Some one please take this controller away from me,
How to play Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild:
Step 1. Get the paraglider and leave the first area
Step 2. Find a horse, tame them, and love them.
Step 3.Get your brother to convince you to ride said horse into the LAST AREA IN THE GAME, glide ON TO Hyrule Castle, sneak inside, steal as many high level weapon as possible (including the Royal Claymore and all of the Royal Guards gear set, I DIDNT EVEN KNOW THERE WAS STUFF THIS STRONG.), find a secret passage out through the library, complete “A Major Test of STREGNTH” and just waltz on out all the while only having FIVE fUCKIGN HEARTS.
this is wrong. I’m worse than Gannon. someone lock me away and throw away the key.
That line in The Hounds of Baskerville always gets me.
Even though John says it to an absent Sherlock in response to Sherlock suggesting a shag, it’s the way he says it, the look he gives, the angry yet sexy, naughty emotion behind it… It’s incredibly provocative.
Think of John saying that to Sherlock in the bedroom; Sherlock’s just bitten John’s neck or earlobe or collarbone; they’re sweaty and panting and as they fall horizontally onto the bed Sherlock licks at the developing hickey(s) and John moans in that low, soldier-kink-worthy voice, they rut against one another, hands everywhere and bodies hot… “You’re a bad man…”
• You are crossing the street. A horse and buggy is stopped at the light. The horse is glistening with sweat, eyes bulging, breath rattled. “Help me,” it whispers as you walk by. You turn around. The light is green. The horse and its buggy have vanished.
• The quilts have a secret message hidden in the patchwork. If only you could solve it. If only you had more time. If only you could breathe.
• Corn is everywhere. As far as the eye can see. There is corn in front of you. Corn behind you. You look down, the ground is made of corn. You are corn. I am corn. Corn.
• You are walking at night. You come upon a single farmhouse, several buggies with beleaguered horses tied up outside. Look, look through the window. There is a meeting, a ceremony. You strain to hear. There is chanting, singing, punctured by the occasional bleat of a goat. Someone speaks: “We offer this sacrifice, so that it may please You, and we may be blessed with a bountiful harvest for the Farmer’s Market this year.”
• It is that time of year again, the time to prepare the fields. The smell of manure is remarkably strong. It penetrates everything. “Good, fresh country air,” says a man in a straw hat, sniffing dramatically. “Good, fresh country air.” You notice a single tear in the corner of his eye.
• Stop trying to figure out the quilts. Stop thinking about the quilts. You will never understand. God does not love you.
• The day is unusually warm, a nice day to go for a swim. You and your friends get your suits on, pack a lunch, and go to the creek. When you arrive at your favorite spot, there is already someone there on the other side of the water, a single Mennonite girl. You ignore each other, unpack your lunch, start to undress to the suits underneath. Suddenly, the girl’s head snaps up. She stares at you with black, sunken eyes. Slowly, she enters the water, fully clothed, still staring. She walks further and further in, until she is completely submerged. She does not come back up. You wait an hour after eating before getting into the water.
• It’s time for supper. What are we having tonight? Corn. Always corn.
He couldn’t get up. His body felt like it was on fire,
pain screaming at him from everywhere, his breath coming short and sharp and he
had to squeeze his eyes shut, vision blurring and leaving him feeling nauseous.
He had fought, and lost and he couldn’t fight anymore…he didn’t want to admit
it, didn’t want to acknowledge the feeling of defeat sweeping through him, but
he couldn’t get up again and when he gathered his thoughts enough to focus he
realised that he couldn’t feel even a spark of magic.
“Gajeel…” For a moment, he
thought that he had imagined the quiet voice, but then it came again more
insistently and this time it was accompanied by a familiar scent that brought
to mind the open ocean and when he coaxed his eyes open, he found Juvia
crouched in front of him. “Gajeel, we have to move.”
“Can’t…” It’s impossible… Something in her
expression darkened at his refusal, and he cried out when he abruptly found
himself being hauled to his feet, legs threatening to buckle before Juvia was
there, ducking under his arm and staggering for a moment before she managed to
support his wait.
“Yes, you can.” It’s not impossible…I won’t let it be.
as he caught the way Juvia’s gaze skittered towards the mirror for a second,
darting away before she could really look at herself. In a way, he could
understand, none of them had come through the war unscathed and sometimes he
found it hard to look at his reflection, to see the shadows in his eyes as he
thought back to what had been lost…the price they had been forced to pay…they
were all scarred, but hers were more visible than most. He hesitated for a moment, taking in the
slump to her shoulders and catching the fear that had seeped into her scent and
then he was moving, darting to her and putting his hands on her shoulder,
feeling her tense even as he drew her back against his chest.
“Don’t,” she trembled,
trying to pull herself free, but he held her in place and waited for her to
still. It didn’t take long, and he waited for a moment before letting his hand
move up, ghosting his fingers over the scar that ran across her cheek, before
gently trailing it with a fingertip. She shuddered but made no effort to pull
away, and he shifted so that he could lean down and press kisses along its
length, feeling some of her tension easing at his lack of hesitation…it would
take much longer he knew, to reassure her completely, but it was a start and
his voice was soft as he whispered in her ear.
cold, and no matter how many layers he piled on or how tightly he wrapped the
covers around himself he couldn’t get warm. He knew why. Knew that the chill
that had seeped into his bones wasn’t the cold that came from the winter
weather currently engulfing Magnolia, or caused by the fact that he had broken
his radiator in a fit of grief induced rage a couple of weeks ago. No, the cold
that engulfed him came from the empty space on the other side of the bed, from
the silence that engulfed the house these days, the empty spots that had once
held Juvia’s belongings and he drew in a ragged breath, feeling a fresh howl of
grief rising in his throat and fighting tooth and nail against it. He wished it
was as easy to fight against reality, to hold back the knowledge that she wasn’t
coming back…that she was gone and the cold had replaced her…and after a moment
he gave up the battle, although the noise that came out was more a pained
whimper than anything as he buried his face in the pillows, chasing the elusive
trace of her scent.
I see your Jungkook struggles and I raise you the I'M A JUNGKOOK STANS AND MIN YOONGI IS COMING AT ME AND I CAN'T BREATHE. Everywhere I look, there is a Min Yoongi or a Jeon Jungkook and I cannot handle the emotions. Please.... ayudame.
Can we all just PLEASE take a deep fucking breath? Like a deep, calming, ‘I’m not going to go on the internet and just vomit bullshit about the animations and voice acting and 'I knew this was going to be shitty’ everywhere’ breath?