#and i never knew how to tag it

[existennialmemes]

Our DNA is made of

✨🌟 Star Dust 🌟✨

One day that might be very valuable on the black market

[snakebites-and-ink]

Want to be whump characters with me?

Do this quiz. (Since some of the possibilities are not-so-nice, if you don’t jibe with your initial result, you’re welcome to retake it, I don’t care.)

Do this picrew, based on both your actual self and your role from the quiz

Tag people, or make it an open tag (or both)!

Open tag, anyone can join!

[a2zillustration]

Gale and I had the exact same reaction when we opened that door.

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[[ All Croissant Adventures (chronological, desktop) ]]

[[ All Croissant Adventures (app) ]]

[kiwiaok]

I love that kevin grieved riko. like, of course, he did. don’t people say that grief is the final form of love? and kevin did love him, I think. he loved him once, before, and he loved him after, still. loved him in a way a kicked dog still loves its owner, because even with face twisted in anger and palms shaking from violence that owner is still the same person that gave it a home once. he grieved him because when someone suddenly becomes undeserving of your love– does it ever leave? that love? or does it grow its own legs and continue to wander this world without regard for the validity of its existence

of course kevin grieved. the aftertaste of his love for riko was still fresh on his tongue

[vanitasmagoria]

metamorphosis. yes there's a man transforming into a literal monster and yes it's about sam's descent into demon blood freak monsterhood but to me, above all, it's the episode in which dean's controlling codependency takes a monstrous turn.

he's petty and he's jealous and he's violent and he hits sam for lying and he hits sam again for talking back and he's trashing the motel room and he's the image of an abuser. dean is threatening to leave sam and to hunt sam and they both know he's not going to do either (i can't escape you, you can't escape me). there's dark fury and despair and panic in dean's eyes because sam (in tears, bleeding, taking it) is becoming more than he can control.

sam says "this blood, it's not in you the way it's in me" and dean can't fucking stand it. he immediately tries to write himself into this, sam's not doing this alone. that's his brother, his blood, how dare he go there. their blood not being the same is the gravest, most personal insult to dean.

sam says "i'm not doing it for you" and "this is my choice" and dean cannot STAND IT. sam still craves autonomy and dean STILL. CAN'T. STAND. IT.

[neferirk-art]

My friend totally dared me to draw them kissing bonking their heads together this is not my fault I am normal about them.

@birdkittenn you know what you did.

[akkivee]

they've been potentially changing a lot with the shadow manga, but since maria's final words to shadow were how she loves him and amy's conversation with shadow in the joypolis collab was about how he is loved, i like to think sonic team is still hinting at amy's ability to touch his heart lol

[way2gosuperrstarr]

the world's most underqualified daycare team 😁🫶

i fear theyre cooked.

ignore moon and monday being in almost the same pose i noticed it too late to change it.

original au post w og refs and au explaination

my sun and moon designs w more 'detail elaboration' (not sdgo related post, just them in general)

i did want to make sun and moon's designs in sdgo different than my general personal designs that i use in my self insert au for easier differentiation for other people (i can tell them apart pretty easiy because i portray them personality-wise pretty differently in both aus), but . im too attached . to my current designs um 😔 /silly their designs r basically the same i just wanted to draw them in this lineup w monday/yn/mc/whathaveyou so they didnt look . sad and lonely. lol . theyve already got enough of that "sad and lonely" shit going on in the storyline ❤️

i probably shouldve written a bit more on the image itself but i didnt . want to crowd it.

closeups and a bit ....more..... yapping (not too much, but might interest some? maybe?) under cut 👍 + their all eye variations put onto their actual drawn faces, for funsies ^_^

moon doesnt get a security mode until later into the timeline ^_^ it's (spoilers i guess) actually how the virus gets passed onto him and sun! when his security mode gets added the virus comes with it.

moon's by far got the most eye variations god damn (i love him)

[u3pxx]

can i show you guys an old oc of mine her name is reina (she/he) and he is a retired villain and also he loves her superhero wife a lot

[fairyroses]

He was about to kill you, Lex. Or divulge something you didn't want me to know.

— SMALLVILLE, "Forever" (4.21)

+ bonus from "Arctic" (7.20):

[jesuis-assez]

THE ROOKIE- 6.03 ➦ Trouble In Paradise

[lovesickeros]

☆ de fontaine

{☆} characters furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings angst, suicidal thoughts, hurt / no comfort {☆} word count 1.4k

This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair!

She thought, for one moment, she could put the mask down and breathe – for one moment of daydreaming, she thought she could just be Furina. She thought she would finally get to live the live she should've had in the first place, the life she threw away to play God to an audience who saw her as nothing but a circus animal, dancing to their whims. Furina just wanted to be selfish for one brief and fleeting moment..and it was gone before she could even grasp it in her hand. A comet soaring past far out of her reach.

She can barely keep her hands from violently shaking as she looks down at them – broken and bloody and more a corpse then a person – and she feels so numb she can't even feel the rain pelting against her back. None of this is fair, she wants to scream, why is it always me? But her voice is silent beneath the torrent of rain. She wonders if the ocean would take her if she sank into it's depths – just for a moment, she wonders how it would feel to finally be able to sleep at ease.

Furina is tired.

But Furina is nothing if not useful, isn't she?

So she forces her feet to move, dragging against the stone beneath her heels, and drags their bloodied body into the nearest empty building, letting the rain do the work of washing away the smeared blood following her path. The smell makes her feel sick, the feeling of it sticking to her hands and gloves makes her lightheaded, but she persists. Because Furina is useful, because Furina won't let them die out in the rain, because Furina won't stand by and just let them rot on the streets like some..pest.

Furina wants to go home. She wants to sleep and she isn't she if she wants to wake up, this time. But she keeps going anyway.

Because it's all she's ever done, and the habit sticks.

An Archon she may not be, not anymore, but the expectations of five hundred years still linger like eyes on the inside of her skull. They watch her, pry and prod at her thoughts, mocking laughter and judging eyes following her as she forces herself to dance to the song they weave with glee. Furina never stepped off that stage – she's still there, she thinks, watching the crowd stare at her in disdain as the curtain call looms above her like a guillotine. She still hears Neuvillette deliver her damnation and salvation with a trembling voice, still feels her hair stand on end when electro crackled like the crack of the whip, Clorinde's blade aimed at her like a loaded gun.

She's trapped on that stage and she never left, not really.

She hates it. She thinks she hates them, but it's not their fault. They didn't ask for this, didn't ask for everyone to turn against them, didn't ask for her to save them. Neither did she..yet here they are, she thinks.

She tries to tell herself she's in control this time, though. She can stop performing her part in this horrible, bloody play any time she wants. It makes her feel better, just for a little while, if she convinces herself she's still Furina, painfully human.

And Furina has always been good at lying.

It's the believing that's the hard part.

There isn't time for her to wallow in her own self pity, though. They're still bleeding out onto the dusty, creaky floorboards of some random, broken down house and she's just standing there as the blood stains the wood. She can fix it – she's good at fixing things. She's done nothing but fix things – try to, anyway – for five hundred years. She can fix a little wound, how hard could it be? Her hands are clenched so tight they ache as she kneels down, wincing at the creak of the floorboards beneath her heels– she hesitates just long enough to wonder if she's making a mistake before she peels away just enough of the outer layer of their clothes to see the deep, bloody gash across their chest. She tries not to think about it – it's deep, too deep, and she feels dizzy just looking at it, but she's handled worse, right?

Furina can fix it. That's what she's good at.

She doesn't feel so confident when she tries to wrack her brain for..something. Five hundred years, and a little wound stumps her? No, she had to have learned something, right? She's decidedly not trying to buy time because she's panicking, parsing through hundreds of years of memories like flipping through a book. Furina isn't made for this, not really – she's running on nothing but adrenaline and she's really not sure what she's doing, but she's trying. And just like before, it won't be enough, will it?

She'll fall short again – she'll be too late to fix it before she's alone again.

Furina was an Archon..used to be. What use would she have for that sort of knowledge? Which makes her predicament all the more harrowing and bleak. What was she supposed to do?

Furina had heard it first hand, that vitriol in Neuvillette's voice. She isn't sure she's ever heard him that..angry before. She's not sure he would listen to her if she tried, either. And that scares her more then anything. All of Fontaine was up in arms about this..imposter, yet here she was, staring down at them bleeding out in front of her, and she was trying to save them.

Why? Why is she throwing away her only chance at normalcy for a fraud? Why didn't she just turn them in?

They were dying – that should've been a good thing, shouldn't it? So why didn't it feel like it?

"Why you?" Her voice breaks as she speaks in harsh tones, grabbing the front of their shirt in trembling, bloodied hands. "Why now?" She wants to scream, to demand answers they can't give, to claw back the reprieve she was promised after five hundred years of agony..and all she can do is sob into their chest, pleading for an answer that will not come. "Why me?"

Silence is their answer, and it hangs heavy on her trembling shoulders as she cries.

Of course they don't, she thinks bitterly, no one has ever answered her pleas spoken in hushed sobs. Not her other self and certainly not them.

Furina has always been alone. Furina will always be alone.

Because Furina never left that stage, never left that moment when she looked at herself in the mirror and took up a mantle too heavy for her to bear. She always finds her way back eventually. There's no one on the other side anymore – she stands alone on a stage, waiting for an inevitable end she isn't sure will come.

"Please," She pleads through tears and choked sobs, clinging to them like they are all that keeps her from sinking. "Please don't leave me, too." The words burn on her tongue – how pathetic is she that she craves companionship from the bloodied body of the imposter? Perhaps she's truly lost her mind after all these years..perhaps she's finally gone mad. She must have.

But their presence is like the first feeling of gentle warmth upon her skin as the sun crests the horizon, like the gentle lap of tides along her heels, the sway of branches and leaves as the wind blows through them like an instrument all it's own. They are the soothing sound of rain against the window as she watches the dreary skies in fond longing, the first bloom of spring as color blooms upon the landscape like paint had been spilled across the hills and valleys.

They are like the faint spark she carefully nurtures and stokes, so fragile even the smallest wind could blow it out like a candle. She cradles it within her palms, pleads with whoever will listen – prays that someone finally listens, because if not for her, then for them.

She's failed to protect too much already, let too many people with so much trust in her fall between the cracks of her fingers like grains of sand. She won't let them go – she can't.

If nothing else, if she couldn't be saved when she begged for salvation from that five hundred year long agony, even if she never got that chance..

Furina will make sure they do.

[emily-mooon]

Scott Pilgrim Characters as Text Posts but they’re mostly of Stacey and Neil cause I’m obsessed with them :]

[lloydfrontera]

lloyd 'survived on one meal per day for years' frontera would absolutely see sharing food as a love language and javier 'lived in the streets for months as a child' asrahan would be fluent in it

i do believe there is a point in their lives where they both heal from the trauma of going through severe food insecurity but neither of them ever quite really forget just how important food can be. and when the other shares their food with them, they appreciate it as the show of affection it was meant to be

[voidwelt]

When it comes to being an artist, I think (head-canon) that though Welt is more inclined to draw things he is interested in (robotics), he is more than capable of producing portraits of the people he cares about IRL. Now that he is stranded from so many of them, recreating their likeness in art is the best he has, so he refines the skill in his spare time.

However, when it comes to the standard art of a self-portrait, he tends to stumble a little bit. Usually, when he is forced to represent himself, it is never more than a half-hearted, barely-detailed sketch, and every time, he is unsatisfied by the result. He never thinks it quite looks like 'him'.

So next to detailed portraits of family, friends, loved ones - drawings that capture personalities and habits and quirks, his depictions of himself (when they do happen, very rarely) look laughably simple and surface level.

After all, a self-portrait is like a window into the way an artist perceives themself. As someone who often defines himself by an ultimate responsibility ("I am Welt, of Humanity!"). I expect that 'perceiving himself' so intently beyond it might be at least a little difficult for him.

Anyway. I want to dunk him in a vat of acid and drink him like a smoothie.

[itsbasicallycanon]

a little murder, as a treat :)

(original video from scott the woz)

transcript:

Leo: That must be them! Listen- help me figure out who my secret santa is. I can't wait.

Mikey: If you really couldn't wait, you're hands would be far bloodier.