god sometimes i wonder how yall think of me. if you were following me on twitter youd probably know my exact views on bl but on here yall just see me reblogging gifsets of boys kissing and stuff as if i fully support the industry or something. i just want you to know i dont i think bl is highly flawed and the industry lives off of fetishization and profiting off of fanservice and the like which is disgusting. the whole rl shipping industry specifically annoys me a whole lot. either way my gay brain still loves to see boys kiss and ive also have a strange fondness for the weirdness of some of these shows
#also just feel like its a stepping stone for lgbt creators #especially filipino bl sports a lot of actually lgbt writers and actors etc #and the best thai bls have been mad by gay men... so #on one hand you can argue that theyre somewhat complicit in an industry that exploits them but its difficult lol
please believe me when I say this interaction popped into my head unwillingly I’m on my hands and knees😢
(ft @onegroovyrose ‘s brainrot fav and mine 😳)
#I don’t think race exists in maplestory or at least not under the same names 😩 #the subtext and similarities are there though 😔 #21sharts#/maplestory#/neinheart#/yugioh#/zexal#/Christopher arclight #chris brainrot and neinheart brainrot are the same disease 😫 #animals of the same genus … #events in the same historical era …. #rocks from the same. stone ???
#shut up soda #i may have read part5 halfway through but that was in 2017 or something and god knows i've long forgotten the site i used for that #but yeah im thinking about reading stone ocean after all im on a jolyne kick and i kinda wanna know the details ya know?
"It was always her. A mortal human who defended her kingdom. And there she was. Standing in front of her castle alone, her dress color of blood,holding black sword of immortals. Cold wind making her dress flow perfectly, small, white snow flakes landing on her crown. She was ready to risk her life for HER kingdom again. Its not like if she was getting tired of it... " - weirdozaur
Sorry for being… inactive, to say the least, I’ve been reviewing some franchises that I haven’t seen for a while, but once I’m done with them I’m planning on creating a crossover story based off of the House Isekai story created initially by @crackimagines and is being continued on @houseisekai
The story follows a similar concept as to the original House Isekai, where characters from multiple franchises, including but not limited to Persona, Trails of Cold Steel, Konosuba, and Overlord, being sent to the universe of Fire Emblem: Three Houses and forming a new house: House Isekai.
I love House Isekai, and it’s concept, which is why I wanted to create a similar story, while hopefully refraining from copying the original.
The name of my story is known as Fire Emblem: Xros Wars.
I’ll be using characters from a total of 8 shows/games/stories:
Fire Emblem: Three Houses (obviously)
Fire Emblem: Fates
Digimon Fusion (anime version)
Soul Eater (anime version)
And three more franchises that will be revealed as the story progresses.
FEXW will function similarly to an ask blog, perhaps having multiple timelines/routes/whatever-you-wanna-call-them just like Three Houses, that remains to be seen.
It goes without saying that I won’t be doing nsfw content since
1: I’m not interested in writing that kinda thing
2: half the characters are still minors, I don’t give a **funk** what the age of consent is in their home worlds.
Again, I’m borrowing the base of my story from @crackimagines and @houseisekai but I hope to create a story that is capable of standing on its own two feet. Once I have finished reviewing all the aforementioned series, I will finish the prologue for the story, but feel free to send asks until then.
Until then, I bid you all adieu and hope you all have an excellent day.
When I was a kid I ate stones just like stegosaurus to digest.
Currently wondering if this would be a great idea. That or I’ll eat these dirt soup I made, probably super low cal since it was just water, dirt and herb.
#Ftm ana #I really did ate stones #I was bored and stupid #Turns out I still am and am now mentally ill in too of that #I don’t remember the taste #I ate sand too but it seem less good #I ate insects also #God I truely wonder how I stayed alive #Always waned to taste candle too
a/n: hello my lovelies, this is the final part, and I cannot even describe how writing this made me feel. I went into it like a head into the wall, but ended up enjoying it more than I dare to admit. Thanks to everyone who has read, liked, and commented. Especially thanks to @bluemoonstonesy for giving me publicity with her reblogs (love you, and I am letting you know that you are a keeper). Last part, very cheesy, and fluffy, and it would make my world if you let me know what you think about it.
Rosie’s stomach was an utter wreck, doing obscene amounts of dips and high-jumps, as if she had some sort of circus aerialist inside of her. The street was bustling with life, people of all ages getting ready for their Friday evenings, but she just couldn’t bring herself to relax as she nervously wrung her sweaty hands around the straps of her small, leather bag she had slung over her shoulder. It wasn’t a particularly cold late afternoon, but she was still feeling the chill inside of her, as if the weather was the reason why she was shivering in the first place.
Taking a halt at the traffic light, Rosie glanced down at her attire, wincing at the choice of her shoes—a pair of her old, but trusted Chelsea boots. She wasn’t too happy with how she looked, but the plans to meet up were made earlier that morning, and she really had no time to go back home after work and fix herself.
She didn’t even consider asking to move their meeting for some other day, knowing that such a thing would be very, very rude, and probably ruin the miniscule chance she had with the tall, handsome lad she fancied so much.
Rosie let him pick the place of their meeting, and she was happy when he picked out a pub that she was familiar with, and wasn’t on the other side of the city, but rather a comfortable walk from her work. She hoped that such a short promenade would help her clear her thoughts, but as she neared the corner where the bar was located, her head was everywhere but in her happy place.
Not wanting to waste any more time, Rosie pushed the doors open—the warmth of the inside wrapping itself around her like a blanket on a cold morning, and she breathed out as her eyes adjusted to dim lights inside. Her eyes quickly scanned the room as she shrugged her coat off, placing it over her arm—trying to figure out if he was already waiting for her.
Despite being seated, Rosie quickly caught the silhouette of John as he sat at the other end of the large room—his height making it difficult for him to blend in with the rest of the crowd. With a short intake of breath, Rosie nodded to herself, glanced once again down at her attire to make sure everything was clean and in its place before making her way through the small groups of people that stood between John and her.
As if sensing her, John turned around just as she was about to take the last step, and Rosie would be lying if she said that she was okay when he turned around, getting halfway up when she was finally in front of him. Rosie felt her breath shorten, and in order to steady herself a little, she gripped the bag strap tighter.
“Rosie,” John breathed out, smiling brightly, making her heart do several backflips as she tried to catch the breath that got stuck in her throat.
“Hi,” she managed to breathe out, finally smiling back at him, and he quickly stood up fully before surprising her with a hug.
It took her fully two seconds before she realised what was happening, and another two to bring her own arms around him—the jumper he wore feeling soft underneath her palms. “It’s nice to see you again.”
He pulled away—the height difference clear as day, and Rosie felt herself melting under his gaze. John shifted a bit before walking to a seat that was opposite him, making sure to pull the chair out, but Rosie was frozen.
“I want to apologise,” she started without skipping a beat, “I never wanted to ignore your messages, I even was about to write you back the first morning, but then—my brother was there, and we were talking, he was taking the piss out of me, and I was curious, so I asked—,” the words were spilling out of her mouth, and she didn’t know how to stop them. She was babbling, aware that her words were juggled and patchy, “—and I saw you on the TV, and he told me who you are. He doesn’t like you, he’s an United fan,” she breathed out— her voice lowering at the mention of his rival club before returning to its normal volume. “And I was scared of who you are. I mean, not that you are ugly and scary, but, you know… and then Tom—he’s my flatmate by the way—”
“—Rosie, take a breath, please,” John interrupted her, smiling, “you need to breathe too.”
Ashamed of her little outburst, Rosie looked down at her shoes, mentally scolding herself for acting the way she did. “Sorry,” she muttered quickly.
“Come on, look at me Rosie,” John softly instructed, tapping her shoulder a little, making her glance back up at him. “Why don’t we sit down, order you a drink, and just forget everything that happened between the moment you saw me on the TV and now? Here…,” he trailed off, reaching for his pint, “I quite like this one. It’s an IPA, locally brewed, but their stout is good too if you want to try it.”
Rosie smiled like a child, nodding as she accepted John’s glass, taking the tiniest sip of beer— the liquid feeling cold and smooth as it slid down her dry throat. “I like it too,” she answered with a small giggle, wiping the tracers of the beer away from the top of her lip.
Rosie let out a soft sigh, hopping over a small puddle in front of them as they slowly made their way down the cobbled street in no particular direction. Her cheeks were slightly red, both from the cold and John’s presence, and the fact that his hand was holding hers, and glancing down at their interlaced fingers, she brought her bottom lip between her in excitement.
During the time they spent sitting in the corner of the pub, John was relaxed and seemed to be unbothered by how their evening started, making Rosie quickly forget about everything that plagued her head before their meeting. Maybe it was the beer—the sweet, dark stout that made her relax, but since they sat down, the conversation never seemed to run dry. Stories have been shared, and questions asked, accompanied by an obscene amount of laughter, and playful flirting.
The silence that engulfed them felt almost welcoming, now that the evening was coming to an end—the words dying out in their throats.
“John?” Rosie started, almost inaudibly as she glanced down at their hands yet again. “I really need to know that you are okay with how I acted…”
“I understand,” he replied smoothly, giving her a small glance, “it was my fault for not mentioning it, but then, I don’t go around saying, look at me, I am John Stones and I play for City. Honestly,” he grinned, and Rosie felt him squeeze her hand tighter for a fraction, “what matters to me is that you didn’t run away entirely once you found out. Or even worse, imagine if your brother brainwashed you into thinking I am a twat! Did I at least look good on the TV?”
Rosie giggled—the blush settling on the apples of her cheeks. “You did, light blue suits you.”
John stopped walking for a moment, making Rosie do the same. He was still smiling, but there was a hint of seriousness written all over his features. “I don’t think I ever wanted an evening with a girl to end as fast as I want this one.” Rosie’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, making John chuckle lightly. “No, no, don’t get me wrong. It’s just because I really wanted to kiss you the moment you gave me your number, and isn’t kissing what comes after the date?”
“So prim and proper. Are you one of prim and proper people?” Rosie asked teasingly, surprising herself with her own courage as she stepped closer.
John smirked, tilting his head to the side— his eyes roaming the soft lines of her face. “I am trying my best to make my mum proud.”
“Well, your loss then, because I am not,” she grinned at him, stepping away, trying to start walking again, but John’s grip tightened before she felt him pull her closer to him— bodies touching, making her look up at him with a knowing smile.
“I am willing to change my ways, though,” John countered—voice barely a whisper.
His arms found their way around her waist, holding her in place, and she let her own run up his chest, along the softness of his jumper before resting around his neck.
“Good,” she nodded, making John look around for a second before back at her, lifting her up ever so slightly to meet their lips in a kiss.
Installed at the top of Blarney Castle in County Cork, Ireland, the Blarney Stone can only be kissed while hanging upside down and suspended over thin air — yet countless people line up to do it each year.
Request - How about John and reader being really close, but not (yet) together. Like she’s part of the England staff and he’s just being really sweet and affectionate and one day after a match maybe, she’s freezing at the sidelines and he gives her his hoodie and hugs her close
Thank you to the lovely anon who sent this - hope you enjoy x
The atmosphere of Wembley is something that you will never take for granted. Thousands upon thousands of England supporters paint the stadium with white and red shirts collected from every decade you could think of. You scan your eyes across the crowd, smiling as you notice that many also chose to wear the newest dark blue away strip that you absolutely adore, which is partially down to how good it looks on a certain someone.
And that familiar grin paired a mop of brunette curls is now approaching the sidelines after the full time whistle has sounded, a spring in his step as he closes in on the space between you both. He isn't wearing that lapis shirt tonight, but the recognisable white home shirt complements his tanned, tattooed arms just as much. It should be illegal for somebody to look so good after running around a pitch for an hour and a half, you think to yourself. He immediately engulfs you in a hug before paying any acknowledgement to anyone else. As usual, his embrace is nothing short of comforting. The crowd's cheering is still ringing throughout your ears, but to you, nothing else matters at that moment that doesn't relate to John's arms wrapped around your waist.
That goal. It meant so much to the team, to the fans, and most importantly, to him. You were a part of the England staff during the 2018 World Cup and you knew in your mind that another international goal was due for the Yorkshire-man, feeling extremely lucky that you were there to witness all three occasions where it all clicked together from his perspective. And whilst tonight didn’t end in a win, seeing the delight on his face when that ball hit the back of the net more than made up for the two lost points.
You pull away momentarily to properly congratulate him, strands of hair flopping into his eyes that you almost feel inclined to brush away with your index finger. A few joking heckles are thrown in your direction by some of the other lads, but John flips them off as they chuckle to themselves before walking down the tunnel. Most of the time, you look like the dictionary definition of a young couple. He'll always go over to you first after a game. Whenever he needs any help at SGP, you're the first name that pops into his mind. And whenever he see's you, his heart seemingly skips a beat. It's always you.
He runs his hand down your own bare arms, feeling the goosebumps on your skin under his fingertips, "Where's your coat?"He questions, voice laced with concern.
"I left it in the dressing room," You confess with a shy grin, John's eyes watching you intently as if every word was a cliffhanger, "And I wasn't going to miss another goal - you have a habit of scoring twice."
John's eyes soften in a gaze of admiration. He's about to say something with that amazing mouth of his but before he can, your arms once again become exposed to the chilly London elements. Your head tilts in confusion as he walks away towards the stands, smiling once you notice the bundle of navy in his hands.
"I think you forgot that it's mid October." The material of his England hoodie against your palms is comforting to say the least. It's as if anything to do with John is an immediate piece of tranquillity and safety that you find yourself feeling incomplete without.
To your surprise, but with no complaints, he helps pull the material that lingers with familiar aftershave over your head. John makes sure to not pull at your hair as you let out a small sigh of relief at the delayed feeling of warmth against your skin. Just as he's about to pull away from you, he leans in next to your ear, moving a piece of hair from in front of your eyes,"That goal was for you, by the way.”