#they dont know hes kinda into the pain thing

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

One Piece Fighting Game AU

this au is inpired by the song Heart Attack by Chuu

hope you enjoy the designs i created most of them in a 2 hr long manic episode of just nonstop designing.

there is more to come with this au im super excited to show you guys :)

some lore ive cooked up for it and design explainations:

preface: sorry this is so much writing and im not going to grammar check it cuz aint no body got time for that.

The world of this au is like pokemon with different gyms you can fight through and beat, there's a big league of pro fighters, and there are schools for teaching you to be a better fighter.

The school our main cast goes to is called the Doki-Doki Battle Academy and it's principle is currently Crocodile. It's previous principle was Nefertari Cobra, but maybe something nefarious happened to give crocodile the spot who knowwsssss~

Doki-Doki Battle Academy (DDBA) hosts many tournaments in their school stadium throughout the school year. The tournies act as tests for the students who are taking that field of study. There are other fields the school offers though, such as weapon crafting, medical staffing, and managing. Though, if the students in those fields with so learn fighting on the side that is also accepted.

In the Pro Fighting world, there are typically pro-league teams such as the Red Hairs and The Beasts. These teams have different levels to it such as Little Leagues (for younger fighters), Minor leagues (for adults on a regional level), and Major leagues (for profighting at a national level). You can also go solo though, much like Mihawk does.

The power system in this AU is pretty simple, different color of auras do different things, but the complexities happen when you start using the different auras in tandem. I might explain it more in depth in a different post, but i dont really know what to explain about it. mostly because i dont know everything about it, myself, yet lol

-----design talk now yippeeee-----

Luffy: i tried to make him very simple protagonist vibes, play into the genre a bit. i incorporated hearts into his design in his hat, his shirt, his arm bands, and his pants poofies. His hat was given him as a sign of love, his shirt is from his school and he loves his school, his arm bands are on his arms and he uses his arms to show his love by fighting or by hugging, and his pants arent scuffed or anything so the heart puffs on his knees protects them from getting damaged (his love protects him)

Sabo: Tried to give him a more mysterious vibe with that peacoat and hat that shadows his face. I incorporated hearts into his design in his eyepatch, his vest buttons, and his boots. His heart eyepatch covers up that nasty scar, so he's distracting himself from his past pain by focusing on his love, the buttons on his vest/hearts on his boots are more or less hidden most of the time so he tends to hide his love but when he lets his guard down (when the boot is rolled down) you can see his love plainly.

Ace: Now, i dont know if Ace will die in this au or not, but in canon, he expresses his love through his torso area, i.e. tattoo on his arm and back and also that Certain Moment, so thats where i put a big ol' heart on him. His pants are also ripped in a shape of a heart but its kinda hard to see, but its meant to symbolize how the damage he takes is his love.

Nami: All the orange in her design is in heart shapes or the shapes of tangerines, thats where her love is. I also made nami's staff a curtain rod. She uses the rod to produce wind when she summons water and then manipulates it to heat it up or cool it down. i tried to add little details like that and the bandages on her torso to show that although she's outwardly clean, she's still scrappy. Nami is in the managerial pathway at the DDBA.

Zoro: I didnt make him quite as bright or vibrant as the others, i kinda just tried to make him Just A Guy. Except for his Swords. His Swords are special, so theyre bright and saturated. I roughed him up, a bit, not too much. i made his varsity jacket be ripped open so it looks like the heart on the front was broken because zoro is very broken hearted.

Sanji: I made him look like a wannabe princely character. Very cheesy, gaudy charm. I made the hearts of his design (on his boots) look like they're sewn up. So at some point his heart was broken, but he's healing them by stitching them up with love.

Robin: The hearts in her design are hard to make out because she is hiding her love. The pink of her lacey undershirt is where the heart is and its being protected by a dark over layer. The many belts in her design, however, are meant to look like shatters in that protective layer. This is meant to represent how even though she's strongly protecting herself, that strength is still weak without any outside help. Robin uses her multiplication abilities to simply multiply the shape of her arms like how she does in canon.

Chopper: His hearts are on his viles and his hat, love was given to him when he was given that hat, and he shows his love by making his healing potions. On another note though, chopper is a Transtormationalist, which is basically the zoan fruits of this world. His model is the Reindeer and his body has naturally started morphing into that form, too. Chopper is in the medical program at the DDBA

Usopp: Usopp's hearts on his pants patches signifies the new loves he’s accepted into his once lonely life. He fights with his sling shot and his ammo is seeds he's found savaging through forests or just growing himself. the white and grey auras he commands lessen the air resistance of his projectiles and makes them go a lot faster, and once they hit their target, he makes the plant grow super quickly, like how it does in canon post-ts.

Franky: Franky's hearts are everywhere and they're bright. he doesn't hide his love and he's built love for himself to wear on his person. Franky is one of the weapon masters at the school and he's a SUUUUPER cool teacher.

Brook: the hearts in his design are his Afro and his bag. I think i read somewhere that brook has kept his Afro so that Laboon can recognize him when he sees him again and that is just so loving to me so his Afro is in the shape of a heart. His bag is also in the shape of a heart, but the bag is being weighed down by whatever he's carrying inside of it, signifying the burden of the love he carries.

Jinbei: Jinbei is a Transtormationalist, Model: Whale Shark. the heart in his design is the tattoo on his chest for his old team. He's the driver of Luffy's bus and if you do enough dialogue options with him instead of skipping the bus cut-scenes, you get the option to battle Jinbei. If you do, he takes off his jacket revealing the pro-league he used to be in and then he decimates you. it is impossible to win the battle.

Koala: the colors i used for her are peachy colors, signifying what a peach she is :)))) her goggles and the buttons on her suspenders are the hearts on her design, signifying how her love is looking out for others and how love keeps herself up.

Vivi: Her hair is a big ol heart but its upsidedow, signifying how the love she feels often makes her look at things incorrectly. Also the rips in her tights are hearts, much like ace's are. the damage she takes is how she shows her love.

Crocodile: his hook is a heart, he loves fighting. i like the idea that when a student needs a text book and and asks him for one, he gives it to them by spearing a hole through one he has in his coat and handing it to the student who has to just live with a textbook with a big-ass hole through it.

Perona: the hearts in her design are on her sleeves and on her hat. The joke about the sleeves is that she wears her heart on her sleeves. but the hat, its meant to look like more or less a cage for the heart, her love is what traps her.

Mihawk: his hearts are on his weapons, he fucking loves fighting.

Shanks: The hearts in his design are only on his torso area, the locket around his neck and the deep unbuttoned shirt makes it look like there's a heart in the negative space, and the heart patch on his jacket, the loss of his arm and the lack of something there is symbolic for the love he has given.

imma be real, i didnt put that much thought in the heart positionings for yamato buggy or law. I kinda was swept up in Hot Man, Pathetic Man, and Hot Pathetic Man.

Uta: she's based off of Cupid, so she doesn't have any hearts really in her design but her whole persona is based off of a symbol of love and how it can turn malicious.

also in general, the shines on people's hair are meant to look like a heart-rate monitor's peaks and troughs. And the shading i did just by drawing all the shading then desaturating that area

WOWEE that's a lot of designing wtf was i on when i did all this.

if you got to the end, thank you so very much for reading! i hope you enjoyed my ramblings :)

again, there is more to come with this AU so Stay Tuned, Folks!!!!!!!!!!

[miraclecherryblossomsblog]

I hope I'm not annoying you

Had another thought how would some autobots/decepticons react to their human darling just casually popping/cracking their joints

I can only imagine they're like

Darling: cracks joints

Auto/decept: concerned look

Darling: this is normal just some air bubbles stuck in my joints

Auto/decept: surprised pikachu face/ excuse me WHAT!?

Annoying me???? r u kidding AM LIVING for these ask u send op pls I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

Also LMAO YES they would be so freaked out about it cuz like for them hearing noises in their joints when they move means they either got rust which i feel like its an uncomfy pain for them or that they need oil like when ur door creeks

I remember i had a friend that would twist their headtoo high up to make it pop and legit i looked at them like this the first time they did it infront of me

that's them. that's ur cybertronian s/o being traumatized by our weird human quriks

TFO B 127: He would go from fear to amazement.

Like he was just chatting ur ear off like he always does, telling stuff that happen today in his missions or something that was like centuries ago (i headcanon he sometimes repeats stuff he's already told you cuz he kinda forgets sometimes but u dont tell him that most of the times cuz he just looks so happy 😭💕💕💕)

And you listened to everything he said, some of the stuff was hard to understand cuz u know...alien stuff BUT ANYWAY- ur back was starting to scream at you cuz u been sitting for a while now, twisting yourself to stretch, your bones letting a pleasingly loud POP!

I can imagen him letting a squeal and backing away like he just saw a rat or something 💀

and it got u asking whats up and he just points at u and ask what was that noise and u just basically tell him that human joints have air pockets and when moved or stretched they just pop, "its just a human thing, nothing unusual to us" you say shrugging to him as he slowly closes his distance to you "but doesn't like....hurt?? it sounds like it does...wait you're not in pain right now are you?!" he starts to ask in worry already thinking into carrying you to ratchet, quickly you shut his worries telling him again its just a human thing and it doesn't bring any sort of discomfort as it for us it rather helps us when we feel ache in our bodies

and feel like this would go on him asking more questions about how our bodies work, if u dont got any medical knowledge then you might just pull ur phone to answer him cuz i feel like he would ask the wildest shi fr 😭

all and all he becomes more and more fascinated by humanity the more he learns from you, specially if its from you.

[tackykachowch]

omg im kinda new to this whole silco thing, may i ask why did the creators try to remove him? did they actually say that?😟it’s so bizarre to me that they made a character THIS fascinating and then tried to get rid of it…silco is probably the most interesting character in the whole show i dont understand their logic

Nah, creators didn't actually say anything about this, it's just very evident in the way they handled his story/presence in the show/his importance to other characters. In season 1 he was connected to almost every storyline in one way or another, but in s2 it's almost like he never existed. The most painful case in all of this for me personally is how he's completely disregarded as Jinx's father in favor of Vander, who wasn't that relevant to her in the first place. There's also the fact that Silco was at the center of Piltover/Zaun conflict, which was shoved off completely in s2 act3. So if the writers made his legacy still relevant to the story, it would create quite a few problems for them.

Yeah, your confusion is shared by the majority of the fandom XD Not only in relation to Silco, but pretty much everything else. They fumbled the bag tremendously badly. As to why this happened, we probably won't ever know for sure, or at least for quite some time. There's a lot of contradictory information, and tbh I'm not even interested in this anymore because the result stays the same - s2 sucks. And for me as a viewer it's the most important thing in the whole situation.

(Also Silco IS the most interesting character in the whole show for me anon🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️)

[joannasteez]

almost blue (1)

pairing: cody rhodes x black reader warning: explicit descriptions of violence and sexual activity. minors please do not interact. readers eighteen and older interact only please. descriptions of alcohol consumption and the use of deadly weapons. authors note: JOHN WICK AU!!! so excited to share this! i had this sorta kinda in my back pocket for a while, while trying to build up tanks of blood, which you can find to read here. not everything in this is super true to the world of john wick but the most im using as inspo is the aesthetic anyways. also a one off mention of john wick lol. that and some of the names for certain things. italics in the beginning represent flashback perspective music inspo: almost blue by chet baker word count: 4800 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce @crxssjae

new york. the continental hotel and it's flatiron shape. september 2019. the rain, this soft unsteady pitter patter. a gentle gray coloring the sky. the air cold and biting. the city filling its brim with a sleepless droning. 

and amongst the deathly sort of decadence—gold trim and blood red carpet floors—bath water disturbs till its sloshing to overtake the tub. a messy spill against the floor. his lips working over yours. fingers kneading deep enough into skin that it stains with the print of his touch. nails tender in his hair and your body melting in till the heat of him breaks over your skin. his everything settled into the wisp and charm of your voice as his pleasure becomes whole. too great.

—but his memory tires from old moments like these, a shell of itself as it attempts in vain to restore to it's former glory. has been in a perpetual state of exhaustion for sometime. but this straining is singular. a throbbing at the forefront of his skull. a tight pulling pain at the nape of his neck till it's creeping wild at the tip of his spine. forcing him to grow ill as he works to reminisce. body wistfully undone. and what words do the men of our time say about insanity? to be in a perpetual state of trying, doing, in hopes of something new. and so on he went, flirting with this disaster, this run of nostalgia, so much so that memory has forsaken him, taking these little complexities —the new york rain and the taste of your lips— along with it. 

but cody can handle the load and reload of a glock 26 as fast as he does it well. a deft maneuvering before the barrel raises and he pulls the trigger, the recoil driving sharp. a bullet through the skull and the splattering of blood. whoever meant to kill him, now dead in his wake. 

but what cruelty this is. a traitor to his own body. living with nothing but the means to kill and tattered memory. with him still, only, all of the things left unsaid—

you'd smelt of vanilla. the yearning about his tongue deep and yet to be settled. his lips a shadow as they feathered against yours. his questions overdone with a frightening passion. "where are you ten years from now?" 

your fingers slipped over his skin, as easy as they would over porcelain. a delicate taking over wet soapy muscle till it clawed over his shoulders and against the heat of his cheeks. "somewhere warm and comfortable. retired".

where ever you were, is where he wanted to be. "am i with you?"

a reversion, just barely perceptible, but there all the same. something like fear, like hesitation, pushing against a situational sort of tenderness in your eyes. the warmth slowly but forcibly outdone by the cold. lukewarm. just like the fate of too old bath water. not enough of either extreme. lukewarm. 

"seems more like a question for you to answer".

"answer it anyways".

and he couldn't feel your lips anymore. too much air, too much distance. caution thick. woven about your words. the tones. the inflections. "ten years from now, you'll be somewhere as warm, as comfortable and retired too".

"am i with you?" 

to draw such a long length of need into the air. passions and hopes and dreams. cody knew. it would've been easier to take the sear of a bullet, the ripping tear in of a knife or the crack of something blunt and unforgiving to his skull. those things easier than the down trod of such a silence. your eyes having gained more and more distance. fear peaking soft and brown before the quick slip over of indifference. like you didn't care for his whispered words sounding too much like forever. and recovery from bullets and knives and blunt force was tedious. sewn up skin and the reformation of fine motor skill. but this. the way you suffered him to feel the drift away of your body and the simple, delicate, eager push in of your touch. something in his heart—amongst the lukewarm water—failed. this low dropping into a less lively place. 

new york. the continental hotel and its flatiron shape. june 2024. a peak of the sun amidst more grayish than white clouds against an icy pale blue sky. the air breezy with a teasing smell of rain. like a stray tendril before some great unraveling. the city as sleepless as it's ever been. 

and amongst the deathly sort of decadence—scarlet sage in bloom and the ever present air of readymade violence—cody sips at a short glass of brandy. an edgy spike to his tongue as it settles. everything of the continental he possessed now lost to time and the overwork of his sore tired memory. lost to a bout of corrosion done by words left unsaid. because he did not remember your answer after the persistence of his "am i with you?” all thats left, this great blurring. of words and the finer littler complexities. your lips and your eyes and the soft ways of your touch. and maybe it came to be this way for good reason. using such a burn to his ego to fuel the fire of his rage. revenge for memories unforgettable. around the glass of brandy, his hands feel stronger. less careful in how they hold. caution be damned. he sips again to finish. his finger buttoning his suit jacket, making way from the bar and across the communal space of the hotel. 

warmth at his ear and a twitch in his trigger finger. something like eyes resting over him. watching him.

he continues to a connecting hallway. elevators and mosaic floors. maybe the brandy wasn't the best idea, but neither was coming to such sacredly awful ground. lovers trauma and all that bullshit jazz. 

the fourteenth floor is quiet. his steps carpeted by soft wool. a second twitch in his trigger finger that leads into the sharp driving heat reminiscent of staggering gun recoil. a sweet burning in his arm, the muscles knowing, remembering. but he has nothing of use on him. nothing to snuff out and quiet that vicious call of death. his hotel room styled with a modernistic flare to it's luxury. clean and unadorned. a simple reflection of his own style thankfully, but nothing extravagant to weaponize. he would have to, if needed, to make due. a slim ball point pen, sleek and multifunctional, rests next to a complimentary bottle of wine. "enjoy your stay", in cursive. cody feels the warmth at the tip of his ear again, something greater than a simple bout of paranoia. his fingers slip the pen into his pocket, a reversing in his steps to triple check the locking function of the room doors.

and he shouldn't be so wound up should he? conducting business was, is, has always been forbidden on hotel grounds. 

his fight or flight saying otherwise. breathing over his skin overwhelmingly warm. lingering wearily. intuition always a nagging son of a bitch but never wrong. it's never failed him. 

cody showers, stands amidst the icy rain of too cold water. cody showers, because warm baths terrify something in his body. the possibility of turning stale and lukewarm. too distant and uninviting to be either extreme. like eyes and soft lips he can barely form well enough to reimagine. 

and the bed sheets are welcoming. slipping along his skin with a delicate relief. but still, something feels wrong. a heaviness to the air that precedes this faithful old tryst with life. with death. the ring of his phone working to unburden him suddenly, but for only some seconds. the number blocked. he answers, rushing to fish that ball point pen from his dress pants. sleek and multifunctional in his grip. but the urgency in his maneuvering cuts short with the slip in of something dangerously angelic. memory sore and exhausted no more, but now rushing back to him fervid and unrelenting. a tender charming tone in his ear that disrupts the stalwart build of his resolve. september 2019. june 2024. five years of an almost complete pain. icy feeling wind with the teasing of a torrential down pour. almost there but not quite. the anger and the pain never red enough. the sadness almost blue. 

"the loft in tribeca" you start. cody commits it all to memory. the words, the tones, the inflections. shuffling to rough his pants on. pen in his pocket. phone wedged to his ear as his fingers rip off the casing of a pillow. body easy as it maneuvers to protect his six o'clock, leaning against the wall. his eyes scope along the room. an over examination. waiting. "if you're not dead in the next 30 minutes, meet me there". 

the call drops. 

the slow unlocking click of his hotel room door. his muscles burn with remembrance. eyes sharp. his ears attune. the shells of them warm. cautioned steps approach the entry way of the bedroom but they fail to go unnoticed. thudding against the soft carpet. and if not for the possibility of his demise, cody would laugh. surely this was amateur hour. boots and inconspicuous were no more suited together than suede in the rain. and he'd made that rookie mistake before. back when he was a rookie. but the high table were no idiots, sending rookies to bring his head in, unless they hated him that much and felt he should feel the brunt of that hatred with some disrespect. and disrespect it was. 

cody's breath holds. his head thumping against the wall before he makes a swift crouch to his knees. a gun rounding the corner, and a bullet flying aimed for where his head had knocked in. a simple quick diversion. nothing special or particularly extravagant, but enough to give him seconds to maneuver. and oh this is disrespect in deed. dominik mysterio the source of his current heavy breathed, adrenaline rushing circumstance. cody knuckling the hold of the still upward pointed gun with a punch before another sinks into domink's abdomen. a short grunt breaking from the scrappy, ill-sophisticated, mullet wearing piece of shit. and surely dominik is more of a piece of shit when his heavy boot toughs into cody's jaw. racing for the gun. 

but cody is quick. has felt and faced harsher things. if anything, its more of an irritation he feels than a full measure of pain. it was hard maintaining good skin considering the life he led. he spits against the carpet. iron on his tongue. red staining the clean line designs. he reaches for dominik's leg just before he's in reach of the gun. pulling him near and flipping him over quickly. a rough hand in the silk of domink's mullet as he rains down punches with the other.  cody ill satisfied as he hears the sloppy singing of grunts from the younger mysterio. and as his frustration mounts, swindled by the audacity of the high table, dominik gains an advantage. his hips shifting up to propel cody, his arms lean and tight and trapping over cody's and rolling. 

"you three piece suit, hugo boss wannabe wearing motherfucker", dominik's face bloody and angry. his fists balled and quick as he comes down against cody's face. 

the impression of the pen presses into cody's thigh. memory and dexterity working like a trained muscle. amidst the  barrage of fists, cody reaches for the sleek ball point pen. clicking the tip and rushing it into dominik's side. harsh vicious stabs till the pain takes hold enough for him to hesitate. plunging the inky tip into his neck, where blood flows to gush. breaking up out of his skin. choking on air and the pain of a slow to come death. 

"bulletproof three piece suits asshole", cody roughs out. kicking dominik for satisfaction. 

if you're not dead in the next 30 minutes, meet me there

the loft is the same. unadorned by that uncanny but natural weathering of time and neglect. warm homely autumn inspired tones with splashes of green and hand carved wooden furniture. cody ever the horrendous sucker for hand carved shit. an intimate union of labor and passion. ever the reflection of a once lively relationship. carefully cultivated, ending poorer than a bastard dying with his eyes wide open. because when you go that way, you deserve it. but cody? his passions didn't deserve that violent abrupt end. and yet here he is, creeping past the entrance. a painful stuttering of footfalls as he goes. muscles sore and his skin on fire. 

dominik mysterio was a warm up. a warning even. the call must've went out. a bounty worth enough for people to try him. the train ride to tribeca interestingly violent. a woman with a knife, a man with a gun and another thinking his bare hands were some great unstoppable force. and no, cody did not make quick work of them. not as quickly as he would've liked. but he managed. and at the very least, he'd suffered a slitting cut to his cheek and a laceration to his chest. that piece of shit running the blade right through his tattoo. some maybe secondary bruising and a bad headache. but he's not dead. not like the idiots that tried and failed to kill him. 

the loft, much like the continental hotel, is agreed upon neutral ground. a place for trysts and the sharing of information. or rather, thats what it used to be. now, cody isn't so sure. 

and his limping is pathetically loud. shoes a heavy clack against the floor. makes him bristle annoyed. you stand just behind the kitchen island. wine bottle opened. a glass in hand as you sip. more beautiful than he remembers. soft looking still, your eyes casting over the rim as you sip, undeniably deceptive. 

a gun lays easy on the coffee table sat between two couches. too easy. but his displeasure gets the best of him. he shifts for it quickly. a swift up of his hands positioned about the gun, aiming for your face. 

you knew his whereabouts. so much so that you knew the whereabouts of the people trying to kill him. taking the chance to trust could cost him his life. and cody quite likes his life. 

"you had me scared a little bit". a gentle float of words. a finger dancing along the rim of the wine glass. a daring stare down the barrel of the gun. "i thought you got bested by a second rate mysterio". and when cody doesn't move, captured by pain, caution and the mystique of your presence, your eyes roll. his form fixed and perfected. trigger finger cool, but his heart unsure. "cut the melodrama. put the gun down cody". 

"you knew i was being followed", he clips. jaw tight. 

"i mean...duh...", you give. dry and teasing. finishing your wine. "half of that was me, and lets not be silly", covering the length of distance between your bodies slowly. a stalking patience. a fierce feline approach. "you shot a bullet through the skull of one of thee most important men. finding out don't come cheap when you fuck with the high table". 

"everybody seems to forget I had to bury my father", the barrel of the gun kept high with perfect aim as you near closer. "killing that sack of shit was just me evening the score". 

"i didn't kill your father cody". 

was that sincerity? empathy? a sudden waft in of warmth after years in the cold. it felt unreal. true but unreal. and he was sure it wouldn't last. 

"obviously", cody bites out. 

your forehead nestles against the barrel of the gun. his memory overwrought. his senses in a frenzy. a horrible mixture in his skin of pain and elation. steeped with the fear of having to endure another sudden vanishing. angry that such an endurance was his portion in the first place. 

"so then why is the gun still pointed at me?"

his fixed form eases. your hand slipping the gun from his hold gently. fire over his skin as you touch him for the first time in five years. a deft maneuvering about the cold heavy metal to expose the contents of the magazine. amusement coloring your eyes and spreading over your mouth for a teasing little smile. 

"they're blanks anyways", emptying the magazine as the faux bullets fall to the floor. your hand settling down the gun and its magazine on the coffee table. leaving him in an exasperated awe as you head toward the kitchen. "just wanted to see how thin your patience has worn". 

your chin jutting over to the couch. hands full of medical supplies as you pad over to him softly. his body aching and slow as it rests into the tender leather seating, but moving without delay still. always under the gentle charm of your voice, his being falling under this servile sort of subjection. making him bristle silently within himself. all that time and distance amounting to nothing for his resolve. 

cody surrenders. mind over matter no longer needed. succumbing to the full weight of his pain. hair messy with red droppings of other peoples blood. his muscles sore and the hammering about his skull diligent and taunting. 

"my pain has always been a funny little joke to you". 

you pull the coffee table closer to the wide spread of cody's legs. your own slipping over to straddle the strength of one of his thighs. your body warm and comforting against his skin. an old feeling blooming in his chest. you were doing this on purpose. he's sure of it. to see him waver and yield to the charm of your presence. gentle touch dabbing to rid his cheek of dried blood before you went about cleaning the wound. his fingers itching to form to your body, desperate to push dull nails into your skin again. to form in and caress with the intent to renew his memory. 

your eyes flit to his crotch. "its a lot more than little. give yourself some credit", you muse. applying butterfly stitches. 

the air is thick. forces him to maintain a steady breath. memory overwrought once more. a mighty rushing in that heats him whole. your hands working his button up open. the lax take of your palm to his belly forcing a throb to the crux of his thighs. the closing in of the distance makes for easy intimacy. a registration of the lesser noticeable, more complex things. the prick of your nails telling familiar stories, as they work to rid him of the shirt all together. tender and caring, similar to how they used to be. your eyes roaming and thinly glazed over. he spares a glance at the wine bottle. halfway done. your ministrations functional but indulgent of the moment. of his skin.

a quicksand sort of state of affairs. if he doesn't pull himself together now, he would fall into you. full consumption. and he can't possibly risk his life because he's half hard and overdone with sentiment. 

"how long have you been following me?"

you apply something like a salve after cleaning the nasty chest wound. an anesthetic. how sweet of you. to suddenly take his pain into consideration.

"a few months". 

"why am i not dead?"

your body adjusts a top of him. somehow closer. your knee nearly running into his crotch. "yet", you give. beginning the process of suturing. "the question everyone wants to know is why is cody rhodes not dead yet". breaking shortly to peer over him. a full examination it seems. heat rising in his cheeks. "cause he's no john fuckin wick. so why is he still here". pressure of the needle feeding into his skin. your lip tucking under your teeth in full concentration. "people don't know resilience is the bane of even your own existence. a little meat puppet made to take push pins". 

he scoffs. "this doesn't feel like a compliment if it is". 

you finish off the suture. a hesitant but delicate maneuvering off his thigh to rid of the medical supplies. the heat of you gone in an instant. "its an observation". the uncorking pop of that half drunken wine bottle. a generous crimson pour that you sip at. 

"on what basis exactly?" 

a whipping swing of kitchen cabinet doors. a bottle of brandy and a short glass. for him it seems. and the pained parts of him grow excited at the possibility of a simple taste. anything for a temporary fix. something to numb the burn in his bones. 

"very close encounters".

and no you don't dip into the leather to sit beside him when you return. you assume a much more compromising position. a full straddle of his legs as you gift him his little amber colored remedy. and if at any moment he ever thought he needed it and actually didn't, let this be the moment where that edgy spike to his tongue becomes essential. something to help him as he searches for a secure hold at control. and of course he drinks it all. an easy burning slip against the back of his throat as he feels the heat of you settling back into him. once dormant urges awakening in his fingers. supple thighs lined up over his kevlar woven dress pants. the baggy button up you'd decided was good enough for his visit thin and something like revealing. the other details left to his imagination. and God was that prone to running at any moment. tripping and falling away from him well enough till his crotch became to uncomfortable to bare the perfect fit of his pants. your empty hand returning to where it'd been. roaming tenderly against slow but steady bruising skin. his nose picking up the sweet wine on your breath. the glaze about your eyes. thighs over him, clenching slightly. 

"you were always a little too indulgent with the wine", cody gives. 

your eyes flitting to his crotch again. bulge more prominent. the teasing of your nails inching over past his navel. your throat humming. "and you with me". 

"don't think much of it". an attempt made in vain he thinks. feeling the hard throb of himself as soon as the words leave him. "it tends to happen. adrenaline from almost dying multiple times", his thigh knocking up into yours to grab at your attention. tipsy eyes drifting to the cold blue of his. "now spill. why am i still breathing?"

"because the number isn't high enough yet". another sip of wine before turning to rest it at the table. your hands free to run over the muscle of him. about his shoulders till your thumbs are caressing at his nape and the hard cut of his jaw. and that nearly drives him to insanity. the weight of you resting right where he pulses with life. "i take your head now, i'd be settling. and the game of it all ain't that fun right now anyways. its too amateur hour-ish for me. i wanna battle it out with the adults". 

"im flattered", cody deadpans. 

you smile. thumb soothing over his lip. "as you should be". 

"why else", the pulse about his blood wild. an unadulterated beating that coaxes to life the run off of his imagination. his touch a staggering grip at your jaw. pulling your eyes to him. lowly sat pretty brown eyes with a penchant for doing him inexplicably dirty. but they draw him in all the same. his stomach empty. filled with nothing but the slosh of brandy. cody feeds into the daze of it. the possibility of a buzz. your lips a breath from his. desire on your tongue by way of the sweet smell of wine. "talk".

your hips shift over him. a rut into the fabric. friction to appease the ache, he's sure of it. thin panties and the desperate curl in of your nails. running into his scalp. trying to persuade him with tender touches and the charm of such wanton need. and its working. fuck, itsworking well. had worked some time ago and doing well now just the same. because cody, despite such deadly skill, was not immune to this type of torture. could not battle it with stalwart patience or dapper precision. and as you rut against him again, mind clouded by wine and your own intent, his fingers burn to touch you more. not so simple and plain but disgustingly greedy. his lips smooth against the seam of yours. amber brandy and red wine a near perfect melding together. 

"fuck", you relent. your nose knocking soft into his. laughing with a wry sort of amusement. "it would stroke your ego to a nice little finish if i did say it wouldn't it?"

cody hums. slips his hold till its anchored about your neck. measured in its pressure. his tongue licking to wet his lips. the slight of it forcing a tremble into your body. 

maybe his suffering isn't a lonely one after all. 

you whimper. taking a hard swallow. 

"vindicate me", cody rasps. 

your struggle is apparent. surfaces with a tear that stains your cheek. body undone by the defeat of such an intimate admission. 

"i miss you", fragile and nearly unclear. 

he smiles mirthless against the soft ways of your skin. his nose buried into the dip of your neck. "i don't trust your sentiment".

"it's true cody". 

"she says, after admitting she wants to kill me".

"better me than someone else". your fingers abandoning him to grip into the leather of the couch. a tight take to it that fastens your body into him. your mouth lax as your lips slip over his. the tease of a kiss filled with too much tension to bare. "touch me", you give. a plea and a command all the same. 

his fingers working in swiftly, a firm obedience, cupping your cheeks to steady the wild go of your tongue as it snakes to slip at his. a frail whimper singing from your chest and the return of your sharp nails. digging against his scalp to bring him impossibly closer. nearly suckling his tongue whole as your hips rut at him again. a less cautious shifting as you look for harsher friction. the pain of a murderous sort of labor and the pleasure of touching you again warring over the tenderness of his skin. coaxing him to groan and wince. strong, tired fingers forcing your hips to rock over him. an easy, stable grind along the hard bulge of his cock that leaves you living without the proper brilliance of words. reduced to the struggle of too pleasured moans. 

your teeth prickling and sharp as they snag against his lip. fingers deft, undoing his zipper. the heat of him hard and throbbing dangerous. his headache out done by more pressing matters, hazy and his senses going numb with lust. palms persistent, sinking into supple flesh. and fuck does it feel good. even better when his patience thins. fingers stretching the fabric of your panties till they tear. the slick way of your arousal making for an easier pace. a sweet teasing slip through your slit. his imagination wild and unfettered. even the thought of slipping in to have his full way with you enough to twist the base of his belly. groaning into your mouth.  

fire in his fingers as they pull against the fat of your ass. sweltered skin sweet in his palms. forming with every push and spread and pry that he gives. 

your mouths depart. a hesitant slipping away. breaths heavy. your face hiding in the dip of his neck. your pussy messy. bewitching even as you grind mindless into him. an undulating heat over his skin. "cody", a mantra as it travels to slight the beating of his pulse. 

the tell tale trembling in your body. a breath away from bliss. and he can feel the build in his bones. the return of an ache thats been transformed. throbbing and restless. an urgency he works to relieve. and with it so does your mouth. less desperate to consume him. melting to linger at his lips. breathy and stuttered. 

"right there angel", he gives. a whisper against your lips. corralling the last bits of resolve to break. your hips stuttering but caressing faithful still. coming undone. rutting greedily to grasp at the last bits of pleasure.

and here he finds that charming sort of relief. an unfurling warmth about his skin. snatching your body into him as he strokes against you and throbs, coming undone. release pooling and spurting against the baggy button up you'd worn to tease him with. 

your lips finding his again. needy still. and he accepts without wait. ready and willing. your moaning along his tongue delicate and wispy. reminiscent of a memory once forgotten. new york. september 2019. cody cups your face again. thumbs dusting over the apple of your cheeks. on a mission to stain himself with this moment. sweet red wine mixed with aged brandy. 

she was getting to be a lil too long so i had to break her up! but how do we feel about our little hitman?

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

hey consider. trent's book essentially being about what ted's done and the effect he's had on all these lives and on the team and yes, it's his philosophy, but it's also him, so persistent and kind and sincere and brave, because maybe anyone could have done it but no one ever did, no one ever has, and even if trent doesn't directly say it in the book about how ted's changed his life, changed him, and how ted--not just his ideas, but ted--changed lives and changed nelson road for the better. and even if those ideas can persist after he's gone, even if it's a seed that once planted can flourish on its own, ted still planted the seed. and then the only feedback ted leaves him is that it's good, but it was never about him. it's good, but he disagrees with a fundamental pillar of the thesis. it's good, but trent's wrong. and trent, who wants him to like it, who cares about his opinion, who wants ted to like him and wants ted to like what trent has to say about him and what trent's written about him, trent who had said they could offer criticism so trent could tell them how they were wrong... takes the criticism. changes the title. out of respect or just because ted asked, and trent's helpless to refuse him. for ted. ted reads the book trent desperately wants him to like, that trent's spent all season writing, that trent's poured his soul into, and casually tells him he disagrees with a huge part of it. and trent takes it to heart.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

friend notoriously bad at videogames said shed play marvel rivals with me tomorrow chat if i never post after tomorrow night its because a blood vessel bursted

[codacheetah]

It's deeply important to me that Loop kind of sucks

[skrunksthatwunk]

this could be kuwameshi if you guys would like. take my hand and trust me

[jrueships]

r u the grew up poor never being able to buy the little things in life u always wanted as a kid so now u buy whatever little thing u want as an adult and struggle with saving for the big mandatory thing,

or the grew up poor never being able to buy the little things in life u always wanted as a kid so now u just never buy anything small bcs u had to learn to live without it and constantly try to save for the next big thing in 500 yrs

[fluxedbuds]

listen. I know you're all addicted to desert duo but when you're a worldhopper, it's not the worse versions of your friends that haunt you- it's the people you love, and never see again.

[birb--birb]

What kind of love are you?

Violet: Love as a Threshold

Your love does not ask for much. Your love does not take. Your love is free, and unquestioned, and here for wherever needs it. When you fall in love, it is as gentle as a breath in the night. It is quiet, and it is effortless. It is tender. If your love was a house, it would readily welcome all who come through. If your love was a hearth, it would warm the hands of whoever stopped by, whether for a day, a month, a year, or forever. When you fall for someone, it is without strings, without conditions, without need. You love for the sake of loving, for the sake of caring for those who need it. You love with a giver’s heart and a giver’s hands and are made so much stronger for it. Being loved by you is to always feel at home. Your love may not always be well-received by those unprepared to linger, but it is unforgettable all the same

The second I saw this answer for Violet I knew it was perfect. Their entire romance with Astarion was about patience. Waiting for him to realize that he's truly safe with them, that they doesn't expect anything from him, that he is in the lead here and they'll follow only when he's ready and okay. And waiting without judgement, Violet knows these things take time and they were more than willing to wait, to be there, to just sit and exist with him while he figures shit out. And when he truly let Violet in, I like to think it was like with a comforting sigh, the feeling of coming home, that feeling when all pressure is lifted and you can just *exist* without fear, without judgement.

Violet has seen violence and hatred and yet chooses to show up for those they love as a place of calm and stability, without judgement, without expectations. Violet's love is patient, it doesn't expect anything back but will give you everything just because we all deserve to feel warmth and safety. They feel so much warmth in their heart that they were able to help Astarion get to a place where he feels safe. I think even if they didn't fall in love or end up together, Violet would have still shown up for him in the same way. They know what suffering is like, they've gone through enough of it themselves and come out the other end alive. They know how much it hurts, but also how much easier it is with someone to lean on.

tagged by @cleric4vampire ty for enabling so many feelies about my bbys

Tagging: @justabiteofspite and @dragon--sage (I know yall were already tagged but doing so again for funzies cause I'd love to hear about your Tavs/Durges) and anyone who wants to join in, please do!!

[bangcakes]

.

[hofudlaus]

AAAAA OMFGGG WTFFFF MLB FINALE

[wishchthumblr]

on todays episode of "mental health issues that could easily be solved by one single thing that i dont have", GET A MICROWAVE!!!

i just know SO many of my eating related issues (not all obviously but a LOT of them) would be solved if this house just had a goddamn microwave

today i ate like... 1/4th of those small frozen pizzas, 1/3rd of a grilled cheese, and 1/3rd bowl of macaroni and meatballs. and yall wanna know why i didnt eat the whole thing of any of them? its cause my stupid adhd ass took too long to eat and the food got cold. and then i Cannot Eat That anymore. so even though i was still hungry i didnt eat the rest of it and just went back to rotting on youtube shorts and being too hungry to do anything and feeling dumb and unproductive and being guilty of making food that i dont eat. just... feeling like a big ol' waste

but the thing is, if i just

✨owned a microwave✨

i could just reheat the motherfucking food and still eat it and not feel like ive wasted that food. ((because since that food is wasted i feel guilty about making it, so i dont make any more food until next meal time, but then i didnt finish that either cause im stupid and eat too slow.))

but we dont have a microwave. only an oven. and yeah maybe i couldve reheated the 3/4th pizza or the grilled cheese in the oven, but then again the oven uses a lot of electricity. and my mom is always complaining that i turn the oven on, forget that its on for a while, and that im wasting electricity. and i was too tired and hungry to deal with that possibility. plus with the oven theres a chance i forget it too long or have it too hot and burn the food and that would just make me feel worse

but we dont have a microwave, because my mom thinks having a microwave leads to "eating more unhealthy foods that you just heat up" instead of "real food". so i didnt reheat any of my food. so i didnt eat it. it got to the point where it got cold and gross so i just threw it in the trash and hope my mom or grandma doesnt notice.

but if i had a microwave, i couldve reheated that food. and i couldve eaten it. ((and yeah, maybe i wouldnt have ate the whole thing, but maybe half at least? that counts right? well it dont really matter if it counts or not cause it didnt happen.))

and then maybe i wouldnt have been feeling like im gonna faint the whole day and maybe i wouldve gotten literally anything done instead of just scrolling on pinterest and youtube shorts for hours and feeling worthless. and maybe if i ate i wouldnt have hurt myself today

but nope. no microwave. it leads to "unhealthy" habits. i guess not eating enough to count as even ONE full meal is healthier since its not "microwave food"

thanks mom

[sonknuxadow]

I believe that IF Silver IS a descendent of Sonic/Shadow/Amy/anyone else, he's a descendent via adoption because the only Sonic character that I accept having kids is Vanilla.

honestly part of the reason im not a fan of the ideas of silver being a descendant of other characters we already know is because i just dont see why its necessary for them to be related ..? idk i just dont think anything that could be gained from him being shadows kid or sonics descendant or whatever is worth losing part of whats already compelling about silver and also making things super confusing. plus none of the pairings of already existing characters people have suggested as silvers bio parents make any sense, usually because its impossible from a timeline perspective but also because theyre always picking characters who would NOT have kids either in general or with the specific people theyre being paired with

[endbeginning]

and if i said.... pet.er peve.nsie.....