Cosy ˖˚⊹

The designs of him as a villain are so akdjksjxjsjfjdjdjfj i love it so much i cant kajxjwjdjejjdjdjdj

you ever think about how Stone is insanely skilled, competent, and self sufficient G.U.N agent, who doesn't NEED Robotnik in any capacity, but he's so enamored with him he just happily goes along with whatever plans he has

...me neither

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH DIWJSIQNSIWNDKJDIDKSKDBSJDJWK

To all the Yona haters out there, the creators of totk really said por que no los dos

Edit. I don't care if it's a shit post stop telling me to delete it. I reject your Yona hate and substitute with Sidon has two hands you fun sucking assholes.

Lee Speak -

- Mean = “You’re embarrassing me and making me blush.”

- Rude = “Keep bullying me please.”

- Whines = “Give me attention right now!”

- Pouts = “I said attention NOW!”

- Stop = “Keep tickling me.”

- Not there = “Wreck that spot till I can’t think clearly.”

- Please = “Don’t stop tickling.”

- Giggles = “I’m cute. Tickle me.”

- Name-calling = “OMG tickle me, you have no idea how bad this lee mood is.”

- Make me = “Pin me down and make me regret my actions.”

- What are you gonna do about it = “Tickle me till I cry.”

- Safeword = “Really time to stop tickling.”

He looks like he’s about to curse someone out omg

aesthetistt

OW

After (Stobotnik, Angst, Spoilers)

Joy does not come easily. Not since the doctor's been gone. A storm has taken root in Aban’s mind—wild, desperate, and unrelenting. It howls through his thoughts, rattles in his chest, and refuses to quiet.

Even now, there are moments where he forgets. His hand drifts across the sheets at night, searching for the steady thrum of the doctor’s pulse, but his fingers find only emptiness. His traitorous soul pleads for a heart that no longer beats. His flesh aches for the warmth of a body long gone. His ears strain for a voice that will never again break the silence.

And still, night after night, he reaches out. 

He drinks just to feel some kind of warmth, but it never lasts. The burn fades too quickly, leaving only the hollow ache in his chest, which Ivo used to fill. He wears the doctor's clothes until they hang off him like a second skin, fabric worn thin from desperate hands clinging to what little is left. He buries his face in the collars, inhales deep, searching for a scent that time is stealing from him. But it’s fading—just like everything else.

So he watches those stupid telenovelas the doctor loved so much, letting the overly dramatic sobs and badly written love confessions fill the silence. He scoffs at their predictability, but still, he watches. Every night. The same episodes. The same storylines. He waits for the doctor’s laughter, for the amused sound he used to give at every plot twist. But it never comes. It never will.

And still, he watches.

Every morning, he makes two cups of coffee—one for himself, one for the doctor. He doesn’t think about it; his hands move on their own, guided by muscle memory, by a love that refuses to rot. He steams the Austrian goat’s milk just the way the doctor liked it, watching the froth rise, the scent curling into the air like a ghost.

And then he drinks them both.

He never liked the taste of the doctor’s order, but that doesn’t matter to him. He forces it down, warm and bitter, a punishment, a prayer. At least it makes the absence feel less real and stifling. Some mornings, he catches himself placing the second cup across the table, waiting. Staring at it, watching the steam dissipate into nothing.

He knows that nobody will drink the coffee other than him. But still, he waits.

He tells himself that if he cries enough, if he drowns himself in grief, maybe the universe will take pity and return what it stole from him. He prays—kneeling on the floor and sobbing until his ribs ache, until his throat is raw and his lungs rattle with the weight of unshed screams. His hands tremble; they clutch at empty air and desperately try to grasp something that isn’t there.

Aban was never a religious man. He never believed in gods or fate or miracles. Yet still, he prays. As if grief alone could bridge the chasm between life and death.

He is a dancer whose body moves to a rhythm no one can hear, spinning in an endless, futile waltz and waiting for a partner who will never return. A singer whose voice has been stolen. A scientist who holds all the secrets of the universe in his hands but cannot make a single soul understand one.

Nobody could ever begin to understand what he lost—what he’s condemned to live without, day after day.

The warmth of gentle, calloused hands. Unspoken adoration wrapped in sharp edges, tangled with beauty, anger, and pain. The quiet comfort of soft evenings he spent crocheting, the golden light of the setting sun casting long shadows as Ivo’s fingers worked deftly, repairing one of his creations—his eyes alight with focus, the hum of his breath filling the room.

Now, there is only silence. The void of his absence echoes in every corner of the space they once shared, the unspoken promises of things left unfinished. And Aban is left, holding on to the fragments of a life that no longer exists, his heart a hollow ache, unable to fill the space where Ivo once stood. And yet, in the stillness, the memories cling to him, jagged like glass shards embedded in skin. He can almost hear Ivo’s voice in the soft creak of the floorboards and feel his presence in the cold drafts that slip through the cracks. But it fades. Always fades.

penelope didn't have to turn the tree bed into a riddle. she could have asked odysseus to prove his identity, to tell her something only he would know — which she actually did a few books earlier, when she asked the beggar to describe odysseus, and odysseus told her about a purple cloak with a particular golden brooch that she fastened herself twenty years ago. when penelope tells telemachus they have signs by which they'll know each other, you sort of expect more of the same. and instead, she decides to trap him. like a bug in a cup.

and it's delightful to me, idk, how odysseus has been trapped and cornered in various way throughout the odyssey, but arguably never so that he has to tell the truth to get out. (with the phaeacians, maybe? the omniscient narrator corroborates some of what he tells them, but do we really know everything?) and in fact he is not trying to get free of penelope. he wants something from her, wants to convince her, wants to be welcomed home, but until this point he's lied to her, revealed himself to other people before her, and been distant with her (though also patient! he doesn't try to strongarm or rush her into accepting him; it's his idea to sleep elsewhere).

except penelope isn't looking for him to be distant and patient. penelope lies in a way that requires odysseus to stop playing along — not only to prove that he knows what odysseus knows, but that he's willing to tell the truth about himself.

This show has my brain acting feral rn i cant ;-;

Nah i wont question it but i will definitely fluster you

Fuck it we ball

Tummy Tuesday

If anyone says anything weird you will be blocked ❤️ (teasing is alright i dont mind it)

why is that shirt huge on me jeez

Reblogging for reference later totally no reason girlfriend dont worry its totally not (thats a lie) for you

t-word things that will ruin me (and my reputation)

1. telling me i’m cute when i’m blushing

2. one finger trailing down my sole. or my side. or my tummy. or literally anywhere

3. lulling me into a false sense of security by starting with massages, running your fingers through my hair, tummy rubs, etc.

4. POINTING OUT THE FACT THAT I LIKE IT DEAR GOD ITS SO EVIL BUT ITS SO GREAT

5. the frickin finger walking thing

6. keeping your fingers INCHES from my skin and wiggling them without actually touching me

7. whispering in my ear esPECIALLY IF YOU TEASE ME ABOUT WHAT YOU’RE GOING TO DO OR TALK ABOUT I HOW YOU KNOW I’M ENJOYING IT OH MY GOD I WILL MELT INTO A PUDDLE 

8. growling playfully (especially when nibbling!) 

9. speaking of which, TICKLISH NIBBLES 

10. saying “that sound you made was so cute/ let’s see if we can get you to make that sound again” like I will be so red

11. using the t word as much as possible

12. making me admit something/ say the t word to get you to stop

13. USING YOUR FRICKIN NAILS

14. nuzzly tickles 

15. surprise attacks

16. fingers tracing down my spine

17. teasing me iN PUBLIC LIKE WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT I CANT FALL APART IN FRONT OF ALL THESE PEOPLE 

18. anticipation in any form. literally ANY form

19. picking me up gently to move me to a bed, couch, etc.

20. calling me nicknames ( @takeaguessitsjess keep your mouth shut)

they keep adopting strays it’s become a problem