We Humans Live, Thrive, Hate Yet Need Change. If Aliens Changed At A Much Slower Pace Than Us, How Fascinated

Different Ways to Describe Brown Eyes

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

Her eyes were the color of honey, irises swirling like the sweet nectar.

His eyes—the color of an intoxicating champagne—beckoned her over with nothing more than a wink and a smile.

They had eyes like mud, perfectly matched with the frown that permanently stained their face.

Her eyes were as bright as the raging sun and the color of dancing flames.

They wore blue eyeshadow to contrast their dark brown eyes.

Her eyes were as beautiful as the leaves of trees in autumn.

His eyes were nearly black, like a void that held a lifetime of secrets.

Dirt. She had eyes like dirt. They were almost as dirty as her personality.

Their eyes reminded her of old brick libraries and vintage books.

She had the kind of eyes that made thieves wonder why they bothered to steal pieces of art.

His eyes made her think of the sandcastles she used to build as a kid.

Their eyes were the same color as the old oak tree their great-great-grandfather planted in the backyard.

His eyes were the same color as the bottle of liquor in his hand.

They had a smile like spring, but their eyes were autumn with a hint of passing summer.

Her dark eyes were flaked with gold.

His brown eyes had tragedy weaved behind his irises.

Brown, copper eyes that paired with the dry blood stuck to their face watched him as he stalked across the tiled floor.

y'know, i kinda wonder how a cowboy with a thick accent would sound when he's begging to cum. like, he's sat on top of you, the same way he straddles his horse—and all shame has been thrown out the window. he's a breathless, sweaty mess, and apart from the whining, he's letting all kinds of obscenities fly out of his mouth– of what he wants you to do to him.

btw, when i say 'thick accent', i don't mean 'sweet southern countryside' accent.

i mean the “th's 'ere town ain't big 'nuff fer th' two of us.” + “y' new 'round 'ere, partner? look'n fer a place t' stay?” + “'s dangerous t' be walk'n 'round 'ere by yerself, kid. 'specially at night.” type of accent.

a/n: in my kirishima era you could say, my beloved, also no one cares but the last kiri drabble i wrote was farmer!kiri as well i just didn’t say it bc i forget ppl can’t read my mind. also this is so cheesy sry he just makes me a little insane anyway bye

cw: farmer!kiri, he is vv big and beefy, very polite !, erm suggestive content but no actual sex sorry </3

“What’s that one?” you ask, turning to the vibrant red head next to you, hand raised high in the air as you point to the stars. You’re both sprawled out on the bed of his truck, the soft pillows and blankets he’s brought strewn about. Kirishima leans closer, guiding his hand next to yours to gauge where you were pointing. “That there, that’s Orion’s belt,” he says, turning to face you. A light blush dusts his cheek at the sight of you, face scrunched as you take in the starlight. You hum, turning to face him, “It’s so peaceful out here,” you whisper to him, “you can’t see the stars like this in the city. It’s so beautiful.” You look back out to the stars, hands tracing imaginary lines through the sky as if painting a picture just for the two of you. “Yeah,” he says, eyes never leaving your face, “yeah it is.”

“I should probably get you home soon, darlin’,” he says in a low drawl, “‘s gettin’ late.” You pout at him, shuffling closer to his form to lay your head on his chest. “Tired of me already, cowboy?” He laughs at that, tugging you closer, “Ya know ‘m not,” he says with an eye roll, pressing a kiss to your head. You lean up on his chest, and Kirishima thinks your smile is more beautiful than any star in the galaxy, especially when it’s because of him. “What if I don’t wanna go,” you say, pecking the corner of his mouth, “wanna stay here forever with you.” He shakes his head, leaning to meet your lips— for a real kiss this time. “Think you’d get tired of me, sweet thing.” You shake your head quickly, frown on your face, “Would never get tired of you, Ei.” He pulls you down into another kiss, effectively wiping the pout from your pretty lips.

His fingernails bite into the skin of his palms when you straddle him, hands tangling in his hair when he sits up. The movements causes your bodies to grind together, your hips bucking at the stimulation. His hands finally grip your waist when you let out a whimper, losing the moral battle in his mind as your tongues glide against each other. He pulls away when the hand trailing down his chest reaches his buckle, stopping your hand from unsheathing the leather. “What’s wrong?” you ask, his thumb brushes the furrow off your brow, tucking a lose strand of hair behind your ear. “Not here,” he says, moving you back, praying that you didn’t feel the way his cock was throbbing in his work jeans.

He chuckles when you whine, pout on your face, “Eiji,” you say dragging out his name, “Eijirou, why not?” He can’t help but kiss the pout of your lips, hands cupping your cheeks. “Cause I’m a gentleman, and our first time together needs to be special.” You pull a away with an offended gasp, “Eijirou! This is special! You took me out here, and said this could be our spot. That’s pretty romantic,” you say wiggling your brows. His shoulders shake with laughter, pulling you as close as he can, “Well for starters, I’d like to make love to you on a bed, and not in my rusty old truck.” You sigh dreamily, hands fiddling with the hair on the back of his neck, “You’re so manly, Eijirou. Such a gentleman.” You kiss him then, pressing kisses across his face until his loud laughter fills the night. “Ah, nah. Just treatin’ ya like any man should treat their woman. Wanna be able to make you feel special.” You sigh at that and kiss him some more, before turning to rest your back against his chest, breathing in the cool night air.

“Which ones your favorite,” you whisper, intertwining your hands with his. “The brightest one of course, ‘s the most beautiful.” You hum knowingly, pointing into the air, “It’s that one right? The North Star?” He nods along, pressing a kiss to your neck. He doesn’t have the heart to tell you you’re wrong, that his brightest star, is you.

Bye, little Jay

TW: sadness, slight mention of rape?

Character: Jason Voorhees

Ps: okay, it's just something a little sad <3

Jason was a small child, driven into the abyss of his own vile and unhappy thoughts, mired in darkness. His blue eyes from childhood were sad, full of pain and resentment. The boy is not to blame for the strangeness of his appearance. And yet Jason was in the midst of this empty madness; the hum in his head was moaning louder; from somewhere above, strangely worried voices were heard, Voorhees could swear that a pale child's hand was reaching for him; but he could not reach; he could not breathe; after a couple of seconds, when the body became heavier and heavier, a terrible chill ran through the skin, mixed with an electric current beating every cell of consciousness, and the lungs became more and more cramped and painful, burning pain filled them with cold water.

You've been driving along the highway for a long time, hoping to see the familiar sign "Crystal Lake Camp". And even though your sister said that it doesn't make sense to return to this place, even after almost fifteen years, and anyway you're just crazy, you didn't listen to her. There was a burning desire in my chest to see these familiar places again, albeit with a bit of longing and disappointment. After all, this is where you spent the best part of your childhood.

Finally you saw the cherished yellow sign of the camp and turned right. The road was overgrown, massive trees arched around the path; it seems that there have been no people in this place for a long time. You don't know why you decided to take a car at all—after all, you could have hitchhiked to the forest and then walked — but at the time of departure it seemed to you the best idea.

Parked at one of the old cabins, you happily got out of the car. The hardness of the earth and the tall grass tickling your ankles, not covered by jeans, added to your confidence. It was overcast. The wind played with your hair, and you blissfully closed your eyes. All the accumulated anxiety over these gloomy fifteen years has disappeared by hand. A long-forgotten calm reigned in your head, for the first time in such a long time you did not hear these terrible whispering thoughts. Emptiness.

After going further into the camp, you entered the cabin that once belonged to you. It was located next to the cabin of Jason and his mom. You pushed the door with a soft movement, and surprisingly, it gave way. It was stuffy inside, and there were grains of dust in the air. You went inside, looking around the contents of the room with an enthusiastic gaze. Everything remained in its place. You left immediately after the incident, your parents felt that you should study with a psychologist, and not be in this place, reminiscent of the tragedy. It was your shortest shift.

You sat down on the bed. The opposite wall was filled with drawings. You didn't have time to pick them up. These were your doodles that you drew during creative hours (there was even your drawing of shiny pasta hanging on the wall!), as well as Jason's pictures. He was always good at drawing, that's what the boy really liked. Therefore, on the third day of your impromptu friendship, you gave Voorhees your brand-new double-sided pencils, which you haven't used on this shift yet. You will always remember his shining eyes when he took a bright box.

Rummaging around the nightstand, you didn't find anything remarkable, in the end, the rest of the things were probably taken by the counselors. You stood up, dusting off your hands and jeans. This place is abandoned.

You came back here the next day. The weather was sunny and cool, so it seemed like a real pleasure to wander through the forest. This time you were in more suitable clothes: a spacious T-shirt, which is not a pity to get dirty, and soft fabric shorts. Birds were chirping in the foliage of the trees, and in some places you even saw squirrels with copper fur running around. Charm.

After getting everything you need out of the car, you returned to the cherished cabin. A strange, but effective plan appeared in your head, which you wanted to make a reality. To live for such a long time with a heavy heart, with guilt because of his helplessness on that ill-fated day became harder with each passing month. And it's not even that you couldn't save a person, but that you really treasured him. Jason was your best friend at Crystal Lake Camp, your only friend. Perhaps he was something more, as far as the childish naivety allowed. And the fact that you lost him left a deep wound in your soul. Now you wanted to get rid of these feelings by creating a kind of crypt of your friendship in your old cabin. Was this idea strange? Absolutely. Did it bother you? Not a drop.

After washing the room, you tried to return it to its former state: a carelessly made bed, scattered T-shirts with the name of the camp, stacks of books on the floor, bedside table and by the window. In addition, you took out of the car a massive duct-taped box with the initials "J.V.". You kept it throughout your entire life cut off from this place. Tearing the tape with a stationery knife, you laid out on the table a lot of clumsy drawings, soft toys, old magazines, Jason's favorite games. You placed all this around the perimeter of the room, as far as your faded memories allowed. The cabin turned out to be very cozy, however, due to the lack of proper lighting, everything seemed gloomy and abandoned, but this did not interfere with your joyful mood.

Over the next couple of days, you've made this house and the lot around it presentable. The grass had to be trimmed a little, to remove excess garbage, to wipe the outer walls of the cabin. In general, it turned out to be in very good condition, if we take into account the coming of fifteen years. It seemed that this particular place was untouched by rains, thunderstorms and thickets that covered the steps and walls of other houses. A God-forsaken place. Your own paradise.

When you went into the cabin again, you saw a bouquet of bright blue flowers on the table. Outwardly, the plants resembled simple buttercups, which could be found around the perimeter of the camp, but they were different: the petals had a delicate blue hue. The stems were pulled together by another, especially long flower. You smiled and, this time securely, tied them together with the green ribbon you found in Jason's box. And although you didn't know where these flowers came from, you didn't feel any threat from their addressee.

Finally, when you thought you had done your best with this house, you were sitting on your old bed again. Painfully running your worn fingers over the bedspread, you looked around the room with a sad smile. Just like that day. Absolutely everything. And now you felt like that little girl of eleven in a red plaid shirt that you stole from your mother's wardrobe, and black breeches, with a wreath on her head. That day you wove identical wreaths for yourself and Jason. You remembered everything down to the smallest detail, how you painted his hands with crayons, how he smiled cheerfully, and how you got together for this trick from his mom. Pamela has always been kind to you.

And now you've made two wreaths again. One was resting on the table, the other was tangled in your hair. You gently tucked your hair behind your ear, humming sadly.

"It all started here," you smoothed the yellow flowers with your palm, "This is where it ends."

The cherished relief did not come immediately. And yet, when you got into the car and took one last look at the neat cabin, you smiled bitterly. Time to move on. It is impossible to exist all your life because of one tragedy, and even more so to blame yourself for it. We need to live.

Pressing the gas pedal, you turn the car around and look back at the cabin through the rearview mirror again. Something shone sharply in the bushes. You shifted your gaze to the road and tensely frowned. Now everything will be different.

"Bye, little Jay."

So let me get this straight:

You're okay with your children watching murder scenes or worse things in media, but when two boys/two girls kiss is suddenly too much for you.

Do you realize how horrible does that sound?

You prefer your children watching something ilegal and immoral (like yk, killing someone) over letting them watch two persons showing that love has no gender.

Very logical.

Very very logical.

And not inhuman at all.

“What if I write it and it’s bad-”

WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS GOOD? WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANTED? WHAT THEN????

Non-binary Masc Pride Flag

Nonbinary Masc: designating masculinity in non-binary people; people whose gender identity is not binary and gender expression (presentation) is masculine; nby individuals who are masc. of center.

Flag adapted from @pridebois [id: 4 stripes of yellow, white, blue, and pastel black. end id.]

This is very true, be more like little kids!

one of the best fics i've ever read, one that had me addicted to my phone and crying, wasn't even prose. it was a huge, casual, bullet-pointed outline with every detail of an au that the author never got around to writing in full. and it was amazing.

let this be a message to all you who want to write but can't do it "normally": write it! someone out there will eat it up. whether that be poetry, tiny drabbles, or bullet pointed list: your work is always worth it. your art (yes, art!) will alway deserve to have its moment in the spotlight. why? because you made it. even if it wasn't done in a traditional matter, it came from your brain and your creativity and that is amazing.

♡