#BUT I AM SO EXITED TOO

[yumikittyproducoes]

I'm so normal about Longlegs, i swear.

[pujjel]

Ok but no jokes i just beat Pizzahead WITH NO DAMAGE, IT WAS INSANE

[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

[cassiebones]

okay but a scene of Agatha and Rio just fucking going at it, fighting-wise. Agatha screaming at her, red-faced, telling her how much she hates her for what she did, for taking her baby away from her when she could have saved him, could have brought him back. Rio staying calm and pretty rational, allowing Agatha to have the feelings out like she hadn't done centuries ago, letting her vent and scream and call her all sorts of names. She knows that she's in pain, so she lets Agatha scream.

This, of course, makes Agatha angrier. She wants Rio to scream back, not talk in calm tones. She wants to have another huge knockdown fight, but Rio is so calm and how is she so calm when Agatha is so mad?!?!

So she says something that she knows will set Rio off.

"You never loved me; you just saw me as something pretty you could control."

This is the only thing that can really make Rio angry because how dare she?!?!

Rio's hands spark with her power, she stomps toward Agatha until they're a breath apart. Agatha doesn't back down, and Rio can hear her heart racing.

"How could you ever even think that?" Rio asks, through gritted teeth. "I loved you for centuries, even when I couldn't see you. Even when you left me alone. I still loved you, even when I hated you."

"Then why did you take my son away--"

"HE WAS MY SON, TOO!"

That shuts Agatha up for once. So do the tears that immediately fall down Rio's cheeks. Because she may not have birthed him, but, dammit, Nicholas was her son. She held him the day he was born, swore to protect him. She called him "Nicky" and he called her Mama. When he first got sick, she cared for him when Agatha slept, cradled him in her arms. How she knew the moment that he wouldn't recover from his illness, how she had had to ferry dozens of other infants and toddlers in their village due to the same illness. How she had tried to gently tell Agatha that his time was coming, that she had to prepare herself to say goodbye, that they needed to spend as much time holding him as possible.

But Agatha refused. She started talking about the Darkhold. She begged Rio to go to the Witches' Road with her. She pleaded with her, to help save her son, their son. Rio already knew that it was pointless, that Nicholas was beyond saving, that not even dark magic could save his soul, but she was powerless against Agatha.

So she went. And she felt Nicholas's life slip away as they walked the Road, as they were the only two witches to emerge, victorious. Agatha got what she wanted with the Darkhold, but it was too late.

When they returned home, Nicky was gone. Their son was dead. And Rio had to do something she'd hoped she wouldn't have to do for decades, centuries even.

She reaped her own son's soul, while her wife screamed in anguish, cursing her. She didn't let Agatha see her tears as she carried his soul to the other side.

And then Agatha was gone and she was left with a gaping hole in her black heart, causing her unbelievable pain for centuries, leaving a scar there in the shape of Agatha and Nicholas.

So how dare Agatha imply that she was any less Nicky's mother?!?

Agatha does soften at Rio's words, stepping back as they kind of slap her across the face. She knows that Rio is right, that Nicholas was Rio's, whether she birthed him from her body or not. But she's too stubborn to apologize.

Instead, she says, "you never actually hated me." It's not a question, but it's still uncertain. She doesn't know if it would hurt more or less if it turned out that Rio hated her as much as she hated Rio.

"I don't think I would have hated you as much as I did," Rio said, tears still falling down her cheeks, "if I didn't love you so much."

Then she walks away, leaving Agatha gaping after her.

[even-disco-baby]

YOU — “No. There is still a chance.”

DOLORES DEI — “You think so?” Her voice is weary.

EMPATHY — Everything about her is weary. She is the Innocence of weariness, of heroically borne suffering.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — That is the picture you have painted for yourself, at any rate.

YOU — “You looked back. That’s the memory, the moment, that I can’t stop returning to. You looked back. I had a chance, for just that moment…”

DOLORES DEI — She meets your eye, gaze still forever cast back over her shoulder. Time stops. The stars are stilled, the ocean silent. There is *nothing* beyond this memory. Nothing at all. All of infinity is contained in this single moment when anything and everything was possible.

“Oh, Harry…” She sighs, soft as eiderdown. “We never had any chance.”

And just like that, the wave of time collapses under its own weight, obliterating everything. This moment was six years ago. She is gone from here. Gone, gone…

PAIN THRESHOLD — You cannot leave. There was nothing outside of this moment, and now there is nothing at all. It’s all gone. There is no point. I’m sorry. I can’t do this any longer.

VOLITION — Please, don’t say that…

“Okay. Well, fuck me, then.”

“How would *you* know?! You gave up! You didn’t even try!”

“We *must* have had a chance, at some point… Doesn’t everyone get a chance, if nothing more?”

“How could you say that…?”

DOLORES DEI — “Because it’s true,” she says, matter-of-fact. “There is no moment in time that you can turn back to, no branching paths, no infinity. There is only what happened. I looked back… and then away.” She closes her eyes, turning her back to you.

“The moment ended. *We* ended. That is all.”

SHIVERS — A wave crashes against an unseen shore, ocean spray tickling the back of your neck. You shiver, but no one shivers with you. You are alone in this intersection. Why are you here?

“Why can’t *I* end?! Why can’t this all just stop? Please, make it stop…”

“Ended? I’ve barely even started! I got a chance to start completely over as somebody new! I don’t need you anymore! You’re just dead weight to me now.”

“No. That wasn’t the real ending. We’re a part of something so much bigger than this intersection, telling a story that encapsulates all of history! There’s *more* to this, it *means* something.”

“Then… What am I supposed to do now…?”

DOLORES DEI — “No, Harry.” She turns back to you again now, and she looks… sad.

“We were not metaphors. We were people. Our narrative was not intelligently designed. It simply followed the patterns of history, because those are the only patterns we *know.* We tried to create something new, but we failed. There is no narrative reward for our failure, no satisfactory ending. There is only the immutable past and the unknowable future.”

RHETORIC — There is no assurance of what is good or deserved or what may bring relief. There is no assurance of punishment, either. There is no assurance of anything. Not even of a future. I don’t know what to say to make this bearable.

VOLITION — Even so… As long as you live, *something* is promised. Can you live with that?

I can’t, I just can’t do this anymore…

I can. It’s enough.

I don’t know. I just don’t know.

I can at least try for a little longer…

VOLITION — That’s all I ask. That’s enough.

[theguiltinessisyours]

life truly is coming full circle with 11 years I was obsessed with Percy Jackson and now I just watched the pilot of kaos and it truly is phenomenal

[themintman]

dude I just saw a tiktok abotu the minecarafts movie (sidenote but why is it so hard to type with nails suddenly. Bruh I never have short nails why am I struggling) but like I saw a tiktok about the Minecraft movie and it was one of those annoying ones where they're like "big news !!!" And then say something that everyone knows, this one was about jack black playing steve. BUT THIS PRICK USED MCSM CLIPS ON THE BOTTOM HALF OF THE SCREEN. YKU CANT FUCKING BAIT US LIKE THAT. I WAS SHAKJNG AND GIGGLING FUDE IM GONNA 💥💥💥💥💥

[bluebellhairpin]

When I tell you I am OBSESSED. I mean it. LOOK. @54prowl's 'Hushed Gasps' commission event is still open so you can ALSO have a reason to go bonkers over a suggestive art with your blorbo. Me and Erwin could be you and whoever you're most delulu for <33

[toughtttz]

Time to play the "is this a covert personality disorder, or am I just trying to fit into the critia" game

[lumivall]

Professor layton is back in the house!!!

Professor Layton has risen from his grave and is back with a new adventure! I saw so many good art pices about the new world of steam and Professor layton in general. So I wanted to be a part of it!

[toastybugguy]

one of those days when shit just happens to you and you realize you probably will never get closure and will have to learn how to cope with it on your own. good god. where is the fucking rewind button!!

[clarebear-0925]

THEY’RE MAKING MINECRAFT WEEPING ANGELS OH GOD

[goatyuuji]

Waiting for the jjk s2 OST to drop soon so i can listen to Sukuna’s Malevolent shrine OST !!!!!

[baycitystygian]

I know I generally embrace being autistic but today the hardest parts of it were really in the foreground for the entire fucking exhausting day… having auditory issues on a VERY important phone call that I needed to make and fighting for my life to understand what the poor sweet insurance lady was saying because the audio was so distorted… having a way-too-long discussion with my sister where I (1) promised to “castrate [her baby daddy] like a hog” for ghosting her and genuinely meant it (thinking about stuffing his nards as a wall trophy tbh, if he doesn’t wanna be a dad so badly then surely it’s no loss to him!) and (2) argued with her about laws that are stupid and shouldn’t apply to her situation (that’s a long story)… which probably did not make her feel any bit better and honestly I think both of us are much more stressed out afterwards. like some situations get me so outrageously mad that I literally cannot handle it and I need to remove myself from the conversation because the other person isn’t budging because it’s something they have zero influence over and they are just trying to explain the damn thing but it’s Wrong in my eyes so I feel the need to argue my case and how the fuck does anyone put up with me

like I know I don’t go into much detail about personal issues on here (or much of anything re: IRL me) but uh. that’s a huge thing I struggle with and I have no clue how to change it. It’s like, does no one else have common sense? Why can’t anyone else see this? and it feels like screaming into the void and it makes me feel terrible and it only stresses out the other person who is Not Getting Paid Enough (well, at ALL) to deal with Whatever This Is

[tamaharu]

going to dan and phil show on sunday do i bring blue stud earrings (fit with the color theme) or battleaxe earrings (cool but hefty)