#the trees spoke to me

[ddodol]

people suspecting seunghan and eunseok hung out bc of his wv post omg my eunhani i love them sm

🍨 anon

they were hanging out, i was there !

[rendevok]

step into the light

what do you see?

my sun,

my stars

shining on me

[williamkisser]

Reflecting by the nature! by polish artist Celina Dominikowska (1853)

[kittyplushy]

*putting a landmine down here* nobody step on this unless you want toxic yuri explosion

[whoa-where-did-the-pancakes-go]

Well. I have to go break up with my dnd girlfriend later. Please help

[flovverworks]

five yrs in forgotten valley would help akira tremendously

[void-tiger]

Oxytocin low. Send hugs.

[thisisadecisionimayregret]

Shunley Prenard,,,, I love them your honor

[chaosgenasi]

i'm so curious as to what would happen to the leylines of exandria if ruidus were to be unmade/if predathos were to be released or break free

[probablypossesedbysatan]

Pls look at the tags on my part, idk what came over me

i don’t want to derail my own post but i just have to address

I’m sorry??????? You “KNOW” nobody on THIS hellsite

Watched

The

Fucking

Lorax????

[wistrea]

HIIIII IM LOV U

HI I LOVE YOU MOOOOORE 😭💕

[zombirps]

I, similarly, only do anything in life to get art references. Why am I laying under this bench at 11 at night? Because I wanted a reference of that broken lamp post, right there, that I thought would be neat at some point but I still have not drawn it. I do not ever need to draw it. I only want it, for the moment I may 'need'. No, I am not taking pictures of you and your family, inside your house, for any reason at all, besides the fact what if I NEED that reference? No, I am not taking a picture of your adorable outfit on this mannequin to sell to your competitors, I am going to draw my blorbo in it. I'm getting distracted. What's your cutest outfit.

the main driving force in my life is acquiring information. if you ever see me doing something stupid please understand its because i have probably developed some bizarre idea about how to acquire more information and i have disregarded other concerns ("safety," "politeness") in favor of my ultimate goal. what am i going to do with this information? nothing at all. i am going to sit on it like a dragon sits on its golden hoard. dragons dont need gold to buy anything they are just using it as some type of really big couch or sensory sand type of situation. this is my relationship to information. in the past i have been happy to eat villagers in order to acquire my information but i am trying to be better now and only blackmail them, which i understand is more polite in many human cultures. im losing track of this metaphor. someone tell me a secret.

[unsound-unbody]

got accosted by some old dude in the park today because i was having a moment of being hopelessly inflamed with the prophetic spirit quietly repeating myself "they all remember what was forgotten" over and over and staggering like a wounded animal but he didn't know what the geese and ducks and crows, rocks and trees remember which is that heaven's distance from earth is illusory and the moon hides every day beneath every body of water before surfacing at night so you shouldn't cry because the moon is gone

[mothercain]

The Consequence of Audience

As I went there through the long, long wood, I felt no-thing and I was no-thing and I was at ease. The grey ash trees and their mottled plumage were as one with each other, curving and branching to form a ceiling overhead. There was wide separation between trunks, creating vast corridors stretching off in all directions before me, behind me, all around me. O, what praise I could sing of that never-ending dusk fall I spent between those oaks! None came with me, none came upon me, for I was alone and I was at ease. Yet came the day the trees broke, the corridor ended, and I was thrust upon the rocky expanse that was the Great Dark. There I saw first face and heard footstep, few and far between, but I was no longer alone. It was a shameful deed to carry these two naked hands as they clenched hotly, now in full display for all to see. I had never noticed them in the wood, for I was at ease. Here, the taut skin seemed to stretch and sweat, almost glowing, as if exasperated of their own grip. For as I wandered the Great Dark, there was not but grey, barren rock as far as any eye could see. It did make a passerby out of an observer. I saw them trudge by, fingers dipped into their open mouths desperate for wetness, the lolled tongue. There, in the wood, I was the watcher, but here I am nothing but displacing air. Yet, within the smothering toil of my apathy, I had heard the bell. Murmur of God between their slick, bent fingers ruffled the hair on the back of my neck. My muscles groaned against the weight of the skin around them, aching to be set loose. All at once, I saw, from where I stood, there rose a great dome atop a hill on the horizon before me. Yes, I saw it there with mine own two eyes! The white exterior peered at me with flat orifices obscured through the mist, barely distinguishable from the dark sky behind it, as though all the world beyond the dome was cut from the same slab, only slightly effaced. The convex roof sat atop a disk, held up by great ionic pillars circling the temple. Steps radiated out and down the slope, like ripples in a pond escaping a dropped stone. It was greater than life, greater than the wood, greater than all else which filled this dark, and my gullible delight was that it was all mine. Yes, all mine! One could follow me to it but they could not follow me in. My hands stretched outwards with an audible cracking in the bone as I crept forward there. I could not tell you the rest. I would not even attempt, for it would change no-thing. To know if I did go completely naked into the theater of the divine. If I did need for no-thing, want for no-thing. If I was then full to the brim, cylindrical pull slid through my gaping jaw into my endless throat. If I saw it there, shimmering through the veil like pearlescent oil over crystal water. If it heard me singing with every atom that formed me, through every orifice and wound I had, polytonal in my begging for it to complete me with the fifth. If it looked into me, saw how I needed to know what God knows and to be with him. If it spoke back to me in flat dissonance, “how couldn’t ye?” It would be of no good to speak these things to you. In what way I was still returned to the ground, even if beneath it, intact with my puerile need to repeat my-self and my mistakes. Who would not climb the wall for a peer over the edge? The cautionary tale is the fool’s errand, and I am no fool. I am as my hands are; twisting in on themselves and bursting at the seams. I can-not contain the ache for sensation, just as I could not contain the grief as I fell, nor the agony as I crawled my way back to this rocky countryside, and lo! I am on my way there again now. I am, I am, I am! But I will not tell you the visceral details, as you already know them. You all do.

It’s happening to every-body.

[notquitecanon]

Dense // Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Summary: A pretty little thing like you isn't flirting with Ghost? Are you?

Based off a prompt that's been a worm in my brain since 8th grade (I'm 25 now) and I'm probably going to write the same exact thing from the other POV.

TW: none, just a little fluffy hopefully funny insight into Simon's thought process.

God, Lieutenant Riley was dense.

That's what most people thought after watching him interact with you for longer than three minutes at a time. You'd been working in communications for two years now, mostly dealing with Captain Price but Ghost was always lurking around somewhere nearby. You'd been warned to avoid him.

He's mean, He's surly, he'll bite your head right off. He's dangerous blah blah blah...

What they didn't consider was that he was a tree of a man- tall, dark, and mysterious with pretty eyes. And you had little to no survival instincts when it came to a man who knew how to shut the fuck up.

It was obvious to anyone who watched you interact with him for any amount of time. How you stood closer to him than need be, how you watched him through your lashes when he spoke his few words to you, the way your voice changed when you spoke to him. Then it was the little touches and little gifts, sitting with him at empty tables when others would turn and walk the other way. You were so sweet on him, maybe even smitten with him.

Ghost never seemed to notice, and if he did he didn't pay it much mind. Just assumed you were just one of those chatty and nice people he seemed to attract every now and then- like Price or Soap. It didn't hurt either that you were sweet & pretty & and smelled good... no, didn't hurt at all and certainly didn't mean anything.

He brushed off Johnny and Gaz's teasings, met Price's knowing looks with icy glares. You definitely weren't flirting with him. There was no way someone like you was pursuing someone like him romantically. That was... ridiculous. Right?

Still. Something about that idea scratched his brain just right. Planted a seed that you unknowingly watered with sweet smiles and bright eyes. So, he started paying more attention.

You never got Price's attention by lingering a small, warm hand on the Captain's bicep- but you did with Ghost. You were chatty with Gaz, but never so much so that you made yourself late to other engagements- Ghost was losing track of the times you'd been chatting at with him only to look at your watch and scurry off with hot cheeks. And Soap could make you laugh, but he never got your cheeks to turn that pretty pink color- Ghost rarely saw you without rosy cheeks. Hmmm... Interesting.

So, he watched and observed (pined and yearned, more accurately). Until one day when he noticed how you flipped your hair over your shoulder as you spoke to him, direct eye contact through fluttering lashes, the dilation of your eyes.

"You have such pretty eyes-" You barely finished your statement before he interjected. He cut you off before you could even giggle, voice stern and hard and quick as those pretty dangerous eyes narrowed in a way that would have chased anyone else off. Not you though.

"Are you flirting with me?"

He asked, taking a looming step closer to you where you were standing by the breakroom coffee machine. He expected you to stutter out an excuse or apologize, or even frantically excuse yourself. He did not expect you to sigh, almost in relief(?) with that bright smile of yours.

"I have been for the last two years." You breathe in admittance, "But thanks for noticing now."

Bloody hell, you were trying to kill him.

----

I wrote this instead of paying attention in lecture

[jamiemaybeme]

well as someone who is way more confident in who they are than they were 6 months ago, and someone who has found the best group of friends through yr music, i can confirm it's working

does it ever feel weird knowing how much people care about you as a band? like how many people have bears in trees as a special interest?

I'm not sure weird is necessarily the right word; but it's not really a feeling I can easily verbalise.

what matters to me is that if people do choose to invest any time in us, we're able to offer a space where they can be unapologetically themselves and find community in others doing the same.