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C - Blog Posts
This is the last photo before the winter I got of them! I don't have any from over the winter though so that's a bit saf:<
This how it feels to post my art on this fuckin hellscape😭😭
As in order:
X - entity of reincarnation
W - entity of loopholes
C - entity of change
G - entity of ???
Alpha(going under heavy redesign) - entity of crystalline
J jr. - entity of creation
L - entity of chaos
J - the entity
Basic summary: J and L were alone in the emptiness before creating their own little universe. Slowly creatures and things of anything they could possibly imagine was made and the two had started playing games. They started to grow bored before creating others like them to play, they wanted to watch the individual minds that they have worked on to see new ideas spring to life until something interesting happens…
This is an animation series that i am planning on creating, i am currently working on a beta-testing book. If my characters and book are shared and loved and y’all want more, then I’ll start animating little gifs or memes or amvs to get the hype train going until i got a script under control. Once i have enough support, then casting calls. This first animation series will be called, “just a game”
1111...
Wow my name’s is pretty sexy. I honestly don’t think it is but hey, blame the “n” and “i”.
McKenzie
How sexy is your name?
Add the letters in your first name using the numbers below =) - Under 60 points= NOT TOO SEXY - Between 61-300 points= PRETTY SEXY - Between 301-599 points= VERY SEXY - Over 600= THE ULTIMATE SEXIEST
A=100 B=14 C=9 D=28 E=145 F=12
G=3 H=10 I=200 J=100 K=114 L=100 M=25
N=450 O=80 P=2 Q=12 R=400 S=113 T=405
U=11 V=10 W=10 X=3 Y=210 Z=23
Don’t forget to add your name and your total!!!
I hope you enjoyed Kenny being silly goofy annoying his friends because he won't be in a silly goofy mood for a long while now
I hope you enjoyed Kenny being silly goofy annoying his friends because he won't be in a silly goofy mood for a long while now
Happy Valentine’s Day! <3
fifteen years old
im a wee sad gremlin today because Ao3 is down tomorrow at 8am-6pm for me :c
WHAT ABOUT MY MIDMORNING SNACKS OF ANGST/FLUFF?!
Capa para a fanfic “A culpa é das estrelas” escrito por Bynario para a seção de Yuri on Ice.
Como devem ver, eu meio que me inspirei na capa de A culpa é das estrelas para a produção dessa capa, então quero muito agradecer ao João verde *cof cof John Green -qq* pelo livro que fez tanto sucesso e o famoso “okay? okay.” que marcou tanto minha adolescência UHSAUHSA
Se inspire! Não copie! Créditos aos Fanartistas ~
Link da fanfic em breve.
I'm so sorry, guys, but he IS hot.
[ slap ] sender slaps receiver in the face ( gojo @ geto. make it hurt )
a shadow crosses his face, then, like clouds passing over the sun. he tastes blood numbing the back row of his teeth, he testes the joints, thumb and index finger pressed around his jaw. everything seems back place. save for the hair that sticks to his sweat-damped forehead, he’s the perfect image of nonchalance. suguru laughs only after he’s made stock of it, a shallow rumble, humorless. “did it make you feel better? i hope it did. there won’t be a second time.”
he could hear the flickering lights, electricity’s vibrations as though every lightbulb was close to give out at any moment and submerge them in total darkness. that would make it easy, should he opt to kill satoru here. but he figures he’d prefer watching it, make sure their eyes meet before one of them huffs out their last breath. the bandages around his knuckles are tight as they were from the beginning, satoru’s shirtless frame bathed in the dim lights and a perfect contrast to the concrete walls closing in around them, the longer their attention remained on each other. suguru’s sides are bruised, he can feel it as he swallows in air. not a ruptured rib but something else. as for his face… well, all he had left was the vague hope that it wouldn’t swell come morning.
“isn’t it a tragedy? that we couldn’t do this when we were younger.” he recalls in that moment how many times they’d come close to defeat one another.
though the competition was a half-hearted attempt at showing off their prowess, the confrontation never escalated into anything worthy worrying about by the standers. for masamichi, however, it was the source of many headaches. looking back now, and their current positions, sizing each other up within the limits of their territories, blooded and dirty, anything from years past might as well have been a childish dream. it hurt, because deep down they wanted it to hurt. if that was satoru’s attempt - suguru’s own attempt at channeling misery elsewhere, the broken shards, he wasn’t exactly sure what to do once the feeling had been conveyed. the only thing he’s sure of, and the reason they’re here, exchanging blows, is that he wants satoru to look nowhere else. focus on me.
“try to get your memories back, satoru. when have you ever defeated me in hand-to-hand combat?” a sharp kick, a flip in the air, and his other heel connects with satoru’s jaw. “an eye for an eye.”
suddenly they’re seventeen again, his cocky grin and the raised fists taunting him, goading satoru into something harsher, because jumping head on to a challenge has always been his virtue and his biggest weakness. suguru laughed, again, the sound echoing in the vacant room in a way that the previous one hadn’t. suguru lures him in, flitting two fingers at satoru’s wide-eyed expression. “try even closer, satoru. i have yet to pay you back for the headlock from earlier.”
@koseigu
❛ oh no, i'm not finished with you yet. ❜ 🎩 🤨
@limel1ghts
with no shortage of surprise, their bodies fit in together more perfectly than puzzle pieces. it’s cramped, the narrow space inside the car emphasizing each and every movement as xia fei adjusts himself beneath the weight of liu xiao’s thighs, heartbeats separated only by a thin film of flesh and bone and clothes that his fingers are quick to undo swiftly. have you had your first kiss yet? he’d asked.
to his surprise, xia fei answered yes, and honest as ever he rambled, described how sweet it was, how innocent, how pure. a past that’s too far to graze with his fingertips. it only makes him want to corrupt him, pollute the memory, replace it with the metallic aftertaste of blood on his tongue but he holds back the urge, masks it behind a head tilt, their noses brushing as he brings their mouths closer, their breaths melting into a single pool.
“was it anything like this?” he begins, considers tormenting him a little but how can he? there’s hardly anything he and vein have ever denied this man. he coaxes him into it, though, his palms running up the expanse of xia fei’s arms, enclosing the curve of his shoulders, his nape, the blonde hair that’s grown humid with sweat - is he nervous? excited? he wants to believe he wants this just as much as liu xiao does. for every time xia fei’s turned down his advances, he’s dreamed of this tenfold.
“how did she do it? was it slow at first, hm?” defiant eyes mismatching the hard grip on his hips, his whole body tensing and liu xiao takes it as his cue to mouth at his lower lip, “ or was it hasty? did you prefer it rough? ” his right hand wraps around xia fei’s jaw, like it means to crush, the forceful grip allowing liu xiao’s tongue to slip in and press hot against his, attention fixed on his reactions.
“how far did you two go?”
words that settle it - a statement hidden in the dark hues that look down into xia fei’s very soul. he wants to sink his fingers in, wade in, until he’s reached his marrow. a wave of drunken delight seeps through, overly familiar, like he’d been here before. like it’s meant to be. perhaps it’s his mind playing tricks on him, keeping him in a deep fog, one that he welcomes nonetheless. liu xiao leans back and on his elbows - or means to until the separation is abruptly erased by xia fei’s arms tightening around his waist.
❛ oh no, i'm not finished with you yet. ❜
he heeds the warning, excitement stirring at the base of his stomach. their mouths are back onto each other, it’s less kissing this time and more panting, like a thirst barely contained, choking on water, his attention fixed on grabbing xia fei’s belt, searching for the hem of his pants. he licks a wet stripe up his palm before he shoves it down and takes both in a firm grip. “did she treat you like this?” he mumbles next to his ear, voice low and visceral and vicious in its teasing - he bites, too, starting at his earlobe and following a path down his adam’s apple, his collarbones. “who did you like more? her… or this?”
ordered a horror stories book online and it made me think that Geto doesn't have a favorite genre to read, he will read any book that piques his curiosity and finishes it whether he likes its contents or not, because he just has to finish what he started. it's after his deflection that he begins to be more selective of what he reads, completely discarding books that are popular among non-sorcerers, finding it annoying to have something in common with them as he continously tries to draw the line that separates them, a constant reminder of the position he chose to be in and to avoid any notion of sympathy born from their linked interest.
❛ i'm not gonna last long if you tighten up like that, sweetheart. ❜ to lx ❤️
vein had set something in motion. long before england, somewhere, like a miscalculation, the error flashing on the screen. liu xiao finds it challenging, to find a pattern in what’s unpredictable, because everything and everyone is prone to fall into place at one point. their singular meeting point is this: pain.
a dark flame pushes through, burns from within. vein’s hands hold him steady, his back feels wet where the wine spilled and perhaps there’s blood soaking into his clothes, but he doesn’t dare to wonder beyond that - his mind can’t move past that point, because vein’s hunger is the selfish kind, he doesn’t like it when his attention wanders elsewhere, so a hand quickly wrenches his face upward, eyes back on him.
look at me. his eyes tell.
not minutes ago, this table had been occupied by his henchmen. dangerous men, dressed in tight-pressed suits, tense as wooden dolls. no matter how many times they’d seen it, the vision of man eating man would always serve as the haunting reminder that whatever separated them from being on the plate was their boss’ own humor. changing weather.
“you fuck on the same table that you eat?” he’d never obsessed about this kind of details, letting out a soft chuckle when vein dismisses his words, wedges his thighs apart with his own weight and begins to move. “hah - i guess it’s no different.”
nothing but corruption, there’s no semblance of beauty to it, merely the pleasure of a hungry beast seeking for his own amusement, like he was toying with his prey. liu xiao feels himself pressing around vein, chest constricting. his gaze followed the direction of vein’s finger, coming closer to his face and burying itself inside his parted mouth, pushing in, his thumb roaming the flat of his wet tongue and back row of teeth, ‘lick them clean’ he’d said.
ah, he remembered, then, where that hand hand been, stroking both their erections until they were ready - until vein was ready to ram into him as he was now. liu xiao closed his mouth around the digit, palming at his forearm, tracing the tense muscles all the way up to vein’s shoulder, where he found the fresh wound of a bite mark, digging his nails deep and unkindly. his body is yanked back down across the table, then, feeling as though he’d been plunged into ice water, muscles going stiff as vein hit a particularly sensitive spot, gauging his reaction, smiling wide at the whine that rumbles through the fingers still exploring liu xiao’s half-closed mouth.
i'm not gonna last long if you tighten up like that, sweetheart.
noticing his cue, liu xiao wrapped his legs around vein’s waist, a snake’s embrace that brought him even closer in, warmth against warmth, melting at the intersection. the fingers now coated in spit found their way south and began to stroke liu xiao in lethargic motions, keeping him suspended in air, desperate for release. he pulled vein down and into an open-mouthed kiss, sucking on his tongue. “don’t hold back on my behalf. not that you’ve ever done it before, have you?”
@burntpa1ace
before bed kiss. 🧍🏾♂️ souma and mr geto sir.
it’s in bed that he feels the most restless.
like an earthquake, memories that he’d long since buried would resurface, the epicenter of which started with the familiar voices of old classmates and friends murmuring his name, in the dark, sometimes obtaining a physical form in the corner, sometimes as lingering touch on the set of his brows, ghostly as thin air. he rolls up on his bed and is greeted by the blurry vision of still curtains. summer’s embrace coated him in a layer of sweat, uncomfortable enough that lying down and still on his mattress does little to appease the thoughts swirling in his mind.
it’s until he grasps at the strings of consciousness that he notices the body lying next to him, the soft breathing pressing at his sides as though cradling a new-born bird in hand, warm and fragile to the touch. the night sat still, eerily so. if a pin dropped, maybe souma and him would’ve been able to hear it echo in the quietness of the room.
“can’t sleep?” more like an observation than a question, suguru whispers from his position, his voice a hiss as though every syllable carried the weight of exhaustion as they left his lips. though this night is like any other, souma’s presence in his room is entirely new. not for the first time he’s overcome with urge to touch him, unsure whether the souma in front of him is corporeal or a midnight illusion, a haunting presence to torture his lonely soul.
or an escape.
suguru blinks weariness away, a single digit traces the sharp dip of souma’s nose, then down to his lips. there, his skin is greeted by the warmth of his shallow breathing. he remembered, then, like a flame flickering before it’s put out, the taste of those lips against his own.
they’d been soft, feather-like, and bittersweet. it had none of the innocence he imagined, so foreign, and he remembered having to chase after the sensation, as though it eluded him, not out of fear but something else entirely. ‘have you been told’ he’d said in an undertone, burying his nose in the crook of his shoulder, lips pressed onto sun-kissed skin and into a thin smile, ‘that you’re like a scaredy cat.’
although he meant nothing bad by it, his words gained him a light reprimand, and the moment subdued into quietness and then into deep sleep. he wondered how long souma had lay awake, if he’d waited for suguru to open his eyes and pick up from they stopped - the conversation or the intimate exchange altogether. he glances at the clock on his bedside. it’s way past midnight.
“usually, people are scared of the dark.” the hand that touched souma’s face had moved down, two fingers waltzed across his arm and the dip of his waist, voice going down by a few octaves, “sorcerers aren’t the exception. i believe that there’s an irony in that. we’re born with the ability to stare into the dark, the blackest darkness you can imagine, and yet we can conjure a primal fear like that. if a darkness curse existed, i wonder if it would be something that can be exorcised. it’s rhetorical, you don’t have to answer.”
a pause. their gazes meet, gold and grey, the shades of a cloudy sky. though it’s too hot outside to bring their bodies closer, the proximity mirrors the feeling of spilled blood.
“are you afraid of the dark?”
@sukareo
"You look like you've got something to say," Koito glares at Ogata defensive in advance.
a brat will always be a brat.
maybe it’s the irony of fate, should ogata believe in fate at all, or maybe another force was secretly at play, and they’d always be bound to meet halfway, in the same position as all those years back. ogata huffs out a mirthless laugh, ghost-pains where his eye should’ve been - had been not longer than a few days before - anchor him to the present. second lietunant koito, sprawled on the ground, helpless, a wounded puppy for all the barking he did around tsurumi’s feet on the daily. it’s annoying, it makes him want to break him badly.
he doesn’t, only keeps the urge at bay, for now. his gun remains still against the back of koito’s head, feeling his muscles tense below the barrel. he won’t hold out for much longer, the aching wounds becoming more persistent by the second, but he finds enough strength in himself to roll koito over and on his back, heel digging in the crook of his adam’s apple and sharp collarbone. ogata knows what it feels like, to feel cartilage giving into the pressure of a heavy step. it would be so easy…
“heh, i sure do. didn’t realize you were so concerned about me that you’d come visit. i’m moved.” ogata watches him with a dark gleam in his eye, mockery undisturbed, only heightened by the morphine traversing through his veins finally kicking in in-between words. “it’s not the first time you’ve been cornered like this. how many times is that going to happen until it sticks, that you’re not cut out for this?”
his foot presses lower, above koito’s ribcage, and the gun hovers on the space between his eyes. the gun's been unlocked from the start; it's unfinished business. at last his foot was in the throbbing expanse of his chest, which had only grown broader, a man's frame, even larger than ogata's had been when he was koito's age. heartbeats rumbled against bare skin. sweat pools like jewels on his temple, framing those features, as though painted from the finest inks. as if everything about him is a mirror of his lineage.
“spoiled brat.” the vowels come sharper than japanese, rusty from misuse. he searches for that feeling again, sour on his tongue, invokes the anger that had made him try and riddle his pretty skull with bullets back then.
instead he watches, quietly, as koito squirms. fights to regain control. the kick comes faster than he assumed his body could take, but he strikes koito’s face with the unceremonious grace that you’d haul corpses on the battlefield. he throws a last glance over his shoulder, for memory’s sake, perhaps. or because he just wanted to see him cry a little, as he’d done at tsurumi’s lap many times before.
@muddsludge
"You're losing my interest and that's very dangerous." Usami to Ogata
interest came in many forms.
for the privates of the 7th division, interest could only be defined by the free-fall act of rebellion coiling in the guts of their infantry, the belly of it all. a less prominent interest, but existing altogether within the rows and rows of hungry men looking for recognition was, undoubtedly, the merciful caress of their first lieutenant’s hand.
like a kid searching for their father’s approval, soldiers lined up for morning call expecting to hear or witness first lieutenant tsurumi’s fanfare, the speeches that could go on for hours on end, basking in the sound of his own voice. ogata could almost see it, had wanted it for a while before he’d found something else - amber eyes, the asymmetry of a war-scarred face - to keep his rapt attention and stomach well-fed.
usami doesn’t seem the type who’d rather look anywhere else. their gazes meet, locked in place by the silent feeling of recognition: he saw in usami’s expression a familiar sort of necessity, the kind he’d found himself stepping back into every time he brought a dead bird back home, in ibaraki. whether tsurumi glanced back and gave usami the attention he sought for, that’s entirely up for debate. he doubted it would be any more different than appraisal, the kind that officers perform routinely with every new stock of mosin-nagants.
it’s only then that be becomes aware of the thickening smell of antiseptic, gunpowder and death. an amused smirk tugs at his lips, voice falling a few octaves, words slurred by the remnants of anaesthesia lingering in his system. “dangerous, for who?”
“prey animals don’t turn their backs to their predators. it's in their best interest, don't you agree?”
@muddsludge
toying around with the thought that maybe mukuro's persistent, looming presence in the plot even after he's been imprisoned by Vindice, although superficially disguised as a method of espionage, for someone of his intelligence and self-awareness there's a big probability that he does it in order to stay sane, being in solitude as he is. submerged in water, deprived of all his five senses, it must come at the cost of sanity and that's precisely why only the most dangerous criminals are sentenced to that type of confinement in rebornverse so it's an interesting concept to think about, that illusions are what keep him connected to reality.
"let me see your hand" - 6918 🥺
here’s the charm about illusions: you can almost believe them.
it takes practice, a wild current of willpower to deceive oneself better than false replications, and perhaps that’s the trick of it: what is true and what is a lie? who’s to decide what the fabric of reality truly feels like under the touch? it’s a role reserved only for the strongest, that’s what he believes.
mukuro presses their palms flat against each other, sensing - believing that he is - the warmth that passes through leather gloves, pouring like hot liquid until something melts inside his ribcage. it’s all sorts of familiar: he’s felt it when victory is close, when the first breath of wind caught in his lungs after escaping the endless, pearl-white corridors of the facility in which they kept him and the rest. it had rained earlier that day, so the damp feeling stuck for days after that, shriveled skin and muddied feet.
it’s at that moment that he realizes he’s smiling. something mirrored in kyoya’s eyes, something that makes it harder to break away from the curious digits curling around his own. mukuro locks their gazes, narrowing the space in-between, “shyness doesn’t suit you, all things considered. although your fangs have long since been plucked out, i did always enjoy seeing you struggle to protect your dignity.”
hibari kyoya must think himself stronger than they’d last been, ten years ago. the moment mukuro’s words leave his mouth, he’s pulled closer and his collar is clased around a tight fist. it’s a thorny encounter, of sorts, but he welcomes it, for lack of anything better to do. a smirk tugs at mukuro’s lips - this temper… is endearing.
his free hands lifts to tangle a loose strand of ink-black hair.
“see? that’s much better.”
@sukareo