Aaahhhhhh - Tumblr Posts

@hellsitegenetics

I love them

I didn't know I needed to know that the weed-smoking girlfriends post was genetically a wolf, but I did, and I do. Also puts great stuff on my dash.

it’s so fun to be scrolling unhinged posts and then boom. an organism!

so many moths‼ also, unexpected comedy with some of the matches

perfect blend of silly and informative, and makes for an excellent punchline at the end of a long post. puts creatures on my dash. literally what more could you ask for

It's a really unique blog concept and a lot of times the results are pretty funny. It's great when the sequence matches the post content too!

Creatures 👍

Finds beautiful creatures out of the mess of the hellsite

Offers finality AND gives us a creechur.

I love them. English speakers talk like moths

If this blog wins, they could run the text of the winning announcement, and determine the post's genus and species!

They're also very good about tagging the type of creature depicted in the results, so as long as you mute tags of creatures you don't want to see, it's a very fun time seeing iconic legacy posts (and new submissions) being reduced down to a string of letters and assigned a random species of fish or moth or something!

uhh it’s cool

BLAST

There are so many weird bugs in the world

Yippee!!

If, as Haldane said, God has an inordinate fondness for beetles, then surely this blog proves that Tumblr has an inordinate fondness for moths.

Top tier blog as a geneticist, I love seeing obscure organisms and MOTH

Admin got rate limited after trying to blast the bee movie

the knowledge of biology to pull this off (i have taken one biology class in my life) and also the work to find all the strings honestly deserves quite a bit of praise

This gimmick blog has it all: science, pictures of animals, interaction with the text of other peoples' posts, interesting information, and a unique and fun premise. As a biologist, I'm rooting for hellsitegenetics to reach the end and take the tournament, because it is truly a standout among gimmick blogs.

If they win, perhaps this blog too shall become a cool organism :3

@making-you-in-spore

Incredible works of art from a limited medium, the blog favors quality over quantity and I am always in awe when a dancing creacher in Spore [2008] crosses my dash.

His spores often take him multiple hours to create, and he will go through astounding amounts of effort to commit to the bit. He made his cull poll in spore and then blew it up. Hes also super responsive and active and seems really eager to share his creation techniques and spread the joy of making things in spore [2008]. His blog almost singlehandedly sparked a significant resurgence in interest and playerbase of a 16 year old game that most people see as nothing but a meme. Hes just a guy who likes spore [2008]

i say vote for making you in spore because seeing them blow up their opponents after they win is hilarious

Jungkook (정국)

weight | pjm

pairing: jimin x reader

wordcount: ~1k

genre: royal!au, semi-historical!au (maybe?) angstyangst

rating: sfw (implied love-making)

warnings: a tiny bit of blood, the death of family members is alluded to, a tiny bit of nudity, but not explicit, a lot of angst, no happy ending for now.

summary: they say 'heavy hangs the head that wears the crown'. but they never talk about the weight you have to carry once you take it off.

or: jimin makes a sacrifice. you both have to live with the consequences.

a/n: hi. i'm not here. you didn't see me. this started from a sentence in a uquiz. "undressing a prince after a ceremony". sorry this isn't sexy. it is also not beta-read because i wrote it on my phone (I'll fix the format at some point…)

tags: @btsarmy9593 because she tagged me in that quiz that inspired this and @jinpanman because she asked me to.

pleasepleaseplease, if you read this and enjoy it, tell me. I thrive on feedback in whatever form. feel free to come scream to me about this fic in reblogs, asks or dms!

masterlist

The heavy wooden door closes behind you, leaving the laughing, the clinking of cups, the cheerful music muted. You grab Jimin's wrist and lead him away through the dark and quiet hallways of the castle. Your shadows dance across the grey stone walls, only illuminated by the torches' flames.

These are the same hallways in which you had chased each other around as kids, the same hallways where small alcoves were perfect for hiding from your parents, the same hallways that lead down to the gardens where you had professed your love to each other and had exchanged whispers and moans in between roses - orange, yellow, pink and red.

Now the hallways are dark and gloomy.

Maybe they are not walls at all but rather mirrors. When you were children they seemed mysterious and old - you and Jimin had spent days and nights trying to map out all their hidden paths, tried to coax all their stories out of them.

Later they were warm against your skin and you had cherished all the little marks you had found on your back and on your throat. Little reminders of the secret that you shared. You sometimes wonder how many hidden romances these walls had seen in their time.

He's too quiet, you think. The smile he wore during the ceremony wiped clear from his face. Your hand slides down from his wrist to intertwine with his cold hand. He's shivering. You turn around and try to make out his face in the dark. Eyes unfocused, lips quivering - he's nearly unrecognisable from the picture he presented just a few minutes earlier.

He was Prince Jimin then, no, not Prince Jimin. King, you remind yourself. He is the king now. A brotherless orphan, too, but also a king.

You open the door to his quarters and pull him in behind you.

"Take them off. Please, take them all off," his voice is mechanical, devoid of any emotion. He stares blankly ahead. And so you start.

First the cape, held together by a thick chain of gold connected in the front by a broach that wears the kingdom's crest. As you take off the heavy garment, he stumbles and you lean forward to keep him from tumbling over.

Then there's the blood red sash that he wears diagonally over his chest. When you take it off, he lets out a pained sigh, as if you had slashed his chest wide open.

After that you gently remove the cufflinks made from the blue stone this land is famous for from his wrists. With a clink they fall to the ground where they resemble the teardrops that have now started to fall from his cheeks.

The jacket follows, the shirt follows, the shoes follow, the pants and undergarments follow. With each piece his mask falls a little.

But it's only when you lift the crown from his head that he crumbles completely. Only then is he yours again. Your best friend. Your first love. The one you thought would be your last. Your Jimin. At least for a few minutes more.

His dark eyes - the ones you have spent years getting lost and found in - finally focus on you and the grief you find in them knocks the air out of your lungs.

The realization is finally sinking in - for you and him both. You keep your facial features schooled, his are a reflection of his devastation.

He has just signed away his life. By protecting his country's sovereignty he has signed away his own.

By protecting so many families in the land he has sworn himself to, he in turn has lost his own by leading the coup against his father.

By granting his people free will, he has taken away his own.

Tears roll down his cheeks quietly.

Even in his grief he is the most beautiful person you have ever laid eyes upon. You swallow your own tears as you raise your hand to wipe away his.

It's not time for you to mourn your future yet.

Again you take his hand and lead the naked man to the luscious bed. With your free hand you push the white blanket and the royal blue cover aside and push down on his shoulders to maneuver him into a lying position.

Like a child you tuck him in and allow yourself to kiss his forehead before you turn to leave.

"Stay," he pleads. His eyes are closed, his body succumbing to the stress and the choices he had to make. "Please stay a little longer."

Don't leave me, is what you hear.

I'm not leaving, you dummy - is what you want to answer, but you know it would be a lie.

But you lie down on the covers and pull him to you. His head on your chest, his tears leaving dark patches on your festive dress.

When his breaths have evened out, exhaustion finally having taken its toll, you extricate yourself from the home you have found inside his arms.

A last look over your shoulder and you close the door behind you.

You walk the pitch black hallways - the torches have long burned down. You have walked them a million times and never have they seemed quite so cold. You pass an alcove - has it always looked so grim and unwelcoming?

As you walk down the wide stairwell to the garden, you realize that all the roses have withered. No sweet smell is filling your nostrils, it smells rotten and dead and grey instead.

A sob catches in your throat. Your foot stumbles on the last step and you land on your knees. Pain finally floods through you and you feel wetness covering your cheeks.

You get up and start running. Away away away. Red starts blooming on your dress.

© augustbutwinter 2021. Please don't repost, translate or take this. That's not nice. Feel free however to reblog it, comment or leave a like.

Happy Birthday Hua Cheng you’re our numero uno supreme 🥹

Fanart for Distance Makes the Heart So Fucking Annoyed by @cecropiacrown

The latest chapter really got my dumb self tearing up 🥹

Ahhh giggling and shit 😭😭

.

Lee Know | Cuts and Bruises

Just a little drabble I found in my drafts (and technically my first actual post :0) Friends to Lovers Warnings: Slight suggestiveness at the end

“Minho!” You rushed to your friend’s side. “What-what…happened?!” You couldn’t help the tears that started to form in your eyes, and immediately Minho grasped your shoulders.

“Y/N…why are you crying? It's just a few cuts and bruises.”

You pound your fist against his chest in a weak attempt to scold him. “How could I not? It's cuts and bruises! On you!”

You turn your back to him to hide the large stream of tears falling down your face.

“Y/N, please don’t cry. You don’t have to worry about me. I was just boxing. It just…got a little rough this time. I was sparring with an amateur and he was a little reckless.”

You didn’t answer him, your lip still trembling too much to move in anyway that would form coherent words.

“Y/N…” Minho said softly as he came up behind you, his arms wrapping around you, and his chin landing softly into the crook of your neck and shoulder.

His breath was soft and calming, enough so that you were able to still your bottom lip.

“Are you really that worried for me?” He asked quietly.

“Yes.” You nod. “I don't like seeing you hurt. Don’t you remember how I felt when you fell during your performance a few weeks ago?”

You could feel Minho’s cheek warm up as it was pressed against your neck. “You really do have such a nonchalant way of bringing up my past embarrassments, don’t you.” He said lightly, trying to get the smallest of smiles out of you. He chuckles and sighed, burying his nose into your neck. “You smell good.” He mumbled. “It makes it even harder for me to resist.”

That sent a spark up your spine, and the feel of his warm breath on any inch of your skin was enough to light your body on fire.

“Resist what?”

“You.” He said simply. You felt his soft, yet slightly sweat dampened hair tickle your face. Your heart raced in anticipation.

Did he really just say what you thought he said?

“Minho…?”

He ignored your questioning tone and held out his hand in front of the both of you. “The worst cut is here. I came over because I figured you could help me clean it and patch it up. I highly doubt Chan would be happy with me arriving home in this state.”

You quickly rushed to get your first aid kit and came back to Minho sitting back on your couch. He had taken off the sweatshirt he was wearing, and a black form fitting tank top showcased all the lines of muscle you had imagined would be on your friend’s body.

You worked in silence, but you could feel Minho’s brown eyes on you as you worked.

“I always loved how your tongue sticks out slightly when you're focused.” He comments. “It makes you even cuter than you naturally are.”

You look up and Minho has a sly smirk on his face, and soon enough you are looking at that smirk up close.

“Min…ho?”

He continues to come closer until you're pinned up against the edge of the coffee table. 

“Jisung told me something funny today…”

You felt a fire burn in your stomach. It must have been caused by how fast the butterflies were swarming in there.

“He said that a certain someone…loved me…” All the playfulness left his voice, and a strange sense of longing was becoming of his smile. “Is it true?”

You looked at him but was distracted by a small bruise by his mouth. It hurt to think he’d gotten hit so close to his lips.

Instinctively you reached out to trace the small purple mark tenderly, with such a feather light softness he had no doubts about what Jisung had told him.

Immediately he reached out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“He was telling the truth.” His voice held no questions. Only answers.

His mouth tore at the seams into a beaming smile, and he rested his forehead against yours. “Say it.”

You look up. “Say what?” Your voice wavered slightly.

His eyes were closed and a peaceful smile was painted on his face. “Tell me you love me. I want to hear you say it.”

“I love you, Lee Minho.”

Although he thought he was prepared to hear you vocalize your feelings, the reality was that he wasn’t in any capacity.

The feeling that surged in his chest was something completely different than what he expected he would ever feel in this life.

The amount of joy and fear and excitement and love that hit him like a ton of bricks was too intense for him to put in words. 

So all he could manage to mutter was, “I love you, Y/N L/N. I’ve just been waiting for you to reciprocate my affections.”’

The smile mixed with surprise, shock, and a twinge of disbelief was humorous and adorable to Minho, and he couldn’t help but place a small kiss below your left eye.

You pouted. “Why not the lips?” You mumbled.

Lee Minho chuckled. “Trust me, Y/N…once this bruise heals, I’ll gladly allow you to replace it for me.”

THIS PLAYLIST IS NOT MAKING IT BETTER!! I'M AT 700 AND THEY'RE STILL DYING AND I AM SOBBING IN MY BED

I'm currently writing Darlin's death scene while listening to "I Found" on repeat and I'm only 300 words in and am already crying.

[𝘉𝘦𝘵𝘩, 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺. 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘦.]

[𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘭.]

[𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸.]

THE ASSIGNMENTS ARE NEVER ENDING

They're so silly :(

AAHHHH I MISS THEM SO MUCH

2025 COME FAASSTTERRRR

Today, Crowley and Aziraphale traded coffee orders, just for fun. Neither of them enjoyed their new brew, and neither of them hesitated to complain about it, until Crowley realized they were being idiots and they traded back.

Evil Civ sure is handsome! I respect him being bottomless. 👀

Call me Livic, or just Vic, and I'm glad you like me! I'm sure many mortals do and will. I promise to do many terrible things in the future 'bottom-less'.

Maybe I'll even do terrible things to you bottom-less, if you know what I mean.

Although, killjoy Lye said I have to wear "At least something" for this whole log of hers, so only so much bottom-less fun for the time being.