thinking of dating older bf!satoru. . .and i’m talking like you’re in your early 20’s and he’s in his early 30’s.
the way he texts at the start of your blooming relationship is super attractive somehow. like the most simplest of texts would get you weak in the knees. texts like ‘good morning, sweetheart.’ // ‘how’s my pretty girl doing?’ // ‘there’s my gorgeous girl.’ // ‘rise ‘n shine, sleepyhead.’ // ‘it’s okay, baby. i understand.’ // ‘you never fail to amaze me, huh.’
or when you’re being very risky via your messenger app, older bf!satoru is definitely the type to say ‘careful.’ // ‘you’re gonna get me in trouble.’ // ‘you’re being quite brave today, doll. // ‘aww, how adorable of you.’ // ‘mhm? that so?’
also . . . gives you money out of the blue. randomly. doesn’t question it at all. or sends expensive gifts your way too without you asking. older bf!satoru would text you stuff like; ‘here’s some money, gorgeous. want you to spoil yourself for me today, okay?’ // ‘just a little gift.’ // ‘you deserve a break, baby. here you go.’ // ‘got you something small.’
and then you check your bank account and it’s an easy $200 / $500 / $800 ++ added by him. or when he’s sending gifts to your apartment, it’s gonna be one of them reaaaaal expensive ones. probably ones you eyed before or had mention you liked very briefly, but didn’t get it because of the price.
definitely also the type to try and accommodate or match his texting style to yours as the months go by. kinda to match your energy. perhaps fails horribly at it, but it’s cute to see him try.
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It kind of wrecks me when the media reduces Legolas to the overpowered hot guy who defies gravity.
Like...
Did we watch the same movies?
Not only is this guy just an insanely honorable and fierce member of the Fellowship, but he's an infinitely heartfelt and dedicated friend. He would go to the ends of the earth to follow Aragorn, to save Merry and Pippin, to fight in the name of Frodo Baggins.
He's lost his mother, he was raised by a grieving and emotionally absent father, he was sheltered from the rest of the world for years, he went from insulting and threatening dwarves to protecting and practically EXISTING for one. Not to mention everything he did post war of the ring, uniting his people yet removing himself from his royal status??
And just to think, he has to grapple with immortality. To other elves it doesn't matter, but to him, his entire life has become these mortal friends he's grown to call family. And he has to go on living while they all slowly die.
And yeah, he's a fucking INSANE FIGHTER. Like BEYOND REASON.
I get that to the dude bros he's just a hot guy for the girls to thirst over but in reality he's just as complex as the rest of them and I'd really like for us to acknowledge it for once.
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(Edit: Thanks to the people who informed me on what Leif's species is!)
Sat down and got to finally properly render these fuckers while also settling on how I should draw them. I actually did a tiny bit of research on their respective species, took a few elements here and there but nothing to drastically change them.
So as far as I'm aware, Leif is not a specific moth but plenty of blue and red moths will usually have the eye patterns on their wings and as well as have fluff on their bodies. Had fun with the posing and if you can guess where I referenced it then you get a cookie. Thought it was neat that the original concept was that he was suppose to dance.
Vi is obviously a honey bee, they're very well known to be fuzzy. I don't have much to say besides from that but if anyone doesn't know, only females have stingers.
Now Kabbu was really testing my patience, according to the wiki it states that is he is a rainbow scarab beetle. If that is wrong then too bad, those guys are gorgeous and it took me too long to figure how to balance the colors without burning my eyes. Its faint but noticeable, just so I can still be true to the game model, also I know it's not as visible here but I realize beetle wings are very pretty.
So what's the conclusion here? There needs to be a website dedicated to bug references so I can sit there and admire them all day.
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what it is
summary: Oikawa x Reader. he makes it out of the friendzone (with some help)
word count: 1.3k
cw: nothing, oikawa in glasses
a/n: i wrote this in under an hour while heavily caffeinated?;!;!4& brain melting
“You’re late,” you say with a grin. Oikawa Tooru pouts at you, his team jacket folded over his arms. He’s already changed out of uniform, you notice; must have exchanged it for a white t-shirt and slacks in the locker room.
“I was swarmed,” he claims as the two of you start to walk together. You roll your eyes and don’t even bother making a jab about his popularity with the girls (and people of all genders, really). At this point, you’ve accepted that deranged fans come with the territory of being friends with the volleyball team captain.
You met Oikawa on the first day of your first year at Aoba Johsai and had been friends ever since. Even though you had no interest in the sport at first, his love for volleyball was infectious. He had even roped you into being the team’s manager. You still weren’t sure how he had pulled that off, but you didn’t mind too much—you’d grown to love the team and the sport too, in your own way.
Despite your closeness, you’d never really understood why he had a fan club, especially as a teenage school athlete. You expected his popularity to grow when (not if) he went professional, but the idea of swooning over some guy you had pre-calculus classes with was totally foreign to you. It was a running joke among your friends that you were immune to Oikawa’s looks and charming magnetism (and, honestly, to all four of the team’s upperclassmen. You could acknowledge how objectively attractive they all were even though none of them seemed to fit your niche).
Sometimes, you caught Oikawa making strange expressions while your friends teased you about not liking him. It felt like you were the only one who noticed these kinds of things, sometimes. You really liked being able to read him so easily: both of you had saved each other under the contact name “Platonic Soulmate” in your phones.
You chalked up the weird faces to your friend’s first-rate ego, and even though you knew that the notion of one person not being desperately in love with him wouldn’t scratch the surface of his self-esteem, you always found yourself taking his hand surreptitiously or leaning your head on his shoulder when you did see him looking mopey. He always perked up, after that, and all would be sunshine again.
Today, everyone else had bailed on you when you suggested a joint ice-cream-and-study-date before next week’s exams. Iwaizumi had claimed that Oikawa was too loud and always distracted him, so he couldn’t seriously try to study together. Matsukawa had to babysit and refused to bring the brats, as he affectionately called his siblings, to get sweets. Hanamaki had just quirked his eyebrows at you and said, “I don’t feel like third wheeling. Thanks, but no thanks.”
You hadn’t really understood what he meant, but you hadn’t questioned it.
Oikawa had almost begged off to do some solo practice, too, but you’d made a fuss about nearing the end of your high school experience and worrying that you would fall out of touch when volleyball became his whole life (even moreso than it was now!), and he’d caved with an overdramatic sigh and a soft look that told you he wasn’t all that mad about your guilt-tripping.
You’re broken from your thoughts when you reach the ice-cream shop, Oikawa jabbering in your ear about some drama you can’t keep up with.
“And then she told me—ah, I can’t read the menu. You know, they were late refilling my contact prescription this month, so I’ve been carrying around my glasses, I hate it. So unflattering.”
You worry your lip as you stare at the flavor chart, barely listening to him talk.
“I’m sure it’s,” you start, turning to him as he slides the case out of his pocket and puts the frames on his face in a smooth motion. “Um.”
The glasses are not unflattering, you think dumbly, staring at him, your sentence hanging unfinished. The glasses perch on his nose perfectly, making you appreciate, for the first time, the shape of his nose and his cheekbones. Had they always been that sharp? And since when had his eyes been so pretty, reflecting the sunlight in so many shades, framed with long eyelashes that would have made you jealous if you weren’t so—
You reach out and lift the glasses off his face slowly, hoping that the old, familiar features that you’d never felt anything but friendship-friendly feelings towards would return. You can still see it, though: the divot of his Cupid’s bow is appealing, now, his smooth skin glowing to you, his surprised expression fucking adorable. You drop the frames back onto his nose.
Very abruptly, whatever immunity you once had to Oikawa’s looks is demolished in one fell swoop.
“I have to go have a midlife crisis,” you say decisively, and march out of the shop.
“Hey! What—where are you going? You’re not even middle-aged?” Oikawa calls after you, and you try steadfastly to ignore him, but every sense seems to have been awakened to your friend. Your face flushes, and you start walking faster, nearing the pace of a jog even though your limbs are stiff.
You finally pull over in a quieter, slightly more secluded spot between two buildings. You lean against the wall, closing your eyes, trying to remind yourself to take deep breaths.
“Are you okay?” Oikawa says, and you curse his long, athlete legs for having followed you so swiftly. “What’s wrong?”
You open your eyes. He’s still wearing the fucking glasses. Rest in peace, you think to yourself, surely my heart is going to give up soon, at the rate it’s going. Your lips part, but you can’t seem to get the words out. His worried gaze studies you until he finds something—exactly whatever you didn’t want him to see. A slow smile unfurls over his face, and you narrow your eyes. Ugh, how dare his smugness be attractive too, now?
“I should wear the glasses more often, huh?” He says, and you shake your head no frantically.
“Please don’t,” you say. “It’s, like, it doesn’t even matter anymore, anyway, I can’t unsee it now.”
“Unsee what?” He cocks his head, and he’s getting closer, and there’s nowhere to back away from him because you’re up against a wall—
“You’re hot!” You wail. “I saw it and I’m never gonna stop thinking it now, it doesn’t even matter what you wear, I’m doomed! This is the worst thing ever, ‘Kawa, how’m I supposed to go on… I can’t be your friend and a part of your fan club. I don’t think I can even be a part of your fan club ‘cause I don’t just think you’re hot, I think I have a crush on you—oh, my God, I have a c—”
Your increasingly frantic rambling is cut off by Oikawa sealing his lips to yours. The kiss is quick and sweet, and when he pulls away he still looks so, so handsome, and so concerned.
“Please breathe,” he says, and you nod, gaping at him in shock. “I like you too, okay? Please stop having a crisis.
“Okay,” you exhale, bracing your hands on his shoulders. “Okay. I’m still freaking out, though. I think the only way to stop it is to keep kissing me.”
Oikawa heaves a big, overdramatic sigh, and leans in, his glasses bumping your face; giving in to you, just like he always does.
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