#this idea has haunted me for a while

[bloomingdarkgarden]

dark academia elriel au where Azriel is a music student {violinist} purposely failing botany so Elain can tutor him. though in secret he's curating a breathtaking garden for her in a conservatory and writing haunting, beautiful compositions devoted to her every night. Ivy coiling up walls, rain on windowpanes, shadows on parchment, etc.

[ourstaturestouchtheskies]

cards from charlotte's art history tarot – major arcana // Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus – Taylor Swift

[im-fucking-baalin]

unshave NOW king

[0vergrowngraveyard]

i wanted to practice backgrounds and i just reread @skimmingmilk’s fic chart a course to second chances for the millionth time so there was only one logical conclusion

[bitternace]

and now a silly one. someone's probably done this before

[ID: A redraw of the "oh Ariana we're really in it now" meme with Demyx. The colors are flat and the background is in light blues. Demyx's shown from the hip up, leading slightly forward into utada hikaru's sanctuary cover shown as a poster. on the bottom reads "oh, Utada, we're really in it now." /End ID.]

(extra under the cut)

[ID: same image as above except that instead of Utada Hikaru, it's Hatsune Miku. /End ID.]

[elminster-big-naturals]

feminism is gortash being the one to sleep his way into money & power, not orin

[leathfaic]

I've been sitting on a headcanon for over a year now because I know that once I put it out I will want to expand on it.

But fuck it what is one more writing project?

I want Ghost to be fucking paranoid about Laswell finding out about him and Johnny. Not even because she would necessarily tear them apart but because she would absolutely use it. To her advantage and thus potentially against them.

Send them out on a dangerous undercover op for months under the guise of having left so they could be together. Infiltrating some dubious PMC perhaps that doesn't quite care, they're getting the Ghost and his Sergeant after all, if they just look the other way. What a fucking deal and how dumb the government is to let those 2 become mercenaries just because they like to fuck each other. One wrong step one wrong word and they might both end up dead.

But far more than physical harm just the threat of keeping them apart if they don't comply. Days that easily spin into weeks and months that they just keep missing each other, mission beginning before the other gets back from his current one. Until Laswell pointedly asking if they are going to behave this time is "graciously" giving them another chance to work together.

Because really, there's nothing they can do, right? They could be dishonourably discharged for fraternisation and instead Laswell is "only" using it to twist their arms.

Price, even if he knows can't really help them either because again, any kind of ruckus about this and it could end so much worse.

Soap probably has a little more faith in Laswells morals, although I'm sure the more they work together the more that quickly fades and he understands Ghost's caution. That woman got to where she is in life for a reason.

So they are still close with each other when she's around. Would be weird if they stopped all of a sudden, bound to draw her attention too. But always minding a careful line. Keeping it to the "brothers in arms". Never giving away too much. And sometimes that stings even more. When Ghost sees Johnny's need for physical contact and can't do more than give him a manly pat on the shoulder. Torn apart by the need to hold him.

When Soap notices that Ghost isn't sleeping on an op, knowing he should be there and talk him through the night until the bad dreams fade and Ghost gets at least a few hours of shut-eye. Nothing he can offer but empty phrases and a dumb comment about Ghost clearly needing to get laid.

They both know of course. What they really mean. It's still grating.

Better than it could be if she knew though. Worth to keep what they have safe.

[purpleleafsyt]

Sun Hair :D

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

thinking evil thoughts (best friend’s brother trope)

[shushmal]

Eddie only just was able to get the barman's permission to perform this night, and glad he is for it, as his pockets have weighed lighter than ever before in his life. He'd be pleased to find pay in a tankard or loaf tonight, anything to fill his aching belly.

But he's lucky as the men and women here seem to be in high spirits. The land has long been in war since the king's death, rotten bastard he may have been. Eddie hadn't been sad to see him go, but the chaos that followed had ruined the smallfolk in consequence since their coward prince had fled the scene of his crime. The king had been cruel, but still he'd been their king, and the common people spit on the prince's name still, even when some new royal's been crowned and brought peace with him.

And that kind of ire is what feeds Eddie on nights like this.

"Kingslayer, kingslayer, little Prince Steven has run," he sings, bawdy and loud as the crowd of men around him sing along. "Run up the hills and past the sun, took our king Phillip and gutted him plain, our kingslayer Prince Steven, a coward more than a maid!"

They sing along with him, hooting and hollering all to the end of it, and pay him in copper coins and ale that Eddie takes happily, slurping it down as he rests by the fire.

It's then he sees the table in the corner, the cloaked figures surrounding it, and the woman glaring daggers at him. But more interesting than that is the most beautiful man Eddie's ever seen, smiling at him wearily, eyes bright and interested and a little sad. Eddie's got no fear of a quick tumble with dangerous men, so he takes his gittern and his ale and makes his way quickly to them.

"Fair night, weary travelers," Eddie crows as he wiggles himself between the woman and the beautiful man. "What brings you so far out from the capitol?"

The lot of them regard him with mixed interest, the older man not even looking up and a girl with firey hair treating him with a sign of boredom.

"What business is yours to know, bard?" she says, already turning her nose off to watch the rowdy tavern beyond their table.

"None at all," Eddie says, leaning into the man beside him, slinging an arm over his broad shoulder to feel the heat of him beneath his cloak. "I'm here to do nothing but entertain tonight, and I fear I've bored your table to tears! I do take requests you know, for the right coin."

This he says to the man under his arm, leaning in closer to get a good look at those pretty brown eyes in the dim light of the fire.

"We have no coin for you, sot," says the woman beside them, ire evident in her tone. "Be gone with you—"

"No coin, that's true," says Eddie's beautiful man. He smiles at Eddie now, pearly teeth and pretty lips, and Eddie would sing him any song for nothing more than to keep those eyes on him. "You'll have to forgive us, we're not good company I'm afraid."

"Richer company wouldn't be as sweet as yours, dove," Eddie tells him, watching the pink of his cheeks darken.

There's a gagging sound from across the table, and its then that Eddie realizes he's in the company of striplings. Two girls in men's clothes, both of them are young in the face and barely past their majorities. Yet still they are travel-worn, all five of them: the two girls, the woman and the dour man, and the beautiful budde under Eddie's arm.

Chuckling, he says to Eddie, "A wag you are, bard, with such empty words. Do you flirt so with all poor men you find?"

"None are poorer than me, sweeting, and none are more enchanting than you. It is payment enough just to look at you, and I would sing for an age and fill my empty stomach with just your smile, or your taste if you'd grant me—"

"Gods damned!" the woman Eddie's other side gusts. "I cannot hear another foul word." She stands then, and the two girls follow, one rolling her eyes and the other giggling quitely. The woman leans past Eddie and hisses into her companion's ear, "Be done with this fool swiftly, or I'll leave you to the wolves."

"You'd never," he says back to her, smiling at Eddie, face flushed pretty and dark even as he speaks.

"Hopper would never," she says tilting her head at the remaining dour man still sitting at the table, deep into his cups and paying no mind to any around them. "But I would sell you for tanner and a duck to the first bidder."

"I'm worth at least an ox," he tells her with a cocky grin, and Eddie might want more than just one tumble with this man. "Find a room and I'll find you when I please to."

She huffs and stomps off, the girls on her heels.

"So," Eddie breathes, leaning even further into this beautiful man, until his voice is a secretive whisper, just for the two of them to hear. "Tell me, sweeting, what shall I call you when I write songs of your beauty to sing across the land, until kings beg me to their courts to recount your grace, your smile and your laugh?"

This man, to Eddie's displeasure, seems to wilt, to grow weary once more, even as he smiles and leans close, his words scarcely a breath against the shell of Eddie's ear.

"If it pleases you, and I'm sure that it won't," he confesses. "You can call me Steven."

[imperial-agent]

mr house never being able to replicate his courier six because they never let him scan them, so all he has are a few shoddy recordings he took to recreate the courier from. his replicas of courier six are flawed: none are as perceptive, resourceful and proactive. they aren't good at out-of-the-box thinking or improvising. their problemsolving, diplomacy skills and technological innovation ideas fall short of the original and are just another disappointment every time. they end up hollow shells like jane, marilyn and victor. letting new vegas go, ruin itself in pursuit of recreating his perfect right hand again, hope for another fruitful partnership and bright future of the mojave like they did before is so delicious it makes me sick actually send tweet ✌

[inbox-to-the-void]

Fresh's Theme: YOO I'LL TELL U WUT I WANT SO TELL ME WH Swap: FML

art source comes from here, fic made by @gaylordscooter

[IMAGE ID: A digital drawing of Swap Sans, visibly tense and hiding behind a broken wall. The wall is an almost-grey blue, the background is a slightly bluer and darker grey, Blue's background color is blue, and Swap's outlines are a paler version of his background. Behind the wall are rainbow all-capitilized words that switch color each line break. The words read "YOO I'LL TELL U WUT I WANT SO TELL ME WH", the words a reference to the beginning lyrics in Wannabe by Spice Girls. The rainbow words are cut off by the bottom of the broken wall. Swap's thought bubble background is his outline colour, while his speech bubble font color is colored in his background color. His thought bubble just reads "FML" in all caps. END ID]

[skitskatdacat63]

I apologize for how incredibly specific and niche this is, but aahhhh whenever people call rbr Seb a "boy king", I can literally only think about this statuette:

1. Because I think it gives the same angelic but mischievous vibe as Seb

2. Because it is a statue of a literal boy king

3. The ringlets and big eyes.....

[o-sn4pple]

the voices beg for gaming crumbs.... ORFURINA... furinaor gaming crumbs... thevoices

Furina doesn't need a bodyguard. She really doesn't. The streets of Fontaine are perfectly safe, and who would dare have the audacity to attack Lady Furina de Fontaine, Regina of All Waters, Hydro Archon and God of Justice? Especially on such a beautiful day like this?

That is all she can think of as she takes in your silhouette against the sun, arms trembling as the full weight of the Construction Specialist Meka's claw bears down on you. Somewhere behind her, men from the construction site shout to chase after the operator of the machine, who'd simply ran off after declaring that this was simply an act of revenge. There's some more shouting, but the Construction Specialist Meka is starting to whir, thundering in the archon's ears. Its geared foot scores at the ground in an attempt to reverse. As it inches back, your feet begin to shift, dragging you along with it.

"Wh-What are you doing?!" Furina manages to shout. "Let go!"

To her amazement (and perhaps for the first time since you became her bodyguard), you listen. You let go for just a second, then lunge and grip the claw by its base. With a furious cry, you throw your entire weight into a full-body twist, metal crumpling like paper as you tear the claw from its arm. Air pumps hiss, Arkhe sparks. In the same twist, you fling the detached claw aside and flex a hand, your claymore appearing in a flash. The blade isn't exactly designed to cut, but that doesn't stop you from driving the edge into the Construction Specialist Meka hard enough to dent. Again and again, you bash the machine with enough force to send it spinning. One final slam finally brings it to its side. You stand before it, victorious, sword in hand like some kind of knight from a fairy tale-

You turn. The midday sun must be getting to Furina, because her skin suddenly feels a lot hotter than it should be.

"Lady Furina," you call, breathless with exertion. "Are you alright?"

"I-Uh..." Furina can't bring herself to speak. Sweat glues your clothes to your skin, peppered with ash and soot from the machine you'd just bashed into submission. When she manages to meet your concerned stare, she tenses. "Your forehead..."

"Huh?" You reach up and touch at your temple. Your fingertips come away slicked with blood, but you just brush it against your shirt. "Just a scratch, my lady. What about you?"

Furina just watches the rivulet skim the corner of your eye, following the curve of your cheek until you try to swipe it away. That gets her to move. "Stop that!" she scolds, snatching your wrist before it can touch.  "Ugh, your hands are dirty. If you keep touching it, it'll get infected." She plucks her handkerchief from her breastpocket, then gestures for you to come closer. "Come here."

You blink. "Huh?"

"Come here!" Furina flicks the handkerchief open, then starts to dab at the cut. Your cheek twitches from the pressure, but you obligingly keep it to your head when she drags your hand up to hold it. "You should have been more careful. What point is there in playing the hero if you're just going to get hurt?"

You huff, the soft brush of air making Furina's warming skin even worse. "If I didn't play the hero, my lady, I would be fired. Speaking of which..." With that, you gently pull away, eyes darting over Furina's shoulders. "It seems you have an audience."

Furina flushes as she whips around. Sure enough, the workers from the construction site are clustered around, trembling and gawking. It makes her lips curl, and she doesn't have to try hard to fake the anger in her voice when she shouts, "Where is the overseer of this construction site?!"

The overseer gets shoved to the front in seconds, some pale and mousy man that wilts under her glare. "P-Please believe me, Lady Furina. I had no idea-"

"Silence! Do you have any idea how dangerous-" Furina almost unleashes a tirade worthy of the Opera Epiclese when she remembers that you're still standing there, bloody and covered in dirt. You'd been struck by one of the arms before the machine had turned its attention to the archon. Could that kind of injury lead to a concussion? Do you need medical attention? You must, she thinks, because when she glances at you, you're staring at her with the strangest, softest expression on your face. So she inhales, exhales, and channels her disdain into a single scoff. "Save your excuses for the Maison Gardiennage, but let it be known that I will be watching your trial very closely, monsieur." Before he can react, she turns on her toes and barks, "Come along!", strutting down the street. After four steps, she pauses and turns around. The first time you'd followed her into the city, she'd ordered you stay six paces back. She imagines if she takes two more, you'll finally start moving.

You tense when she storms up to you. Despite being strong enough to take on a Construction Specialist Meka without a Vision, you don't resist Furina when she snatches your wrist and drags you along. "Are we going to the Palais Mermonia, my lady?" you ask after a moment. "You were rather lenient with the construction workers, but if the Chief Justice hears that you were almost injured-"

"Neuvillette can handle it," Furina huffs. "You need to see a doctor."

"A doctor?" you echo. "My lady, I promise it isn't as bad as it seems-"

"As your Archon and ward, I order you to see a doctor," Furina amends sharply. "How can I feel safe and protected if my bodyguard is bleeding all over the floor?"

You finally pause, anchoring yourself when she tries to tug. When the archon looks back, there's a smug smile on your face made worse by the blood still smeared across your skin. "Oh? But I recall you saying that you did not need me, Lady Furina."

Furina gawks, then rips her hand from your wrist just to smack you. She doubts it actually hurts a warrior like yourself, but you still recoil anyway. "N-Now is not the time for semantics!" she snaps. "If you keep up this nonsense, I will-I'll..."

You just lift a brow. "You'll..."

"I'll...dock you of your pay for the week!"

You jaw goes slack before you sigh. "Such cruelty, my lady..."

"As you deserve." Furina nods, satisfied, then grabs your wrist again. "Now then, a doctor. Afterwards..." She is supposed to head out to the Opera Epiclese, but with the brutal heat and your injuries, she doubts you would be very comfortable. She does recall that you enjoyed the desserts from the newest café that had opened, though..."I'm craving something cold and sweet."

You hum. "An affogato with extra ice cream and La Lettre a Focalors?"

Furina blinks at the perfect recitation of her order, then smiles with satisfaction. "That will suffice."

[placesyoucallhome]

Once said, always said I will hold the past over your head I'll speak my mind whenever I feel slighted I am hellbent on extracting all of my revenge Take heart, sweetheart, or I will take it from you

[imaginaryanon]

“Soft-handed,” Izzy scoffs under his breath. He means: coward. He means: fool. He means: you never should have come here, and you most certainly shouldn’t have come back. You don't belong in my world; you don't belong at Blackbeard's side. Sooner or later this life will eat you whole like it did the rest of us, but you won't come out of it victorious like the rest of us did. But Bonnet beams at him, all teeth and sickening sincerity, as blinding as the first rays of the morning sun bouncing across the waves. His eyes are narrowed, though. Mischievous. Whatever he thinks he’s doing, he’s doing it on purpose. “Why thank you, Israel,” he trills; Izzy winces. “Izzy's fine.” It’s shorter. A precious one third of a second less of listening to Bonnet's voice. “If you must.” He means: keep my name out of your fucking mouth.

errands of mercy by imaginarykat

our flag means death, stede bonnet/izzy hands, ~5.7k words

summary: Izzy can’t fucking stand Stede Bonnet. He’d preferred it when the feeling was mutual.