haven't done this is months

Made a lot of gifs for September yesterday, and I don’t know, just thinking about how I’ve been able to make a gifset for nearly every day for a few years now made me super happy. It also helps that every few months they seem to get better and better, like the ones I made yesterday are definitely better than the ones I made last month. Making gifs is really the only hobby I have and I love doing it so much, for all of my blogs. And I know I’m not the most active in this fandom in terms of discussion and whatnot, I rarely put my thoughts in the tags, but still I really love being a part of it and seeing all the new gifs and art each day. And there have been times in the past when I’ve felt a bit tired with this blog (as I have with all of my blogs), but right now I couldn’t be more excited about it. Can’t wait for the new RTTE season and I can’t believe in less than 2 years I’ll be giffing HTTYD3 with all of you!

So yeah I just wanted to say thanks for following my blog, and liking my gifs & quotes and everything else :)

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KotoMaru phone backgrounds ♡

requested by anon (>∀<☆)

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gfriend’s love whisper comeback stage on water. dancing 2x speed and blindfolded wasn’t enough for them. stan talent, stan gfriend.

What if Draco and Harry were sitting in a bar - a noisy, crowded bar with the music so loud it was almost deafening, their drinks watery and of a nauseatingly bad quality, the repugnant smell of sweat and beer overwhelming them. What if Harry was sitting there, his eyebrows knotted because he had tried to talk, tried to get his voice to carry over the narrow space between them. What if Harry’s hand was resting on Draco’s leg to get closer, to get his mouth next to Draco’s ear to let himself to be heard, his warm breath tickling against Draco’s cheek. What if Harry would be like that, close and familiar and hot - the hand on Draco’s leg all Draco could focus on, his breath all he could feel.

Because in such a moment Draco would, beyond a single doubt, fall irreversibly in love with Harry, with the way his heart would clench with every throaty laugh, the way he’d flinch closer to Draco whenever each new song started - seemingly louder than the last one. He would fall head over heels for the saviour, for the glint in his eyes under the cheap disco lights, for the cocky grin he’d give Draco for a joke Draco hadn’t been able to focus on because all he could think about was Harry, Harry, Harry -

What if Draco and Harry were sitting in a bar?

🌠 Month of June • Todomatsu Month 🌠

      🌠 June 21st • Summer starts 🌠

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It’s done! blog art for my FD RP blog @eternityslegacy or some kind. Idk, I just wanted to try out a new technique tbh

This was very fun to do tho!! I mean I did copas a lot of stuff from Layth to Azel and vice versa, but these two are both very fun to experiment with, especially with their contrasting colors/hues lol

anonymous asked:

Restrained

post Founder’s Mutation


Her hands are tied behind her back, the tethers invisible but tight, her wrists aching against their everlasting pull. Though she rarely sleeps on her stomach - he noticed that too, furrowed his brow as she shifted positions in bed, wondered what other habits she’d picked up of late - she lies chest-down now, her cheek hot against the starched pillow, her lungs heavy upon the mattress. He’s still awake, so of course, he knows she’s still awake.

Once upon a time - he used to always begin his stories like that, once upon a time, two agents named Mulder and Scully scurried out to the far reaches of the planet and learned that, in the end, it doesn’t matter what we see but with whom we see it - they shared a bed like this. Not in the romantic way, no, but in the incidental and apologetic way that two non-lovers subdued daily by mutual but silent attraction would. Once upon a time, they checked into a Motel 6 and found, well, damn it, there’s one room left, only a queen-size open. Though she knew better than to believe in the law of averages, she still mused the statistical improbability, the way that the theorems of the world should at least have allowed for one or two cancellations that night; last week, she read a theory on how the world is all Matrix - she still knows where that DVD is in their home, wedged up between Contact and Interstellar on the shelf - and just a computer simulation, and if that’s true, then the mathematical modeling that binds everyone together should have given them another option. They could have driven to another hotel even though it was past midnight, or they could have crashed on the local sheriff’s couch, or they could have slept in the car while parked alongside two RVs and a truck in a starkly-lit Walmart lot. Instead, Mulder looked to her, then agreed to one room, and the way her heart had stopped at the prospect made her wonder if morals could ever be absolute; if pain and terror could be so exciting, then why are the body’s warning signs? Why are the things that terrify us so indulgent? 

But she digressed and came into bed with him and silenced her scientific mind while he stayed above the sheets. He slept in sweats and a tee shirt while she wore all-too-proper pajamas, a night suit as he’d once called them. Then, she slid onto her side and stared toward the motel room’s window, one blocked off by a shabby curtain that let flickers of parking lot light in, and she waited for something she couldn’t identify.

“You’re still awake,” he said after minutes, hours, days, she couldn’t tell.

“You are too,” she gave softly, hesitantly.

“Of course I am,” he said. “I don’t sleep.”

Uncomfortably, she lay there, her body tense in a workday kind of way: shoulders up, eyes wide open and stinging with tiredness, stomach empty, legs aching. Back then, her restraints were looser around her wrists, and sometimes, they threatened to fall beyond her fingers, so regularly, she tightened them. Occam’s Razor, she used to explain to herself; it was far more likely that she was simply unsexed and bored with her personal life than that she was silently but genuinely in love with him, so she kept her professional rigidity, left her mask of scientific indifference on.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a long pause.

Though she too was sorry, she knew their reasonings wouldn’t align, so she kept quiet. In the morning, they didn’t discuss how he curled up against her back at some point in the night, and they didn’t make a big deal about how she stared a second too long after walking in on him while he was in the shower. Most of all, they never talked about what they would do if such a thing happened again.

And it did happen again, though new context forced previous awkwardness away. Instead of wasting money on two required hotel rooms, they were forced into one when they would’ve used only one anyway; with his hands strong around her hips, his mouth warm and wet against her skin, she found those nights similar to any other night of that time, the room situation disregarded. For a while, she only stayed in hotels during medical conferences in far-off places, so she reserved one room with one bed, the practice easy and simple and everyday. Nowadays, they’re back to two rooms, one bed each, and as they did once upon a time, they both retreat to their own rooms at night, only now she wears his old shirts to bed while she doubts he wears anything at all.

Tonight, she asked for two rooms, and, what do you know, they’re booked. After all, this motel’s tiny, and up here in the Adirondacks during on-season, kitschy cabin-style places that are cheap and have enough parking for a boat rack sell out quickly. Though there are eight units total, seven were full upon their arrival, only one left to boot. The next closest establishment is at least twenty miles away, and here in lake-and-land country, the roads are dark and narrow, begging a driver to lose control. In terms of probability, it seems the world wants her to lose control in some way or another. This time, she accepted the one room while he stared on blankly. 

“You’re still awake,” he says, and she feels the restraints grow tighter.

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