#(i can't but im so close)

[starry-bi-sky]

on a completely separate note; shizun luo binghe with a disciple shen yuan who fell into the abyss??? *thinks about LBH canonically stealing SQQ's corpse for 5 years* he'd hallucinate i think. like, like visual and audial hallucinations.

Keeps thinking he's seeing SQQ in the corner of his eyes, or wandering between the trees, amongst a group of disciples. Thinks he hears him calling for him, but its just the wind or another disciple.

Gets Xiu Ya reforged but patently fucking refuses to make a sword mound. Because his disciple Is Not Dead :))) There was No Body. He's Not Dead. And If You keep Insisting That He Is, He's Gonna Skewer You :). He's holding onto Xiu Ya so he can return his most favored disciple's sword when he returns. It's on his hip right next to Zheng Yang where it's supposed to be.

Also this motherfucker?? does not sleep btw. He has the image of SQQ, wide eyed and hysterical and standing at the mouth of the abyss burned into his fucking eyelids. Can't use the dreamscape to escape it either because he keeps trying to save him and either he does and it's an incredibly cruel trick to wake up to, or he doesn't and he gets his heart broken in several different pieces again.

There is no convincing this man that Shen Qingqiu is dead. Absolutely nothing at all. He is buried so deep in denial that moles would be jealous of how deep he is. He keeps making tea for two in the bamboo house only to remember that it's just him. SQQ's fans are hiding everywhere, little reminders of his presence. He goes to wake up SQQ on the mornings he sleeps in-- only to find the room empty.

[kuromi-hoemie]

i am not immune to transmascs in sweatpants and a sleeveless top

im rly fucking weak about it actually

[yesloulou]

Daniel uses first karting helmet design for his 250th grand prix 💫 | Austria 2024

[inkskinned]

it is all chaos and entropy. the thing is that the chaos and entropy make it beautiful and lovely.

yes, it's true that nature and the universe are uncaring and unspecific, and that is terrifying. i have lived through some of the unfairness - i got born like this, with my body caving into itself, with this ironic love of dance when i sometimes can't stand up for longer than 15 minutes. i am a poet with hands that are slowly shutting down - i can't hold a pen some days. recently i found a dead bird on our front porch. she had no visible injuries. she had just died, the way things die sometimes.

it is also true that nature and the universe are uncaring and unspecific, and that is wonderful. the sheer happenstance that makes rain turn into a rainbow. the impossible coincidence of finding your best friend. i have made so many mistakes and i have let myself down and i have harmed other people by accident. nature moves anyway. on the worst day of my life she delivers me an orange juice sunset, as if she is saying try again tomorrow.

how vast and unknowing the universe! how small we are! isn't that lovely. the universe has given us flowers and harp strings and the shape of clouds. how massive our lives are in comparison to a grasshopper. the world so bright, still undiscovered. even after 30 years of being on this earth, i learned about a new type of animal today: the dhole.

chance echoing in my life like a harmony between two people talking. do you think you and i, living in different worlds but connected through the internet - do you think we've ever seen the same butterfly? they migrate thousands of miles. it's possible, right?

how beautiful the ways we fill the vastness of space. i love that when large amounts of people are applauding in a room, they all start clapping at the same time. i love that the ocean reminds us of our mother's heartbeat. i love that out of all the colors, chlorophyll chose green. i love the coincidences. i love the places where science says i don't know, but it just happens.

"the universe doesn't care about you!" oh, i know. that's okay. i care about the universe. i will put my big stupid heart out into it and watch the universe feast on it. it is not painful. it is strange - the more love you pour into the unfeeling world, the more it feels the world loves you in return. i know it's confirmation bias. i think i'm okay if my proof of kindness is just my own body and my own spirit.

i buried the bird from our porch deep in the woods. that same day, an old friend reaches out to me and says i miss you. wherever you go, no matter how bad it gets - you try to do good.

[himehomu]

“Homura can't stand the idea of moving on. So she's isolating madoka from everyone who's ever cared about her.” Are you fucking stupid? She literally rewrote the entire universe so that Madoka could be happy with her parents and her little brother, so that Sayaka could have another chance with Hitomi and Kyoske, so that Kyoko can have a life with Sayaka, she literally revived Mami and Nagisa and gave them a life together. What the fuck do you mean she's “isolating Madoka from everyone who's ever cared about her??”

The only person she's isolating Madoka from is herself because she knows Madoka will regain her godhood sooner ot later and she knows that her desire for Madoka and her friends to be happy will directly rebel against Madokami's rules that require Madoka to die to maintain order to the broken world that traps Magical Girls in their cycle of hope and despair, even if maintaining order means making hard choices and sacrifices, which in this case, is Madoka sacrificing herself again and again not only because she cares so much for others but because she cares so little for herself whilst Homura is the only one who can see that she's so much more than her sacrifice and that she shouldn't reduce herself to a means to an end.

She took Madoka's immortality for herself to spare her of anymore loneliness in Heaven as a trapped Goddess. She literally gave Madoka and the rest of her friends a second chance at life and you people have the audacity to just blatantly fucking lie on her to justify hating her for how she reacts to the psychological torture of having to watch the love of her life and her friends die for 12 years worth of time loops then to live in a world where no one remembers the girl she loves but her. Let something like that happen to you at the age of 14 and then come and talk to me about Homura. Idgaf that she's a fictional character. If y'all continue to treat her like a heartless monster that deserves to be “held accountable for her actions,” then I'll defend her like the traumatized 14 year old child that she actually is. Fuck off and stay away from Madoka Magica. It clearly isn't for you.

[thimbell]

@intotheelliwoods here's your snacks as promised

[prettymediocrewizard]

Working on some sketchy WIP's. new year new charms possibly..... ?

[megamindsupremacy]

Drifting Stars headcanon where Mabel and Ford use the "we're father/daughter" story so often to avoid suspicion that Mabel calls him "Dad" instead of "Grunkle Ford" now.

Ford has a reasonable amount of emotions about this and does not nearly cry the first time Mabel calls him "Dad" outside of lying to people.

[desceros]

tries to sleep, fails, gets melancholy, copes by writing purple turtle fic donatello/reader, gn!reader, rated t, 1.6k. insomnia, friends to.... friends, (were you ever just friends? are you something more? what is love if not friendship shifted an inch to the left?), yearning, yearning, yearning, yearning—

Donatello is sleeping.

Hefting a fatigued sigh, you hover in the doorway to his bedroom for a moment. Staring at his face, taking it in. He’s gotten unfairly handsome as the years have gone by. Beautiful, even. Pretty angles, sharp defined lines, dark seductive eyes. Like this, unmasked, slack in sleep, it’s free for you to look as much as you want. More than you can during the day. A little secret thing just for your own heart’s keeping.

…Best friends shouldn’t want to stare at each other like this, you think with an ache.

It’s late. You can’t sleep. Lying down has provided nothing but racing thoughts you can’t quiet. Things to do tomorrow. Things to say when you see someone. Things to write down if you can hold them until the morning. Things, things, things. So many things in your head, ten thousand little voices like little snowflakes in your skull. Each small, powerless; but together, a force too mighty to outrun.

And Donnie is sleeping. Normally he’s awake. Fiddling, poking, prodding, studying, twisting, cracking, bending. Available to draw you into sleep. Always soothing, petting your hair, cooing at you until you drift off at last to the dulcet sounds of his low rumbles.

But not tonight. Tonight he sleeps, pretty in his sheets even as he’s all sprawled out and drooling. Cute. He’s cute. He’s cute and close enough to touch but so, so far away that you know you never will. Not like that. Not like that. 

It’s late. You can’t sleep. 

Slowly, not wanting to wake him, infuriated with yourself just at the thought that you’d risked it by lingering as long as you have, you peel away from his door frame and sneak into the living room. The couch greets you again. Inviting, soft. It smells like turtle ass. Popcorn. Movie night. It smells like family, like home. Scratchy beneath your cheek. You’ve been meaning to get them some new pillows. The way Mikey had laughed so hard he’d snorted his drink. Leo’s squawk when it got all over him. The weight of Donnie’s arm on your shoulder when he’d leaned on you while laughing until he got the hiccups. His cologne, new, smells nice. You should tell him tomorrow.

(You can’t tell him. There’s no way for a best friend to look at the other with pupils shaped like hearts and be the same. You can’t tell him.)

Heavily, you sigh. It’s late. You can’t sleep.

You sit up. Get up off the couch. Stretch a little before exhaling and walking around a bit to try and work off some of this excess energy. The darkness of the living room isn’t so much, anymore, what with how your eyes have adjusted. You can see the pieces of the evening strewn about. A pizza box that Splinter’s going to find in the morning and yell at the lot of you for not throwing out. Raph’s teddy bear, leaning against the other couch where he’d been pretending he hadn’t been using it to hide his face in the scary parts. Mikey’s cup, half-full, forgotten in Leo’s panic to find paper towels. And—

—Donnie, standing in the doorway, bleary-eyed, arms folded. 

“Why are you awake?” he asks, voice tumbling over your ears like rocks on a riverbed. Guilt strikes you like a blow. He’s exhausted. You’ve woken him up.

“I’m sorry,” you say as an answer, tangling your fingers in the shirt you’d borrowed out of his closet. The shirt you always borrow. The shirt that’s half yours, now. 

Donnie’s quiet. You sink your teeth into your lower lip and hope he’ll shrug and go back to bed. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’s got enough sleep juice in him that he’ll drift right back off and forget this happened. 

He doesn’t. “…Can’t sleep?”

The guilt burns your skin like sand in the wind. You smile and pretend. “I’ll be okay. Go back to bed, Don. You need it more than I do.”

He doesn’t. 

“…Please?” you try again. 

You’re met, instead, with a sigh. He rubs the back of his head where his mask would tie if he were wearing it. Lets his arm fall to his side—ah, except no. He’s holding out his hand, palm outstretched, inviting you to come close. When you don’t, his beak wrinkles. “Come here.” 

You take a few steps closer, but don’t take his hand just yet. “What are you doing?”

“Just come here,” he says again, curling his fingers a few times in an imperious grabby command. You come closer. He opens his tired eyes in a squint, mouth dipped into a frown, and his gesture gets more demanding. “Come here.” 

Stepping closer, closer, closer, finally you get within range. You realize he wants your hand the moment he loses patience with you, watching as he rolls his eyes and reaches out to encircle your wrist with strong fingers. They eclipse the bones there easily, tugging as he turns, pulling you out of the living room. 

“Don—” you start to protest, but he stops you with a breath.

“Stubborn,” he accuses, though there’s no heat to the word. The scoff is thick on the back of your tongue—Donnie of all people calling you stubborn—but you don’t let it out, knowing it’ll be too-loud in the pitch night. 

He pulls you into his room, the very room that had been such a sweet siren song to you earlier. He pulls you towards his bed. He pulls you in behind him when he settles in. He pulls you beneath his blanket. He pulls, pulls, pulls, until your chest is flush to his plastron and his arm is around your waist and his breath is in your face and your heart is in your throat.

It’s late. You’re not going to be able to sleep.

“…Go to sleep,” he says after a few seconds, doubtless able to feel the way your pulse is like a hummingbird against his skin. 

“Sorry,” you say in lieu of—anything else. You don’t dare try to say another word, unsure of what exactly would tumble out instead. Perhaps a sweet poem about the texture of his skin against yours. Maybe a lament that he feels the need to tuck his thigh between yours so so so close to where you wake in a pool of sweat dreaming of his touch. Or possibly a whispered confession that tastes like lightning and blood and sugar all at the same time; that you want this but not this, you want this but more. 

Gently, a forehead bonks against yours. Dark eyes open and meet yours, centimeters away. He studies you, and you watch the gears turn. More slowly than usual, lethargic even, because of his slumber. 

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs. Dumbly, you nod. “Need to talk about it?”

“…Yeah,” you admit, then, “…but I won’t.”

He doesn’t like that. A frown mars his beautiful, beautiful face. 

“Why?”

You swallow the incredulous laugh, the kaleidoscope of responses. They’re all irrelevant, impossible to share, save for one. “You should sleep.”

Donnie’s hand tightens, fingers curling in his—your—shirt in the small of your back. “So should you.”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“…”

“…I don’t understand.” The confession, rare, makes you sigh. 

“…I don’t either,” you tell him. And you don’t. Why did you have to feel this way for him? Why couldn’t it be someone easier that stole your heart? Why does it have to be the one person you can’t stand to lose? Why does he have to be so comfortable touching you like this and making it hurt even worse? Why can’t you stop feeling this way?

Why can’t you sleep? Why can’t you sleep? 

His fingers unfurl from your shirt. His hand dips beneath the hem, finding the skin of your back. Slow shivers spread like little earthquakes as he strokes along your spine, tectonic caresses that ripple and destroy. It's familiar enough a touch that you don't stop him; unfamiliar enough that it rends you inside out.

Donnie leans in. Ghosts his lips along your jaw. It’s not a kiss; you’re just friends, after all. But it’s a sweet caress that feels good, all the way to where he lingers at your ear, whispering there, quivering at the touch that's too close to something else to be fair. “Close your eyes.”

You have one rule: listen to Donatello. So you do; you close your eyes, let his nails drag down your back, let his mouth press warm into your pulse, let his chest rumble with churrs that fill the night air with something akin to a lullaby. His legs curl around yours, mixing, confusing, making the separation of you disappear. 

It’s… maddening. You hate this. You love him. You love him so much. You hate that he can do this so easily. 

“Shhh,” comes the gentle coo against your skin, like he can tell you’re pulling away from his intent. You obey that, too. Donnie says to be quiet, so you quiet. Thoughts, movements, words; all of them fall away at his beckoning. “Just like that. Good.”

Good, you think, feeling a little fuzzy. It feels good to be good for him. God. You’d be so good for him—but no. None of that, now. Not when you can pretend that these little presses of his lips are kisses. That the thickness of his thigh pressed to your shorts means something. That his hand scratching lines in your skin is something meant to claim as much as it is to calm.

“Making me work for it tonight,” you hear him mumble, half-conscious of the words, not sure if they’re real or part of a dream he’s built for you. “Good job, sweetheart. Just like that.” 

More brushes of his mouth. A slow glide of tongue. A lovely dream, you think, finally letting your muscles go slack. A dream of a Donatello who would hold you like this, talk to you like this. A Donatello who is more than just your best friend.

It’s late. Finally, warm and held and pulled into a sweet dream, finally, you sleep.

[squidsmakemedelusional]

FOURTH IMPACT

what happens to an mf when you switch up the dead sea scrolls with the sunken sea scrolls

[justice-artblog]

Wait shut up, late night thought (For the Saiki×Mob Crossover)

Just the thought that one of his friends makes it into seasoning City for a day or two, either passing through or temporarily visiting family.

And just the thought that Saiki is so devestated by what happened that he literally decides to hide rather than face what happened, rather than face the people he left behind.

And Mob has to awkwardly turn them away like *No, you didnt see any pink haired kids around here named Saiki, no siree!*

And manages to successfully ward off the friend. So he goes to Saiki's hiding place, and for the briefest moment sees the barest hint of devestation on Saiki's face. Morphed in grief before it smooths out.

Saiki wants to go, but Mob convinces him to just sit and wait it out.

And wait they do.

Either that, or.

Or.

They visit at Reigen's workplace. Cause they hear he's the greatest Psychic in the 21st century.

So surely this man can find their best friend, right?

And it's like 4 of them, And Reigen fully expects Saiki to give him sass when the teen makes note of people entering the building.

He does NOT expect Saiki to dive behind his desk and hunker down.

Amd 4 of his friends walk on, sit down, have tea and finally go onto their spiel.

"We know you do exorcisms but-"

"Well, we were wondering if you could locate someone? Cause you're a Psychic and all."

"I'm sorry?" Reigen blinks, plassing down his teacup as the teens shuffle nervously, the purple haired kid with glasses giving him a painfully peircing stare.

"Our friend." The teen explains, and slides across a picture of a very familiar teen. "Kusuo Saiki, he just up and disappeared one day."

Dont tell them Anything, Saiki's voice filters in his head that Reigen forces himself to just bite down the sarcastic comment bubbling up.

If anything, Saiki sounded nervous.

I do not.

"I'm not sure i understand." Reigen opts to say, waving a hand at Shigeo, who seemed just as tense as he felt. "Me and Mob here, arent really search and rescue types. Shouldnt you go to the police for this?"

"We did," The brown haired girl pushed up her own glasses, fingers drumming nervously against his chest. "Look, Psychic's have Telepathy, don't they? And youre the greatest one out there so- so maybe you can reach out to him... For us?"

"Please," The smaller blue haired teen voice quivered, his strangely wrapped forearms clasped together in a begging position. "Even if you tell us he's okay, that's all that matters!"

The conflicting feelings rise in his chest, the urge to tell the kid's everything was strong but-

Please, don't.

"I'm sorry," The smile he gives is a nervous one, lips twitching at the corners of his mouth. "My Telepathy has a range, and even then, if i havent met him personally i wouldnt be able to find him like that."

The way each teen deflated broke something in him, the desperate want to see if their friend is okay was palpable.

"But," He held up the picture of Saiki, the kid was surrounded by other's, 4 of them sitting right in front of him and the rest possibly being his classmates. "I can do this."

His eyes slipped closed, the blinding flourescent light leaving his world a view of dark skin toned reds. He pretended to focus, pretending to pour all his energy into this one photo.

'Do you really not want to say anything?'

No.

'Saiki-'

Drop it, Reigen, just... Just drop it.

'I'm going to tell them you're okay.'

Don't you-

'I won't say where or how, just that you're okay. Okay?'

...

'Saiki?'

Okay.

His eyes slipped open, squinting slightly at the bright lights as the teens starred at him expectantly.

"He's okay." Reigen smiled, and handed back the photo to the first teen.

"How?" The last teen finally spoke, slightly taller than the rest and gray hair almost white with the indoor lights. "How do we know it's not a trick, how do we know you're telling the truth?"

Well-

"I'm using a form of Psychometry." Reigen explained gently, watching the teen's glare harden. "Using a Photo, i can tell the state of being of the occupant within. There's a lot of you in there, granted, but with your description and knowing who I was targeting, it was easy to narrow it down."

He waved a hand down and up, letting their eyes trace his hand movements as the words registered in their brain

You're such a scam.

'Quiet you.'

"I don't know where he is." Reigen grimaced, the lie burning at his tongue. "But i can at least tell you he's okay."

"This is a trick." The taller teen snapped. "This has to be."

"Your friend," Reigen paused, thinking slowly. "He loves sweets, doesn't he?"

As a unit, they froze. The bittersweet smile he shot to them wasn't for show, Reigen felt sick.

"I got that from the photo." He pointed a hand, and then pulled back. "Loves Sweets, seems to be a bit of a homebody, a very quiet demeanour, yes?"

"All that... Just from a photo?" The smaller teen seemed to tear up. "Is there anything else?"

Don't do it, Reigen.

"I think... He misses you as much as you miss him." Reigen smiled. "His feelings are harder to pin down through the photo, and i don't know if im getting that because of the photo or if it's what he's feeling. But I believe, he misses you all too."

The fear faded, leaving nothing behind but relieved looks.

It took a couple minutes to wrangle them outside, denying pay even if the taller teen seemed to be loaded.

When the door clicked shut, he paused. Listening to the sounds of Mob shuffling and the absent noises that Saiki seemed to make.

"Kid's not telling us something." Dimple's appearence wasn't a surprise.

"Shut it Dimple." the words weren't harsh, but pointed, even as the spirit rolled his eyes and moved towards Mob, floating behind the other esper. "They're gone Saiki."

Shigeo shot him a look, his normally blank face twosted into something regarding mild concern.

'I know.' And he could hear Saiki shuffle, as if he were oulling himself into a small ball. 'I know.'

--

Like- do you see my vision????

[droodlebug]

Tempo screenshot collection he is gorgeous he's transgender he's a crow he swings a big axe around. he's got it all. he's impulsive and quick to be like "oh no im failing everyone aren't i shit" i love himb and the 6 hours we've spent together so far

[butchviking]

i hate being a mentally ill adult actually. i hate that there’s always groceries to be bought and housekeeping to do and work in the morning i hate that we have no space to feel it all i hate that we walk around acting normal. there are so many people i know who are clearly deeply unhappy with their lives and we make silly little jokes that allude to it but sometimes i want to grab them by the shoulders and scream ‘i know you are miserable!! we can’t keep living like this!! this is why people break!!’ im sick of this drudgerous apathy i want us all to be dramatic like when we were teenagers i want us to sob together and scream bloody murder at each other and tell each other we want to kill ourselves not as a funny post-ironic joke but because we all feel like that sometimes!! i want us to get fucked up on god knows what til we can’t open our eyes i want us to take care of each other instead of always taking care of ourselves i want us to be vulnerable i want us to hold each others hands in the ambulance!!

[angelicdonuts]

Guys I'm so sorry (I'm not) I love fnf soooo much dude

Anyway!! There's one more after this! It's gonna be oc focused :3 !

[greensaplinggrace]

im going insane btw jon was literally right. tim's so angry at him for how he acted paranoid out of his mind and like. i get it. but jon was right. sasha was a doppleganger!! his boss is a manipulative cunt that is trying to end the world! people are quite literally out to fucking get him!! like tim i get it i get it but are you aware of the genre you're in im alskdjflk

[nymphaforesta]

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