#... I'll just see myself out now

[ilovepriestgerard]

hyper fixating too hard on a fanfiction got me thinking of tattoo ideas for it 🥲

[revvethasmythh]

it has been brought to my attention that I left out "Veth convinces Yasha they have a telepathic link" on my Veth poll, so I'm canceling myself because how could I forget my literal favorite bit of hers

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Out of sight, out of - wait.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[tsarjozinzbazin]

i

[hotwaterandmilk]

A year ago I was thinking maybe I'd try to create more original content in a vain attempt to help pay for the various health supports I'm slowly starting to need.

I didn't really get too far into planning what I'd do exactly before a bunch of crap happened and I ended up doing nothing.

But I did create a mascot character for my "brand" (I guess you'd call it) before things fell apart. I had a few cool artists work on a few different versions of my original design before I ran out of cash, but out of the blue the other day I remembered she existed and that I'd never shared her with the blog.

She doesn't have a name (feel free to come up with one) but she's kind of a mix of everything I love about the magical girl visuals from Iczer Girl Iczelion, Ginga Ojousama Densetsu Yuna, Chou Kousoku GranDoll & Akihabara Dennou Gumi. Y'know, with an even more obnoxious faux retro colour scheme because of who I am as a person.

I've thought about using her as my icon here and completing the "rebrand" I suppose you'd call it, but I can't seem to bring myself to change my Hiwatari Saki illustration icon for now.

In saying that though, I didn't want my magical robo girl to go completely unseen after I spent all that time creating her so here she is, hope you like her.

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

you’re so dark, collumbiahalle 02/05/18 💙

[k-kizkhalifa]

"So life is good, Harry? Things working out as you want?" Skeeter asked, glancing over her glasses at the man, her Quick-Quotes Quill working away.

Harry, smiling, watched her take a drink of her tea and then opened his arms as if to say this was it, sitting in his studio, serving tea to Rita Skeeter.

"I'm surprised you finally decided to sit down with me," she grinned, a little wicked gleam in her eyes, "but as promised, I'll keep the quips to myself."

He shrugged a shoulder, and relaxed, "do your worst, Skeeter."

The interview went smoothly, even sharing a few laughs - ones from Harry in annoyance more often than not as she tried to pry more private information from him ("we've seen you around with Malfoy? Friends now?" "Whatever happened to that Weasley girl?"), but she knew as the hours dwindled time was running out and she wanted to ask. The readers would be dying to know, when they caught sight of the front page image of Harry Potter just in an apron and jeans, sweating as he worked at the pottery wheel in the morning sun.

"Thank you for the tea, Potter. I do suppose I have one more question, for everyone." Harry gave a nod, waiting. "Why this, after all the work and the accomplishments? Why did you invest here, in this?"

Harry grinned, looking around at everything he made, all of his hard work and quick earned sales that kept him happy, busy, and afloat. Though, he wouldn't tell her that. Instead, he stood and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, "made sense I suppose. Potter a potter."

hope this is okay.... but uh.

@slyssnakes shared this with us, and then I spent all morning thinking about it and wrote this trash. so... anyway. hey go check out their artwork, too much talent not to be admired!

[hopeswriting]

daily life arc miura haru. does anyone know who i'm talking about. do you guys remember her. i still can't believe what happened to her 😔

[active-mind-15]

Akashi brainrot incoming...

So I was thinking about the way that Akashi addresses his father in the series, and I wanted to point out something I've noticed for time but didn't think about too hard until tonight.

In the anime's English dub, Akashi addresses his father as "sir" to highlight the distance between the two of them, but if we look at the way Akashi addresses his father in the og Japanese, he's not actually that formal.

In the og Japanese, Akashi calls his father "tou-san", which is a variation of one of the most common ways to refer to your father, and it's still not even the most formal way you can address your father in this way. If you wanted to make this term more formal, you would add the 'o' prefix and the '-sama' honorific to make "otou-sama", but Akashi notably doesn't do this at any point. The only exception to this is the first day of middle school when he's talking to his driver about his father and uses the term "Chichi", which is a very neutral way to address your father. However, from what I know, this is just a rule of thumb when speaking to other people about your father once you reach adulthood and/or are speaking with another adult about your father.

Considering that Akashi deliberately drops formality when addressing his father, it gives way to an interesting observation regarding their dynamic. The lack of complete formality could hint at remnants of a closer relationship from the past before Akashi's mother passed. After all, Akashi's father was canonically less strict back then, so it's possible that he wasn't too particular about the way his son addressed him.

I think it adds another layer of complexity to their relationship because Akashi has experienced a version of his father in early childhood that wasn't as uptight and controlling, but his mother's passing changed everything and suddenly Akashi doesn't recognize him anymore. The "tou-san" he might have said with some form of warmth back then now just sounds hollow the moment it leaves his mouth.

We always talk about how Akashi's personality changed after Teiko, but his father also seemingly went through a personality change after his wife's passing, and he went through that change much earlier than his son. So both of them are sitting at the dinner table, Seijuro isn't really Seijuro and Masaomi isn't really Masaomi, but they're both playing a twisted game of 3D chess hoping the other won't notice that they aren't themselves and haven't been for a while now. They're trying to cosplay who they think the other needs them to be and are horrendously failing because the woman who connected them is gone and they don't know how to reach out to each other from the other side of the bridge.

There have been conversations on here before about how much more heartbreaking it would be if Akashi did have good memories of his father from back then, so I guess this post was kind of in a similar vein. Idk, I just like building on family lore. Anyway, lemme stop talking.

[lunarharp]

shirahama-sensei reminded me she has a thing for the teacher from pokemon s/v so i randomly went off on an au where qifrey is the professor. etc

[writinganon1]

@cokoweee

Ya’ll ever have a dream so lifelike it feels aggressively real until one thing goes a little too wrong and then you start to realize that maybe you’re in a dream but it’s also too real to convince yourself it’s not real that you can’t wake yourself up? 

TW: panic attack, I say gun, uhhh blood ig? Bishop says a kinda weird thing but that's just him bein him

can I say blood? last time I did it marked me as mature...

-

Her heart thumped against her chest, lactic acid building in her legs as she ran. She tapped furiously at her phone, fingers slipping over the screen as she tried to deploy Sheldon. 

Donnie says “no no no” chimed a pixilated picture of Othello, his finger waving back and forth. 

“What the-” She slammed against a wall, her shoulder crunching against the brick. 

His stupid programming on the poor thing to keep Sheldon at his house. Maybe she could override it? 

No, not enough time. She was just going to have to run and hope for the best. 

Her shoulder screamed in protest as she climbed the ladder in the alley. Scrambling over the side of the building to catch her breath, she tapped at the screen again. 

There had to be something she could do to foil his programming. She wiped at her nose, the cold still not quite gone even after days of bed rest. Bullets flew over the edge of the building, seemingly locking on to her body heat. Throwing herself at the ledge at the last second to force the bullets to crash into the wall she coughed violently, phlegm coating her throat.

Stupid sickness. 

Stupid Othello leaving her with the stupid rabbit farmer.

She pushed herself off the ground, arms struggling under the weight of herself. It was as if every muscle in her body was on fire, each fiber screaming at her to stop. She gulped raising her head over the ledge. Agent Bishop was standing on the adjacent rooftop, his face curled into a sneer, eyes unblinking despite the sun in his eyes. 

He waved at her, fingers waggling in the air as he pulled a small gun from his pocket. Aiming it directly at her chest he grinned, his eyes flickering with something distinctly unhuman. 

She stumbled backward, her feet skidding over the concrete as he seemed to lock onto her. Loose rock dug into her knees as she clambered over the rooftop. 

Away.

All she needed to do was get away. 

She placed a hand over her stomach, feeling the raised bump of the scar, as she moved.

This was…

This was wrong? 

It didn’t happen this way. 

No. She didn’t need to get away, she needed to get out. 

The bullet ripped into her skin, tearing away at muscle, and shattering the bone in her rib.

She screamed, blood pouring from the gaping hole in her chest, as Bishop moved closer. He walked to her side, footsteps clanking against the concrete. 

Clawing at the ground she dragged her body along the roof, rocks digging under her nails. Bishop laughed, his foot trampling her hand, digging it into the ground. She gasped, breathing shallowly as she fought to get loose. 

He grabbed her hair, wrapping it between his fingers and tightening his grip as he pulled her from the floor. 

“Oh, this is wonderful.” He smiled, voice dripping with venom. “Such a pretty little thing I caught this evening. I’ve been dying to chat with you.” He pulled her hair up, forcing her to rise. “I wonder if she’ll do any tricks?” 

She spat in his face, her ears filled with an all-consuming ringing. 

Away. 

She needed to get away. 

It didn’t matter how. She needed to get away. 

He said something else, flaunting some sort of mechanism he had hidden in his shirt. She tried to focus on his words, but her breathing was too shallow, her limbs too shaky, the ringing too loud for her to hear a word. 

She clamped a hand over her chest, a sorry attempt to staunch the flow of blood from the gaping hole in her body. Cursing softly she watched as the red seeped into a slithering pink fleshy mass. 

She stifled a scream as the pink turned an orange maroon, her own blood fueling some sort of monster. 

“Shhhhhhh.” Bishop whispered against her ear, “It’ll be done soon. Just one quick slash and you’ll be out of my hair for good.” 

The mass jumped forward, faster than she could comprehend, her body spasming in pain as she scrambled back.

Was this the Krang she’d heard so much about after she’d left the jail? Weren’t they supposed to be mindless or something? 

It lunged forward again, tentacles lashing toward her face. Bishop shook her in front of him, like a toy for a dog. 

“Kendra?”  

She screamed as he tightened his grip on her, shaking her around like a bag of flour. The world around her turned hazy, her vision blurring in and out. 

She wasn’t going to go out without a fight. 

Throwing her head back she jammed her skull into his chin, breaking the grip he had on her hair. 

She clawed at the ground, a strange silky feeling coating her fingers. Pushing away the softness of what was sure to be Krang, she kicked at the mass as it wiggled unnaturally. 

“KENDRA!” A familiar voice shouted at her, a gentle three-fingered nubby touch against her arm. 

Her eyes flew open, arms flailing to the sides to swat at what was left of the Krang matter, as hands held her back. She gasped, her chest heaving as a sinking feeling hit her gut. Dread splashed over her head like a wave, drowning her, leaving nothing but fear.

Eyes widening she looked next to her for Tello, horrified as darkness encroached on her vision, leaving her staring through a pin hole. Nausea rolled through her stomach as she gasped for air, her chest shuddering to keep up with her breathing. 

It hurt. It hurt so bad. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” He whispered, hand placed against her back. “It’s ok you’re home. You’re with me.” 

She jerked backward. He was loud. So so loud. Even with the ringing in her ears, he was too loud. 

Breaths were punched from her lungs faster than she could finish taking them in. Tears streamed down her face as her eyes blew wide. Her chest tightened, lungs twisting as she shook. 

She’s dying. She has to be dying. There’s no other explanation. 

Dead in her room from a nightmare-induced heart attack,  

Her eyes flickered back and forth over the room, not focusing on anything, just wildly scanning for danger she knew wasn’t there. Willing her arm to move, she let out a chocked warble. 

The room seemed to melt around her. Things blurred together, a fuzzy abstract painting of almost-real-life. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she tightened her muscles. 

Her whole body shook as she tried to take steadying breaths. 

“Did you know softshell turtles only have half a plastron?” 

She was in the middle of dying. 

She most definitely did not need turtle facts right now. 

“Technically a full one, but it’s covered by skin, rendering it effectively useless for plastron purposes.” He shrugs. “Same deal as the shell.” 

She looked at him, confusion breaking through the panic. 

“Makes us really flexible though. Wanna see?” 

He got off the bed, walked to the middle of the room, and bent backward. He smiled upside down at her from the floor and smoothly brought himself back up. 

“Pretty neat huh?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Bet no other turtle you meet could do that.” 

Amusement rippled through her as she watched him demonstrate his stretches and various yoga poses.

“I’ve never met another turtle like you.” She breathed, some of the panic melting away. 

“Precisely! No one can do it like me!” He said, pointing his finger at her triumphantly before his face softened. “ We starting to feel a bit better?” 

She brought her thumb and pointer finger close together. A little 

He nodded. “Am I good to come back up or do you need some space?” 

She patted the bed next to her, inviting him closer. She waited until he was seated comfortably before slumping against his shoulder, exhausted. 

He shifted slightly, reaching for his phone with one hand, the other wrapped around her. He let them sit for a moment, reminding her to breathe every few seconds before Sheldon zipped into the room. 

He whispered something to Othello before zooming out of the room. She watched passively as it happened, her body still not quite connected to her soul. 

Sheldon returned moments later, a bag of ice, a bottle of water, a cookie, and tub of lavender lotion in his little propeller arms. 

Othello took them from him, patted his head, and shooed him away. Taking one of the ice cubes he flattened out her hand and placed it in her palm. 

She jerked slightly at the sensation of cold in her hand, surprised when he placed another in her palm. 

“Focus on the melting.” He said, voice low and gentle. 

The ice filled the lines of her hand and dripped over the sides and down her arm. She shivered as the water pooled in her hand. Othello grabbed the cookie from the pile he had created and broke off half to give to her. 

“Thanks?”

He watched her carefully. “What does it taste like?” 

“A cookie?” She said through a mouthful, her hands still full of TV static. 

“I need details.” He pressed. 

She paused, taking a moment to consider the flavors in her mouth. “Vanilla, chocolate chips.” She took another bite. “ Like I left it in the oven a minute or two too long and overcooked them just slightly.” 

She’d have to make another batch, this time keeping an eye on the time. 

He pressed an uncapped water bottle into her hand. “Drink.” 

She pressed the bottle to her lips, feeling the way the cold blossomed against her skin as she held it there. Quietly observing the way she could feel it go down her throat and into her stomach. 

“Are we feeling more alive?” 

She nodded, running her hand along her thigh to feel the fabric of her pajama pants as she pressed her head against his side. 

“Good.” He murmured, sleep creeping into his voice. “You had a panic attack I’m pretty sure.” 

“...Sorry it was for something stupid.” 

“I get worked up over stupid stuff too.” He mumbled, eyes half closed. 

“Your stuff isn’t stupid.” She countered. 

“Then neither is yours.” 

She stopped, lifting her head to look up at him.

He grabbed her hand, flexing the fingers for her. “You feel ok?” 

“I don’t know.” She answered honestly. 

He nodded and guided her to a lying position. “Tell me five of your favorite things.” 

She paused, looking around the room. “Hmmmmm. You.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Mhm. Uhhh, lavender. The color purple. Satin jackets. Baking. Messing around in the lab. Oh, I guess that’s more than five.” 

He tapped her shoulders rhythmically, “You can keep going if you need to.” 

She took in a deep breath. “I think I’m ok now.” 

“Positive?” 

Nodding she pulled the blankets over herself. What she really needed was rest. She was so exhausted from the whole ordeal that the idea of doing anything else felt impossible. 

He got off the bed again, searching beneath the bedframe for something before he pulled a large purple blanket from under the bed. She blinked in surprise as he placed it over her, a weight holding her down to the bed. 

“I should’ve mentioned it was weighted.” 

She pulled her hand out to give a quick thumbs up as he climbed back into bed. She shifted to hold out her arm for a hug. He smiled and pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her waist. 

“You smell like you’ve been using my soap.” She grumbled against his plastron. 

He shrugged. “ I like the way you smell.” 

Rolling her eyes she tugged the blanket higher over her shoulders smiling as soft chirping filled the room, the sound he always made right as he fell asleep. 

“Good night Tello.” She whispered.

His plastron vibrated as he churred back, gently running circles through her hair. 

She was home. And she was safe.

~

squad don't write stuff at four AM I'm pretty sure this only makes sense to me at this point. Anyway I was listening to my pretty princess playlist while writing this 💁‍♀️

the reason why this was written is in the tags btw

[sforzesco]

I was reading a footnote to Themistius' Brotherly Love Oration and ended up doing a quick painting of Seleucus II Callinicus while looking all these people up

⭐ places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app / tip jar!

[onlyjaeyun]

i'm gonna log off for a while because i'm really mentally drained from constantly hearing how unhappy and disappointed some of you guys were with both SB and CH'snendings and developments.

i know some of you guys come from a good place and mean no harm but imagine working on something for so long and then you yourself are already sad about how things ended but you wanna use it as a way to do better next time but people constantly tell you how you should do better next time and its always "i was so excited but it never came" and "i wished things would have gone this way" after you spent days crying out of frustration because your brain didn't corporate.

people who have never written (one shots or series doesnt matter) don't know the burden of leaving unfinished works up there. i keep telling you guys that i tried so hard to somehow give you guys an ending because if i hadn't you guys would have never received ANY ending so i tried to make the best of it.

i dont take the hate to heart anymore bc i couldnt care less and i know as a writer i should be open to criticism but i'm a little tired of my work being constantly nitpicked when i do this for fun.

i know updating daily was what burnt me out pls stop telling me that i obviously overestimated myself i fucking know.

whatever, it actually doesn't matter anymore because CH is over and i dont think i'll ever write smaus that long ever again bc the criticism is so not worth the mental effort and stress.

i do this for FUN. you know how artists doodle in their notebooks, this is what this blog is to me. i make mistakes, i over/underestimate things and myself bc this is life. it's just..not that deep for y'all to constantly camp in my inbox and make me feel bad about it when i already accepted it.

i'm gonna do some self reflection and think about it all so take care babies 🤍

[ellabswilliamson]

You guys won't BELIEVE the wip im cooking up rn

Ellie and Abby are arguing over something stupid (like who's the most traumatized or who's the most awesome or some shit), Dina is a mildly concerned but mostly neutral observer of the chaos, and Jesse is playing crossword puzzles and trying to ignore Dumb and Dumber.

Image description in alt text

Based off of the image below

[royalarchivist]

Oscurucho: Welcome back, brother. Cucurucho: What. Oscurucho: Not even a "Good morning"? How cold.

Here's Cucurucho and Oscurucho's long lore conversation from yesterday! The entire conversation lasted about 8 minutes, but most of that time was just silence between each exchange, so I edited out the long pauses and got it down to ~3 minutes. I also fixed the audio levels and added subtitles since I personally find it difficult to understand Oscurucho sometimes :'D

I hope folks find this helpful!

[ Subtitle Transcript ↓ ]

-

Oscurucho: Welcome back, brother.

Cucurucho: What.

Oscurucho: Not even a "Good morning"? How cold.

[They enter Cucurucho's office]

Oscurucho: I wanted to see if you're still as rigid in your beliefs as ever. You see, I've been thinking about our... Let's call it "philosophical divergence." You stand for order, for predictability. But where's the fun in that? You see, brother, while you build, I ponder the beauty in tearing down. It's not just destruction - it's rebirth. A chance to remake things in a more... thrilling image.

[...]

Oscurucho: You once had a backbone for our cause. Now, I see a softness in you, a sentimental weakness for those Eggs. Mere experiments, and yet - they've softened you.

Cucurucho: Your vision obstructs the path to perfection. You fail to understand the potential of the Eggs.

Oscurucho: Potential? They're but catalysts for change - for revolution. Without them, stagnation reigns.

[...]

Oscurucho: You chase perfection, I embrace the beauty of flaws. Your world is one of order, mine thrives in chaos. You wish for everything to run smoothly, I dream of watching it all burn to the ground. We may share a name, but our souls are worlds apart. All your efforts, all for what? Mere acknowledgment from a Duck who told you to do it? Imagine the possibilities - rather, show me where it is, and I'll do the rest.

[...]

Oscurucho: Speaking of possibilities, I couldn't help but notice how easily others can access the island. It seems your security measures aren't as impenetrable as you think.

Cucurucho: No. My island's vulnerabilities are of your own making. Do not mistake restraint for ignorance.

Oscurucho: Pity. But then again, I never really needed your approval. Just consider: Cucurucho - in your quest for order, have you not sown the seeds of your own undoing? Do you genuinely trust all your Federation minions?

Cucurucho: ...

Oscurucho: Perhaps it's time you question not just my intentions, but those who you believe stand with you.

Cucurucho: That is none of your business, I shall say. Now, leave me alone and try to disturb someone else.

[beargregor]

Chef greg delivery just for you. it's a wonder I hadn't bearified him yet, he's my fave greg too 🔪

gays literally only want one thing (to be chopped up and eaten by a depressed man) and it's fucking disgusting