your leadership everything goes wrong, no matter what. you don't know why, but you're actively villinized and the harder you try to go back and fix things, achieve an "ending" on your own, the more people HATE you. the more the thought that maybe there IS something wrong with you specifically will stick in your mind as a possibility.

all these options, but none of them "right", creating MORE suffering instead of fixing it just to find that ever elusive end.

damien wants control of the narrative? he wants his old friend, you, the District Attorney to be released from his eternal story and given back to him? FINE.

here's his role back in earnest, given the possibility to engage and choose instead of intrude and twist like usual.

(yes, i do think Damien/Engineer is genuinely going down his own hopeless path while we find our own. in one of the descriptions leading to the final "Hold On/Let Go" confrontation, it says "you're not the only one making choices. you're not alone, you never were".)

he is allowed to fight for the safety of others, side by side with his closest companion, just as they did when they were alive.

BUT, the twist is Damien becomes a genuine villain. in his quest to do the altruistic thing and help at all cost, he is personally responsible for the death of LITERALLY EVERYONE EVER.

this is a personal hell for someone like Damien, as seen from WKM, all he ever seemed to want was help others and guide them towards peace.

for his actions/leadership to fail so unthinkably catastrophically, seems like the exact hell a bitter Actor would want to subject his "old friend" to for meddling. :/

Actor sets the stage for a theatrical punishment game. Mayor and Attorney, together again, taking an impossibly long stay in a personally crafted hell for the horrendous crime of ever even thinking they'd be worthy of ✨️staring roles✨️.

Actor turns you two against each other, and once Damien is brough down to the depths of despair and you have finally learned that true responsibility can lead to catastrophic, painful results, we're brought back to our proper places.

you go to a proper ending, with the Engineer role now being played by Actor once and for all, and Damien once again becomes part of Darkiplier, pocketing the warp-crystal to plant on the box in Heist.

Engineer isn't Actor, it's a role he plays when it suits him and his goals, to make his enemies suffer. he's willing to be Damien's understudy, if only for this purpose.

but at the end of the journey, Actor becomes Engineer to take in the fruits of his labor. ..and maybe invite you to a Heist while he's at it.

BUT HEY, THAT'S JUST A

very long winded """theory""" that is pretty much only insane fanfiction-

[spywhitney]

How I sleep knowing I'll never trust anyone that hates Sydney but worships Richie:

[sctumsempra]

i think if sevvy had some of those sexy goth spine candles in his office it would fix him

[sulky-cabbage]

You know what's sad? Sukuna probably knows about Satoru's situationship with suguru, he was with kenjaku the whole time since gojo got unsealed, he must have asked Kenjaku how the fuck did he manage to seal Gojo.

Poor guy, he was dead for a thousand years and just got reincarnated a couple months ago, met his soulmate (gojo), promised to kill him (for love), found out gojo is in love with someone else and got sealed because of this love, had to fucking wait for him to get unsealed so he can kill him, and then had to wait again because gojo wanted it to happen on the same day he killed geto, like😭😭 and now Sukuna is probably gonna die and go back to hell...

What a sad life man...

He already had a terrible first life that turned him into a curse.

Like seriously, When Sukuna dies who is going to welcome him in the afterlife? Gojo is already with geto & the others.

Is Sukuna even going to the same place?

Is he going to die alone??? Is he gonna just.. rot in hell?? he really has nobody that's so sad

Stsg is tragic but Sukugo is even more so.

They're on complete opposite sides, They don't even get to meet in the afterlife!! they're literally star-crossed lovers.

Satoru what are you doing you're letting nostalgia blind you, WAKE UP your real soulmate is Sukuna.

you wanted someone to understand you for so long, now you're just gonna give up on him??? leave him all alone for eternity???

What happened to not wanting anyone to feel alone???

[enden-k]

btw if someone has game/etc recs feel free to drop some, im starting a list of stuff to pick up again/get into once my vacation starts (NO romance/dating sims/slice of life pls)

(i could actually start already, my workload lessened since i finished training newbies now so i finally have time to breathe a little aaa)

[dailykugisaki]

Day ninety-five | id in alt

Long time no Nanami💥

[necrophilemagpie]

as much as i love the idea of fan kids in media with immortals in it[and i do find peoples fankid ocs generally fun], i don't think Integra would do that even adopted even whatever, at least not intentionally.

I gotta be real, I don't think she'd want to do that to Alucard unless there Really isn't another choice. One would assume he is bound to the bloodline/inheritance line and another heir is kind of just... extending the capacity of this to hurt him for at least another generation.

Unless the powers that be threaten to do something bigger than him otherwise, Integra, who seems to have intentionally picked the under-equipped for the position and non-related Penwood jr to get the organization after her death, her plan here is pretty clear. She wouldn't have a 'real' heir if she can help it because she wants Alucard free of the bond after her, she wants to be the last person with the capacity to take away his autonomy like that.

none of the characters in this show are good people exactly, but I do think she feels a kind of remorse for both her family's past likely uncountable abuse towards him, and personally for perhaps overstepping a boundary or two. because that just Will Happen if you have that kind of 100% control over someone.

Legit, that's why you rarely hear her specify something as an 'order' even when he obviously acts out, only in real key moments/after their back and forth they do for that. I genuinely do not think she likes to use the full extent of the power she has over him, just more so fill that role in his life so he feels... comfortable for a lack of a better word? There is fun powerful and there is 'this is something my father would do to you' and i reckon hard orders are a lot more of the latter

i don't think she'd trust an heir or a potential heir's heir to tell the difference.

partially because i don't know how much she trusts herself to.

[tsunael]

wolcred week |  4. 'broken / trust.'

She was a veritable tour de force– an absolute nightmare of a woman. Yet, despite what the bards might sing, she was just as human as any other.

-> part I.

-> cw: suggestive themes.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

“Wait– Gods– I’ll be sick.”

Overindulging in drink and dancing on bloody feet had left a typhoon of a woman clinging to the bark of a pixie apple tree for a semblance of stability.

He halted his stride with a huff and readjusted his grip on their youngest charge to wait with waning patience. He had half-expected to carry one of them home, but not certainly not Ryne, though he heard Alphinaud and Alisaie had met with similar fates. Y’shtola had done him a service and seen to their care, as well as Urianger's-- and must be thankful, for that was one man he did not want to carry across the Crystarium grounds.

That only left their most important cargo to him– how lucky he was-- and if Tsuna did not get ahold of herself, he feared he would soon find himself out of hands. 

He looked on past the treetops, to the early morning sky peeking through the crystal dome to find a moment to wax poetic. “Destroyer of Primals, Lightwarden’s Bane... but a flagon of ale has not ceased to bring the Warrior of Darkness to her knees, I see.”

Tsuna shot a pointed look in his direction. “P-Piss off,” she droned, half-way between a hiss and a whine. "You're making it worse."

All he could do was offer his own exhausted smirk at her expense. 

It was true. Tsuna Wasaishi could fell all manner of beasts with enough willpower and sheer dumb luck, but the stairs to her chambers seemed her most daunting adversary yet.

Ryne had been put to bed, which freed his attention to better escort the stumbling woman into his chambers on the first floor to circumvent the climb.

She fell upon his mattress in a heap, looking at once grateful for sturdy ground.

“Off,” she mumbled. Her knuckles tapped the hard cage of her corset and drew his exhausted sigh. “Please,” she added, weakly. Even at her wits end she still found it pertinent to be cordial, and he had no choice but to oblige.

Tsuna slumped forward for him, pulling her hair loose and tossing it over her clammy shoulder to better offer her laces. The cotton of the cincher was damp to the touch, her skin still shone with sweat. He thumbed the laces, pulling them free from the centre-outward, and as he broke her free from the busk, and immediately she began to breathe easier.

He had to wonder why one woman would put herself through so much for such pain just to numb another.

She offered him a shy look from over her bare shoulder, muttering something so incoherent he could only barely piece it together. “... stay with me?” she asked.

He was struck by the blunt force three words could bring. It was not as if they hadn’t shared a night in the past. Even so, he stood from the bed, only to prostrate himself before her, if only to make her more comfotable.

“I would not leave you in such a sorry state.” It was the truth, though he chuffed to hide from his own trepidation. “It’s all right. You needed this.”

Tsuna closed her eyes agreeably, and nodded, softly humming in perceived content as he fished for her ankle under her dress’ hem. 

“You’re my dearest friend, Thancred. Y'know that, yes?”

His hands paused. He knew. Gods, he knew. They mapped each other's hurts like no one else ever would.

How many times had he found himself wanting to sit outside her door for that very reason?

Slowly, she picked up her skirts before him, and rose them high to aid in his task. Completely unabashed, she revealed to him the shapely, naked length of her legs for a show. His eyes were drawn down to the map of scales hugging her sides, then up– up to the lazy, amused smile curling her lips. She looked down on him, a supplicant, and a familiar heat rushed through him.

“I could tell you anything,” she whispered, softer. “Couldn’t I?”

He bit his cheek, tilting his chin down, trying to focus on the matter at hand. 

“Of course.”

Thancred’s hands smoothed up her firm calves and carefully removed the battered heel from her right foot. Her soles were angry and blistered from her hours of revelry, and so with the same care he removed the left, though it was there that he lingered. The thumb on her calve began to move in easy circles to loosen the band of muscle grown taut with pain and overuse. Tsuna drew in a sharp breath and squirmed in his hands, and the hem rose higher still.

He crept up past her knee, and settled on her lower thigh before he stopped himself. 

He had broken her trust before, and he would not do so again– even if she were more than willing. 

“Keep going.”

Her hand clasped over his own, and drew it upwards, his thumb reaching beneath her skirts, to dip into the crease of her thigh for a tantalizing moment. He knew what she wanted, and he would visit all seven of the Hells if he admitted he wished the same. The Gods only knew how long he had been bereft. 

It took all he had to retract his hand, despite her protests. “I won’t,” he muttered firmly under his breath. “Not like this.”

“Why?" Tsuna sat upright, lips twisted in hurt. "Gods– Warm me.” He looked away, rueful, only managing to raise her frustration. “You said so: I need this–” Her voice fell soft, desperate. Her hands clasped his face, stroking lines across his cheeks in order to pull him in. 

She was looking for another way to drown, and he would not have a part in it.

“It wouldn’t be the first–”

“All the more reason not to make the same mistake twice,” he interrupted, pulling her hands from him. “Another time. Another place.” And he would.

A kiss was pressed to her palm, and she was struck silent.

He used the opportunity to stand, to begin the ritual of shucking his coat to prepare for his own rest, when without so much as a sound, she reached for his now-naked hand, and despite it all– despite everything– his thumb ran careful circles over her knuckle.

She needed something more than just a warm body beside her, and it was something he could not provide.

[bitchkay]

Craving onigiri in the middle of the night

I need osamu to be my boyfriend so he can make me onigiri when ever I want

[bijoumikhawal]

*sees a long post from an American comparing Cardassia to the USSR/China* *rolls eyes and keeps scrolling*