wow youre so sexy. what if i placed my mined craft 'bed' inside of yours? haha, just kidding. unless...? ;^)
i love you more than the stars love twinkling in the night skies, my love , but .. may i ask .. what’s a mined craft
tumblr dot com

titsay

roma★

if i look back, i am lost

ellievsbear
Sweet Seals For You, Always
AnasAbdin
art blog(derogatory)

izzy's playlists!
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

No title available
KIROKAZE
we're not kids anymore.
Game of Thrones Daily

shark vs the universe

Love Begins
Stranger Things
dirt enthusiast
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Peter Solarz
seen from Canada

seen from Lithuania
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from China

seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States

seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
@macabrres
wow youre so sexy. what if i placed my mined craft 'bed' inside of yours? haha, just kidding. unless...? ;^)
i love you more than the stars love twinkling in the night skies, my love , but .. may i ask .. what’s a mined craft
quick and dirty (lol) fe3h verse: - badboy delinquent in either black eagles (serving idk leo whos some duke’s kid i guess) or ... * i make it fire emblem FOUR houses * oops. - uhhhh idk im gay? i imagine ( since i have to fit leo into everything niles is involved in ugh ) that upon (((((spoilers))))) edelgard’s insurgence, leo wuld act alongside her to overhaul the empire BUT upon her tactics getting too bloody i feel like they’d abandon ship & fight in their own anti-imperialist faction, or defect to the alliance / kingdom to help there. who knows. ill think on it. but either way. yah babay.
babe am i cool
‘ … ’
Now, Inigo was a man to be handled with care. He was always rather soft-hearted: well-intentioned, but nonetheless a touch sensitive when personal criticism reared its head. He knew he had to tread carefully, lest someone’s feelings be hurt...
‘ Not...quite. ’
Booyah. Take it to the bank, boys. Wounded pride? Never heard of her.
hewwo? its national boyfriend ddday ( i pucnch you in the face w. my face )
OWWY but smoochy smoochy smooch ♡♡♡ kiss kiss kiss kiss ♡ muah !! ♡♡
macabrres:
i know it must be tiring to have little ic interaction on this blog and a whole lot of meta but please just let me reiterate and stress how important it is that when niles makes innuendos w. men he is specifically the one in implicit power ( ie., he has control of the situation, he is the one who ‘penetrates’ this and runs one thing through another ). and ive said before that yes he makes innuendos to weaponize a thing that destroyed his life ( ie., sexual abuse / rape ) and gain control / stabilize himself in a situation but i think its Very Clearly important to underline that this predominantly happens with Men Specifically, as w. women he MOSTLY exhibits vague cruelty or makes reference to bodily things but there’s no Active Action involved ( ie., ‘that pretty mouth of yours’ but never ‘well i’d like to…etc etc’ if tht makes sense ), and tbh i think its Yet Another very Clear Tell that he’s had a Troubled and Abusive past of sexual abuse at the hands of men and im o(—(
( im still screaming 8 hours later ) AND HONESTLY NILES ALWAYS ANTICIPATES THE WORST FROM PPL HE LITERALLY EXPECTS TO BE USED LIKE A TOOL BECAUSE HE HAS ONLY EVER BEEN A TOOL and tbh its one of the biggest reasons i cant ever stan leoniles bec that ship almost always puts EMPHASIS ON THAT FACT like just because Your Master Is Kind doesn’t mean there isn’t still an existing societal bias and hierarchical power that Only One Party Holds. tho that being said i think its fairly clear that Niles does not understand and cannot conceptualize what authentic romantic love is ( as he’s never experienced Any sort of love before ) and thus chalks it up to mean ‘utility’ and that’s something that truly needs to be corrected.
tbh he makes me worry cus, hes definitely a guy who wouldn’t ever talk about his own discomfort in a relationship cus he doesn’t think he’s actually entitled to it. like he’s so Definitively ‘i am a Tool and Only Here To Be Used By You and my Personal Worth Is Measured On How Quantifiably Useful I Am because Love Is Measured In Numeric, Palpable Output’.
smeck
smmmooch!!
Memory can be murder.
Jeanette Winterson, from Art & Lies (via violentwavesofemotion)
also a nilez doodle
ba,be i want a dog
Mmmmm....what do i get in return if i say yes ,
hoonga
‘ Milord... ’
Leon had always been a man of eloquence. Through trial and tribulation, he had always remained stalwart; a certain loquacious integrity had always flowed within his veins, and with certainty the outlaw knew that he would follow his liege to even the ends of earth were it asked of him. He nods at his master’s wisdom, taking it in stride, bearing it with a proud quintessence: the noble litany of the youngest prince of Nohr ------
‘ Hoonga. ’
‘ Oho, is my darling birthday boy shying away from the spotlight again? Tsk, tsk ---- ’
Sentiment, oft so woeful and rescinded, is hardly something he has the luxury of having been accustomed to: there is no gift, no material possession, which can wholly enunciate the feelings he harbours for the other.
‘ Although, I am flattered that you’ve spared a moment all for li'l ol' me. I just so happen to have something to give you. ’
It’s nothing fanciful: a leather-bound book retrieved from the darkling shroud of his cloak, mysterious as it is modest. He shan’t ruin the surprise of its contents before the climax ( the anticipation for the reveal itself is pure torture, really, which makes it all the more enjoyable ), and instead offers it tenderly. Within it is a flourish of flowers: thirteen pages pressed with thirty different species, to be exact, all of them a rarity to Nohr’s bitter darkness. The intention is scribed in a fine hand, emblazoned upon the inner cover: For if ever you leave, you will always have a piece of the past with you.
‘ Happy birthday, my love. ’
@warstep ♡
` you’re not going to die. i forbid it. all right? ’
‘ Is that what you’re afraid of? ’
Something pools within him, although he can’t place if it’s sorrow or remorse —— or perhaps it’s an eldritch frustration gnawing at the back of his throat. He’s never been one to entertain quandaries: that he should give his life so to protect Lord Leon from any and all assailants had been a tried and true possibility, one he would have been proud to see through to the bitter end, and yet…the concept now seemed a desolate one.
Forbidding a retainer from fulfilling his duty? Tch. Of course Inigo would find a way to make things terribly complicated: guilt swells where once there would have been nought; he wonders tacently if that’s merely the price of having a heart. Beruka would chide him for being so foolishly sentimental; he used to scoff at such maudlin attestations.
‘ Rest assured, I hadn’t planned to run off and die on you. I wouldn’t dare. ’ He rests his palm atop the curve of the other’s cheek in one tentative gesture, fingers skirting a wayward lock of hair behind his ear. ‘ I can hardly stand to think of you mourning someone so deplorable, let alone... ’ And gods, what a lachrymose prospect it was: he nearly seethes at the thought of it.
‘ I’ll always come back to you. ’ Always, always; until you don’t want me anymore, and even thereafter. The vehemence wanes from his cadence, then; he speaks in a soft lull, and smiles a sad smile.
‘ Promise me you’ll do the same. ’
BULLETBTCH.
@macabrres //
“Guns’re on the table, ‘kay, Pretty-boy?”
She took another slow sip of water and guided a block of ice into her mouth. She settled her elbow on the table, leaning on the polished oak while moving the glass around in little circles. icebergs clashed against one another and her hand muffled the sound of the crashing–it chilled her fingers until the color of her nails matched her eyeshadow. Revy paused, taking a good look at his mug before sighing and letting the glass drop to the table as melted ice dripped down her throat. Her throat felt tight.
Leaning back, she pulled out a smoke and offered the matchbox of rolled up poison over. sliding it over. Peace offering. She sighed hard and lit herself one. “So what’s got ya spooked, Sniper?” before she smiled the smile of a century–like she’s just seen a kid do a double backflip after one hell of a buckshot. “Ha,” with the corners of her lips upturned all sweet-like. What a face. Jesus, he had a fucking face.
–Same eyes; same scent. Same hands; same shit.
“Let’s have a conversation.”
‘ Just a conversation? No tantalizing stop-and-frisk to speak of? ’
He clicks his tongue once, leans against the shoddy chair, right arm perched complacently on its back. The air reeks of something: of what, he can’t be certain —— maybe it’s the cheap booze, or maybe it’s the capricious mien of his so-called “date”. His good eye never leaves her face. Instead, he offers a grin. It’s a derisive, cruel thing: wicked, jagged like a weapon; his thumb grazes the grip safety of his glock, fondling it idly as it’s set upon the table. Dangerously complacent.
‘ And here I was, hoping this’d be interesting. ’
Pretty-boy. Tsk. It almost warrants a snort. Still, he accepts a cigarette out of etiquette alone; it’s something to keep the hands occupied, at least, even if the stench sits ill in his stomach. Too much like the old days, he thinks; hell, this whole place is damnably indiscernible from way back when: scuzzy people with even scuzzier motives, huddled around some scuzzy counter. Well, well, well. Filth always did have its way of filtering back into the gutter: he's no different.
‘ Oh-ho, don’t tell me…you're looking for your juicy fill, aren't you? Fine, I'll bite. But it'll take more than a few catchpenny smokes to make me dish the goods. ------ Eye for an eye, and all that. Deal? ’
I am sick, sick. With this desperate fury.
Sylvia Plath, from The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via luthienne)
let's go stargazing !
‘ What’s this? You would indulge such a dreadful old man? ’
The quirk of his brow is but a tell-tale bout of bemusement: perhaps it comes with the uncertainty; the careful traipse over land uncharted, an entire world of gentility he knows so scarcely of. Soleil is, of course, the very antithesis of all he stood to be: sun and moon, as it were —— or rather, night and day, if Éponine had any say in the matter. Oh, but what a precious star she was, no less! Burning bright and true, radiance like some pale fire upon her; a dress to be worn whilst dazzling the world afoot. It's the difference that matters, he thinks, and he relishes the fact that no wretched part of him is reflected in her.
‘ Buuut, breaking curfew is a very serious offense, young lady, and you know I don’t cheap out on penal regimen. ’
It’s a faux sternness that colours his cadence, and nothing short of it. Even if it were a true refutation, he isn’t daft enough to believe that any solitary man could weather her spirits ( for she could find a way to coerce the blasted mountains, that one ). He can scantly cloister the soft felicity that follows from her offer alone, nathless, and any attempt meets a deft end when crossed arms soon unfold in one surly gesture untoward the door.
‘ ------ Well? What are you waiting for? Lead the way. ’
i object