anyway im remade the blog so dm me for a follow there ig
One Nice Bug Per Day
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
h
dirt enthusiast
Jules of Nature
TVSTRANGERTHINGS


Janaina Medeiros
NASA

⁂

Discoholic 🪩

oozey mess
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
🪼
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

shark vs the universe
RMH
d e v o n

@theartofmadeline

Andulka

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@veilati-a
anyway im remade the blog so dm me for a follow there ig

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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anyway im remade the blog so dm me for a follow there ig
anyway im remade the blog so dm me for a follow there ig
anyway im remade the blog so dm me for a follow there ig
anyway im remade the blog so dm me for a follow there ig

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
lmao the adventures of writing muse bio and trying not to make them sound like a shitbag whilst still making sure everyone knows theyre objectively criminal
“ready?” from the bank of the river, he stands, palms and fingers alike cupped around some presently-hidden treasure; his gaze flirts between his hands and hers, encouraging her to mirror his mannerism. when she does, doppio gifts her a little toad, almost tender, and leans in to run a finger across its little head. it rumbles in response. “heheh, look, they talk!”
for a moment, a mere second is gaze frozen with sheer reluctance to believe an amphibian has been placed into your hands, but what could you truly expect from a picnic near the river ? damn. for sure you were one to expect a pretty looking rock, or a mineral of sorts —— just to be met with contact of slimy substance to skin, grossly icky ( something you assume innards & toads have in common, ) & sticky !! for some reason you cannot stand the sight of the latter more so. how ugly.
❝ —— ah, ❞ do lungs exhale in response to the now showcased to the both of you gift resting within own palms. a wordless exchange, but that is all you can muster for now, without a display of definite nauseate slowly building up within, ( best not to offend your date ! ) deep set eyne can only look down, then up, then down once again, unblinking & searching for some sort of confirmation coming from him, alas, all you receive is a subdued chortle. that’s cute, you think & almost, almost forget what you were originally upset about, just for the issue to make itself prominent again by the noise that follows suit. ❝ they always do that ?? talk, i mean. ❞ ugh, so noisy too. was this a gift ? by the manner he presented it to you, it could almost be considered one yet you, personally wouldn’t call it that by any means, quite the opposite ... is this your idea of a romantic date ? frown tugs at lips full, foreshadowing a short lived tch to oneself. putting a filthy, ( senselessly to add, damn nasty & ugly ) toad in my hands ? i should’ve said no, you think, & then part mouth as if to state the overt, yet not say, as now that you sound it out in your head ... it echos a tad too mean for your liking, ( not something you take into the count often, however ... today is different. ) ❝ it feels ... ❞ gross, gross, gross ! disgusting ! outright nasty ! ❝ —— weird to hold, here, doppio, ❞ palms move over promptly, aligning with his to hopefully make it hop over to him ( or whatever they do, anyways, ) & leave you alone, yet it only stares with those big blank eyes instead of moving as if to piss you off further. that’s its agenda for certain, & it almost feels ridiculous. ❝ ... get it off, please. ❞ you ask, politely, ( just in case it’ll get you anywhere, ) but if it doesn’t, you can always say you dropped it by accident. oops.
@crimsenza, for the playlist / webweaving thing.
— allies or enemies, the crane wives / how to save a life, the fray / little soldiers, the crane wives / @frenchtoastlesbian / @bipeds

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maybe it’s better if my opponent wins. / miklan @ glenn
war of the foxes. // @crimsenza accepting.
HAD HIS GRIP BEEN ON ANYTHING FRAILER than moralta’s hilt, glenn may have shattered it, blood boiling as hot as it was right then and there. maybe it is better if my opponent wins echoes in his mind & the face of one certain margrave arises in the back of his mind, the ugly, monstrous figure of a pretense of a father, no, rather, of a progenitor [ —ah, but he is not blind: he knows too well had his bloodline not been blessed, rodrigue may not have been as kind; had felix and him both not been crested, perhaps one of them may have suffered a similar fate, but this, this is not the point, not when anger muddles his sight ].
in a quick stride towards the redhead, he finds a hand bunched into his shirt, teeth gritted as he hisses words out, less venomous and more desperate. this is not time for vitriol; one more thread snaps and maybe, maybe he loses a friend for once and all. had he not been shorter, he would have been pulling him upwards, the picture of his indignation painted clear in the scowl on his face. “so you will let his judgement of you win?! you will let the margrave and his ancient, foolish ways win over your talents, miklan? what are you, a man or some sort of sniveling rat?”
[ the words are stuck in his throat, in between his pride and the bile that threatens to rise in his throat: come with me. come with the knights. he does not deserve your tactical sense, nor your terrible sense of humor, nor any part of you, crestless or not. show him you’re more than his name— ]
blue meets hazel. provemewrongprovemewrongprovemwrong. in face of his indifference, of his resignation, something snaps in his chest and he pushes him off, jaw setting into grim disapproval. “fine. give up. suits your nihilism well, you fool.”
when glenn turns his back that afternoon, he tastes most bitter defeat—a taste unfamiliar for a prodigy like himself, certainly, but dreadfully, not nearly unfamiliar enough.
the opponent, the mutual foe: it has won yet again.

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nadja clasps hubert’s hands in her own, grotesquely fascinated by the inky violet that seems to be staining his fingertips; its texture is scar-like, as if he’d touched a hot iron until its impression became permanent.
she’d have been horrified, were these markings not so familiar. she held his father’s hands, she holds her son’s. she’d already asked the important questions: does it hurt when others touch them. will i get hurt if i touch them. are they painful?
“be careful.” she insists, fitting a white glove over his hand as if he’s still a boy, and she’s buttoning his coat. what a pathetic thing to say. she’s certain her son’s off to commit crimes she willingly closes her ears to. careful isn’t on the table. she tries again.
“i love you.” that’s even worse. hubert can’t want to hear that, can he? she doesn’t know if she wants to hear that. she’s his mother, but he’s sworn the emperor’s blade. sentiment is no longer a valid currency, but it doesn’t mean she likes to consider how he’d do her in, if it was ordered. one more try.
“come home soon.” better than nothing. / unprompted; @crimsenza
HANDS ARE WARM AND SOFT WHERE THEY CLASP HIS, the brush of thumbs over rough, magic-scarred skin; sensation dulled, the price paid for a kind of magic that was never meant to be wielded by them. magic gifted to them by the same forces that had imprisoned and tortured lady edelgard, all those years ago, the knowledge of which had been passed from vestra to vestra; ironic, is it not, that they should use their own magic, their own technology to fight them ?
he watches with rapt attention as she fits a glove over his hand, brow furrowed; he is not a child any longer, has not needed such things from her in more than a decade, yet he cannot bring himself to protest. ( she has always been rather reserved in her affections, but then, he is no different, is he ? he has always been his mother’s son. )
be careful, she says; does she believe him capable of acting with anything less than the utmost of care ? he has never taken a risk that wasn’t calculated, has never put his own life in danger without the certainty that it was necessary.
i love you, she says, and his eyes widen at that, a brow arched. [ certainly he knows his mother loves him, but they do not say such things out loud; it simply isn’t their way. ] it’s a strange thing to hear out loud, and there’s no reason it should make something tighten in his chest, but it does all the same.
“ i know, ” he says simply. “ i love you, too. ” insufficient. paltry. years of emotions span between them, the words barely scratching the surface of them; what words could ever suffice ? [ yet the words sound stiff, stilted, faltering in his voice. ]
come home soon, she says, and that, more than anything, he cannot promise; he has no intention of dying, after all, but nor than he discount the possibility of it, and he has no idea how long the war will continue. months ? years ? only time will tell, he thinks.
he is no fool. he cannot discount the possibility that this may be the last time he sees her. ( there are provisions in place, in case he were to fall in battle. in case lady edelgard were to fall, too. she is already made a widow, after all; he would see her taken care of, regardless of the outcome of the war. he owes her that much. )
gloved hands give hers a gentle squeeze before releasing them. “ i will write to you when i can. ”