Discover Top Posts Tagged with #because i'm predictable

| Don't leave me All by myself in this world |

#zakkura #zack fair #cloud strife #ff7 #final fantasy vii #las!art #finally drew them again after the game was released #something bigger than just a meme #i so needed to #and kinda got to vent this way about how meh i am about zack's storyline in rebirth #so i went for my fave thing about the whole game #because i'm predictable #with forget me nots and the blood in cloud's hair.#i love their relationship (romantic or not) so much #my fave aspect of the game #my babies my sweethearts #i love them so much okay #i need to lay down now

Turning my Pokemon Shining Pearl team into a Royal Court Part 2

Part 1

Prince Casanova (Roserade) and his personal guard, Sir Anubis (Lucario)

#pokemon royal court #pokemon #pokemon team #digital fanart #fanart #pokemon fanart #mm #lucario #pokemon au #i had to make it gay #also Lucario is always Anubis in my games #because i'm predictable #pokemon gijinka #gijinka

Alabaster organising the war for the titan army vs Alabaster planning how to ask out his crush

#pjo #percy jackson #alabaster c torrington #alabaster torrington #the crush is obvs ethan #because I'm predictable #al and his siblings had a big conspiracy board in his room #in both the Andromeda and on Mt Othrys #of just #everything they know about Ethan #so he can optimise his asking out plan #and by extension first date #for the war tho #he got his strats from animorphs #Q ay u ay

the self is not so weightless

(tw: blood, death)

...because Bucky Barnes is the angelic kind of Death, who walks softly next to you in the dark to lead you out of life. The kind of Death who holds you in warm hands and tells you softly to look at his face, sweetheart, focus on his face because if you look down you’ll see his warm hands bloody to the elbows and his boots caked in mud and dirt and the viscera of forgotten things. The kind of Death who kisses you on the forehead and closes your eyes in a soft sweep of fingers so that you don’t see him stand up and shoulder his rifle, draw his knife, tighten his fist. The kind of Death who stands tall with hard blue eyes as he walks away from your body because this is the way of things in war, and there will be another corpse to comfort tomorrow night. The kind of Death who whispers Kaddish into the cold night air, ghosts of clouded breath floating up to a God he no longer quite believes in. The kind of Death who walks boldly to meet his own end, but who slips and falls - a greater Death blessed him, but never gave him wings.