❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
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if i look back, i am lost
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One Nice Bug Per Day
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official daine visual archive
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🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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$LAYYYTER
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YOU ARE THE REASON
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@dainsleit
In the margin of my will, I give you permission to forge my signature.
Haaaaiiiiiiiii. This is a private mumu, without much graphical fanfare. If we know one other, feel free to follow!
If we don't, still feel free, but you'll probably miss a lot of context.
Roe-Rue, my friends call Swub! 25+. It/its/itself only. ♡ @ilstar @kosodate @ccaptain
Hey, don't cry. Calculate the amount of reagent used in the reaction between 5g O2 and 10g glucose.
Anyways does anyone wanna hyperbeam Pokemon Sun/Moon anime sometime next week
Legal installations of Pokemon Z-A are on devices in my name.
sebastian voice hey girl do you like #tuff guys <- has a shadow the hedgehog temporary tattoo on his bicep
I never showed any pokemon friends Bibi. Say hi to Bibi
Also art my friends did for my birthday + commissions
" you look like you'd fit into a dart board without any issues " @ jirachi
This is a promo. Retweet
Trismegistos is holding up one of those portable cigarette butt holders -- with a vaguely...smug, if one might say, aura. (He still remembers the last time he smoked around Bibi, as does a small mark on his arm. And yet he's posing for all the world like a model.)
Bibi gives Trismegistos a look.
Really? Are you serious? Don't be a child, grow up, wipe that smug look off your face… None applicable, what's penned on the drop of her brow, and how her eyes twitch across the ditty cigarette pot, and the slight un-part of her lips, what's penned is... mild. Like she wouldn't expect anything other than this outcome from Trismegistos.
“Thanks.” Bibi says in thanks, tipping her chin up on the approach to look him in the eye. Turns down to surpervise her hand as it rummages around in her pocket.
A candy wrapper gets stuffed into the holder.
Never get Morty unmedicated. This needs to keep happening
My extremely unrealistic hope for Legends ZA
"ahh... haha, yun-chan, are you... uh... are you calling me a 'soft boy male manipulator from tiktok'...?"
It's been a minute since she's pissed him off this bad. Long enough that he can't remember when he last felt his anger shoot up, red-hot, turning him molten from inside out. He snaps before he thinks anything else of it, head too blaring to decide any other proper means of exploring avenues; his skin is pelted, an ugly welt from her trash-out against him, so thrash out he can deal for the both of them.
A loud clang resounds from their metal box of a shop, canned in like sardines. He holds her down, eyes bloodshot and his gills flaring, teeth bared as his pulse goes haywire in his ears. He can't think. Doesn't even know how to sort his thoughts into boxes, vision washed over red. Frenzied.
"I thought I warned you," comes his low hiss, coiled around her like a fish caught in his net. His body feels warm. Maybe its hers. Down here, he doesn't know. Their breaths mingle like lovers, her strike towards him written off like a crime of passion. "Don't. Fuck with me."
Bibi isn't done yet. Thrashing against his ten tons of whale weight as Sebastian bears it down onto her. All too aware of her faults: all soft, all flesh, some bones (like a bird, maybe, in comparison— he could make her fly) and just so easy to squash. She won't let him keep her down, knowing damn well it'll kill her.
What's enraged her today is kept to herself, shut behind the pink smear of her teeth. He should know. Not that she could with a tongue she's damn near chewed off. His frenzy was met with that cold fiery rage of hers; knowing just what she wanted to inflict on him. Blind him, throw his pipebomb back in his face, step on the sore end of his tail— all calculated. And she's not satisfied with the results.
Bibi's surprised she's survived long enough to see the plan through. ...Is he getting soft? It doesn't matter to the death row-er if he is. Again: She's not done yet.
"...Hah."
"Y—!!" She coughs in his face, a fine spray of red spittle hacked up and splattered against his cheeks. "You— a piece of work."
Hand strikes out to jab her fingers into his gills, hooking into the wet; yank him down with fingers wet in his throat. Bibi can feel the disgusting vibrations of his threats rolling down her palm. Sinking in, she thinks she can feel his tongue wagging. So she digs in further, other hand only wishing to join the fray. Tragedy that it's broken, twisted, bones jutting out and marrow leaking; fingers still itch, phantom limb compacting all her need. The feeling of skin scratched off under her nails… it'd be better than a ticket to heaven. But she can't; and it's a shame. Really, really is.
Unsatisfied. But there's still time (a few seconds?) to make it worth her— teeth try to dig in before her jugular is crushed.
(She'll wake up again, thrown out of a full hell, on the cold floor of the prisoners funnel. Sit for a moment and watch the shuffle of feet with the same damn fortune as hers —and wonder if that seabass will deny her his stock this time around. Teach her some manners… Bibi certainly hasn't learned any other lesson than anger not having any consequences.)
:: *ੈ✩‧₊˚ @helwyrn sent : 🎁 / shuffled spotify wrapped starters, currently accepting.
he'd known exactly what he was doing — helping himself to a generous taste test of the dish ite was tucking into as a means of greeting : the intensity of her stare isn't unexpected, and he pays no mind to it anyway, humming in consideration before going back in for seconds.
an exaggerated frown. no good. pushing the plate back towards her with a self - satisfied grin. “ from the way you're reacting, you'd think that somebody was dying ... ”
# 100 — fickle mcselfish by gerry cinnamon .
Her cheese cubes.
Rhetorical doesn't need answer: Does Delorean enjoy the sight of a malding mad miffed Vidyadhara? He'll get it irregardless; growl in her throat is unholy, unnaturally large and straining. ⠀It's fortunate he doesn't go for a third,⠀ Ite threatens him in head, yet arm only reaches out to hunker over plate only after he'd had his fill.
“Not yet.”⠀ This one isn't a threat, but statement. One still rattling with the monstrous undertone that putters out to normalcy on the breathy 'T'. Ite keeps his exaggerated woe in the corner of her eye, as if she doesn't quite trust him, or rather, if he'll decide to go for another cube. Just to make sure it doesn't pair well with the wine being toted around by men in suits far fancier than he.
It's never unusual for Delorean to let himself be caught around corners, but today is an unexpected surprise. Sniff. Tilt head— eyes not leaving the thief— and lips find an unsullied morsel of colby-jack to take to teeth.
A wedding really is no place for the pair. ⠀“I'm waiting for the cake.”⠀ Uninvited.
Feel Old Yet?
Coughs more blood
"don't get sentimental; it always ends up drivel."
Butlers presence makes Dimitri feel small. As though he's but a boy again, fingers cut and sore from swords practice. His head hangs as it did then. Without tears, no snot. He's staring down at his sticky gauntlets. Watching the dark red clump along the chainmail. Furls his fists one gauntlet at a time, not-so secure around spears shaft. Not even with blood on his hands, his steel, his armor, does mettle come to him.
"I— apologize. You aren't wrong, Hubert." Is warbled. Dimitri speaks slow like he's afraid of his voice cracking. War isn't new. Battle. Violence; bloodshed. Blood on his hands. Yet Dimitri is here behind cold rock, licking his wounds.
...He hasn't spared the man hiding behind the rocks behind him a glance. His eyes are too dry to, and his throat the same. A ragged breath shudders the half-width defiance in the follow up, (mettle does not come to him,) "Though… I… I disagree with the way you've presented it."
