Friend

No bc they rly said ❤✨fan service✨❤

a baby in a bucket

slay

hi mouthwashing fandom finals are over whatd i miss

Dolores: So what does it eat?

Camilo: Updog.

Antonio: [starts breakdancing]

Camilo: Not yet. Wait until she asks what that is.

What the fuck is this

imagine not having a sister 💀

cats

could you maybe write something with zima/зима :3? i loved your writings with neuvilette!!!!

“ Now... now I'm going out for a walk... The moonlight is... beautiful... It's good for writing... Maybe... you should try to write a poem too. ” — zima / gn reader

There’s a particular silence in the air in which you have yet to get accustomed to; but for Zima, it was his comfortably preferred state of existence.

He does not speak a word to you in the middle of this cold expanse, the top of his cheeks a snowy pink hue as the bottom half of his face is buried warm under the top of his coat. This old, stone bridge was icy, yet it was glimmering under the brilliant moonlight. A mere simplicity his eyes followed—from the cracks of stone to the sightless ocean, from the ocean to the cloudless sky, and from the sky to the lonely moon. A serenity that encompassed nature; also only a serenity that encompassed you.

You, who encompassed his blanking mind of ethereal solace no poet could ever portray.

Due to his nature of silence, though it does not register to him—perhaps it does not occur to you how lines and lines of the prettiest sentences form in his head just at the sight of you, nor the penmanship inking the inner folds of his sleeves. They were stained with all the words he can think of to describe you, and all the rhyming lines that rivaled you to the royalty and to the heavens. He was quite dramatic at heart… But you didn’t need to know that.

No, not when he can barely form words around you. Not when sometimes, he has too many words to say and he cannot speak a single one of them. Not when you cloud his thoughts with foreign phrases—so admirably, and so helplessly lovestruck in analogy—he can’t even begin to try and translate to English. And so he keeps his mouth shut under his coat, choosing a silence he knows so well.

He sees you stop at the top of the bridge from his peripherals, halting in his steps to join as you stare out into the moonlit ocean. You were just as cold as he was—he could see it in the crinkle of your eyes; but when your head leans to rest on his arm, there’s a beating of his heart that makes him feel warmer than a fire.

“Are you cold?” you ask, gently like the brushing waves below.

“…No.”

It’s so artful, painfully woven like ribbon around his eyes, like he’s blinded by your brilliance in rivalry to the moon. Any poet would kill for a muse like you.

Yet, he still can’t find the words.

Maybe one day, he’ll be able to ink something. Maybe one day, his pen will be able to form something as beautiful as you are. But for now, in this present moment ( from the moon, to the stars, to the ocean, and to the ever-gleaming ice framing perfectly around the Earth ), even all nature were utterly minuscule to the way he thought of you.

🕰️ ;; thankyew anon for liking all my neuvillette fics because i hope they are clear to show how absolutely deranged and delusional i am over him ( insanity )