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#pls anyone at all???
moonsnqil · 4 months
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pink carnation for gratitude and never forgetting someone
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heavily inspired by chapter two of 'when i fade, keep me in your memory' by demesh on ao3
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ef-1 · 19 days
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yeah F1 is cool but imagine a driver gets shunted and he bodily rips off his rear wing (Which fucking says "Race Against CRIME") as he's being swarmed by officials
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And he just yeets it at the guy who shunted him
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shellshooked · 8 months
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just realised i never posted here my jedi!zelink from a dtiys i made back in february
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vivid-vices · 3 months
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bungou stray dogs as petfinder cats
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brighteuphony · 1 month
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@kohnnors-blog
@thatsalamanderguy
YES. COME TO THE DARK SIDE. (We bully hot men here :))
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fiepige · 3 months
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Hobie and Noir both doing a two finger salute
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lesbicosmos · 9 months
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please
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just once
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can we have this trope
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NOT GO WRONG SOMEHOW
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notacluedo · 1 month
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preparing for tsc
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failyaoi · 2 months
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surprisingly this is a rare ship ??
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willowser · 4 days
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ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴏɴ ᴀʟʟ ғᴏᴜʀs. werewolf kiri au.
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you wake up under a mountain of furs.
light comes flickering from the hearth and, warm and welcoming as it is—you've no idea where you are.
you don't recognize the inside of the cabin; it's certainly not yours, nor is its layout that of any you’ve seen in the village. it's rather plain, with a singular window and table and chair and small fireplace, empty enough that you wonder how anyone could live comfortably with so little.
outside, the winter storm rages on, and there's a howl that cuts through the air that strikes bone-deep.
all at once your memories come back to you: dragged through town with bound hands and ankles, in only a thin night dress, screaming with all your might as the physician that delivered you into this world tied you to an old pine, along with the priest and the man that sold you blueberries in the spring.
people you knew and loved. had trusted.
the memories become hazy after a while, darkening with the night that crept in. you remember your body losing its feeling, but not its fear. you remember the violence of the storm, breaking trees and branches and uprooting the forest floor. you remember the horrible and hulking shape of something rising in the moonlight.
the door shoves open then, with enough force to send you scurrying back into the corner of the room. the blizzard tries to rush inside, but a man stands in its way, leaning back against the wood to keep the wind and snow out where it belongs. he's—big, as tall as the frame and just as wide, with thick hair that he's tied back, messy and low.
he's rosy in his cheeks and on the tip of his nose, as bright as the eyes that snap to you the moment you dare to breathe.
he doesn't say anything, at first. the bag of firewood he sets at his feet settles as he turns to you in interest, eyebrows raised. the clothes he's wearing look—old and worn, certainly not suitable for the storm roaring outside, with the holes and tears in the fabric. the boots he has on, however, seem heavy, have his steps echoing when he moves further into the room.
you pull your knees up to your chest and try to shrink away; beneath your thin dress, your skin has pebbled up, reminding you of just how vulnerable you still are.
your fear translates; the man stops on the other side of the little table, breathing in deeply before raising his hands up in what reads as surrender.
"hello," he finally says, and when you don't respond, he places a thick hand to his dark-haired chest and introduces himself as, "eijirou."
he nods emphatically and then repeats himself, as if to reinforce the name. you only grant him a small nod in return—and he smiles. it's wide, stretching across his face, and friendly, authentic enough that you question whether you're as damned as you thought, or perhaps saved.
how did you even get here? the question finally thaws out from the recesses of your brain and you take another look around the room as if the answer lies between the wood or nestled into the furs. this place looks too hand-crafted, you realize, all of it—and the man before you looks like he could move mountains, if he wanted to.
the chains that had bound you were iron-strong and didn't once budge in all your thrashing, before things went dark—but now you are inside by a well-maintained fire, warm and free, and all that remains of your ill fate are the indentions worn into your wrists.
he's still staring at you, the man. eijirou. he's not moved any closer, either, and when you meet his curious gaze, his lips twist and his eyes narrow. a thoughtful noise comes out of his mouth, like he's thinking of what to say or how to say it, and you're reminded that you don't recognize where you are, nor do you recognize him in the slightest.
big as he is, you don't think he could have carried you too far in a snowstorm such as the one still raging outside; are you still somewhere deep in the forest? in a cabin at the heart of the wood? saved by a man that somehow survives with so little out in the middle of nowhere?
"eijirou," you test the name on your lips and he perks up at the sound, attention snapping back to you instantly. you don't know if it's winter seeping through the floor, or if it's in the way that he watches you, that makes you shiver.
finally, he asks, "cold?" and when you nod, he slowly makes his way over to you, carefully, as if approaching a deer ready to run.
—and then he sheds his shirt with a quick shrug and holds it out to you.
you should want to look away, for decency sake, but you're—stunned by it, by him. there's a litany of scars that paint him in odd and worrisome places, but he stands tall and strong before you, unbothered by his own state. unbothered by the eyes that run over the expanse of his bare shoulders, the dark, thick trail of hair running down from his belly button, the ripples of muscle his loose shirt did well to hide.
you take it from him carefully and it's so warm, almost hot, that you press it to your face immediately to chase away the chatter of your jaw. the material itself, however ragged, is big enough to drape over your curled form like a blanket, and so you do just that. it carries the earthy smell of the woods, deeply woven into the fabric; pine and musk and something smoky.
with your cheek still pressed to his shirt, you look up to thank him, at last, but the words still in your throat at the minute changes of his face: still smiling, though sharper now, somehow, and his eyes are still wide with that keen, rapt interest—but the crimson to them has set like the sun and they've grown just as dark as the night outside.
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keynil · 4 months
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i wld pay so much money for zoro and sanji to talk about blades w each other like !! sanji seeing zoro clean his blades w so much care turning into comparing where the weight shld sit on a good kitchen knife vs a sword. nerding out abt different oils/whetstones until they realise they've been talking excitedly to each other for almost an hour and start fighting to restore the equilibrium
zoro seeing one of sanjis knives left damp on the cutting board after some random ambush. cleaning and drying it before putting it back in the rack bc he knows sanji wld never leave his knife like that if he had a choice
sanji seeing that zoro chipped an edge during their latest fight and silently leaving his whetstones in the crows nest bc he knows the larger grit wld be more helpful
(40 y/o zoro leaving a set of knives in the kitchen for sanji to find as an anniversary gift and sanji realising that he not only still remembered the first real conversation they ever had, but also the exact brand sanji had been so excited abt)
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bamsara · 3 months
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[non-judgemental but somewhat aware stare]
the way you draw proportions looks like scott pilgrim during some of the more intense chapters
As someone who has never shown interest in Scott pilgrim and activley avoids it/dislikes it, what does this mean for me
Also I thought it was a game/movie not a book
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lesbaurinkos · 29 days
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assorted howlter (& pancakes) doodles
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paperrkites · 11 months
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Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation
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Mission Impossible: Fallout
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Mission Impossible: Dead Reckoning Part One
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the parallels 😭
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kafkaguy · 2 months
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weird gender in songs
girls & boys by blur // lola by the kinks // rebel rebel by david bowie // (i know) a girl called jonny by rowland s. howard & jonnine standish // androgynous by the replacements // sweet jane by the velvet underground // i wanna be where the boys are by the runaways // somebody told me by the killers // a better son/daughter by rilo kiley // son and daughter by queen // mama by my chemical romance // sweet cis teen by dazey and the scouts // vampire empire by big thief // walking in the rain by grace jones // chanel by frank ocean // andrew in drag by the magnetic fields
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cursedzucchini · 1 year
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DC x DP prompt #5
This is so dumb but Danny is Bruce's uncle.
And not in the Danny is old or whatever, no, my dude is 15 looks like he's 13 and when he was running away from home, he met this really really old lady which looked at him, looked at his wounds and went "aight I'm adopting u"
Danny thought she was a ghost and this was her obsession, so imagine his surprise when it turned out that not only this lady was alive, but also supposedly from very influential family??? Danny wasn't sure Abt that one, bc he himself never heard abt these "Waynes" like that just sounds weird, but hey. It made the lady happy so.
Anyway they part ways, bc the lady only wanted to adopt not care, and Danny decides, hey now that I have a new fam, maybe i should get to know them or something?
Well imagine his surprise when he found out some guy in his fifties is supposedly his nephew and has like bazillion kids.
Idk what happens next yada yada sheniganas happen and than Danny ends up in Gotham. And meets Bruce Wayne. Who obviously sees young child w si gns of abuse, black hair, blue eyes and is immidietly like "aight I'm adopting u" (like grandma like grandson huh)
Only this time, Danny is sure he isn't a ghost, and has a counter argument "u can't adopt me I'm ur uncle" and immidietly flees bc dealing w his problems isn't something he does.
Cue confused batfam or stuff idk, I'm so tired and this is just an excuse for crack
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