#and wrote the first paragraphs of this

[sketchyorsomething]

I loathe painting landscapes and nature. The colors never turn out the way I want, clouds are ever changing, looking completely different the moment I put a brush on my paper. Nature is insidious, deceiving a painter's eye with colors, with feelings.

How can I ever hope to portray the air, tickling from electricity before the storm, as it fills my lungs while the only thing I paint are the contrasting colors of the dark, cloudy sky and the bright canola field? Will I ever be able to show everyone the vastness of the night sky after I came back home, drunk on happiness after a show at a theatre? When the stars seem to glow brighter with every passing thought of the memories I just made? Who would be able to know of the guy who complimented my french, of the book I was reading at that moment, of the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore, when all I paint is the deep green of the trees on the cliff and rays of sunlight gleam through the clouds? No one will ever be able to feel the wind twirling my hair around, when all I can draw are the bright colors of the flowers in front of the emerald green sea but even then, the colors look all wrong, too bright, too vibrant, just too much, to look realistic, even when they match the real ones just right.

How am I meant to show the adrenaline flowing through my body when I explore the forest with its giant boulders, waiting for me to climb them, to see the world around me in the way Nature itself does: ever-lasting in its continuous state of change. How am I meant to capture the vastness of the horizon, where the waves of the sea meet the sky, when all I can draw is confined in one single piece of paper?

It is so difficult to paint nature, to fill the painting with not only a landscape but instead with the feeling of that moment and the memories that lead to it and those it will lead to. It is so difficult finding the right motif, when it is inevitable to reduce the things I see so much, that it is not bursting out of the paper. Because the motif lives off of the things I have to take out. You can feel the missing pieces.

Nature is devasting because we never know what awaits us (it is there; it is waiting for us). Because all we know about it, was knowledge seen though a human's eyes and it will remain that way. How can humanity compare to Nature itself, even think that we know Nature, when we are only a part in it, in no way different than the ants crawling on the ground

[kenobihater]

i'm thinking hard about how every meaningful interaction the player has with lambert in the witcher 3 is with a man who is grieving. first is the loss of aiden, who lambert is defensive of and shares the bare minimum about during following the thread, basically just enough of his positives so he can ensure geralt helps him track down aiden's killers.

when we see him at kaer morhen before juicing up the phylactry at the circle of elements during the final trial, he's making booze, and later admits to drinking alone. he's not coping well with any of his grief, either regarding the loss of aiden or his more distant past, as is evident by the conversation about voltehre and later the conversation about his childhood.

in following the thread he's mourning aiden, in the final trial he's mourning both voltehre and his life pre-trials, and in blood on the battlefield, well... he's mourning the only real father-figure he's ever known, as is made obvious by his voicelines if keira isn't present and he doesn't feel the need to put on a brave façade.

lambert's entire diposition in game is shaped by the fact that he's actively mourning aiden and later vesemir, and that he's still bitter over both the death of voltehre and of his childhood innocence. he's in pain, and lonely, and resentful of the entire world! he's a grief-stricken man haunted by the weight of the past!! every meaningful conversation geralt has with him feels like traversing a minefield because he's bereaved!!!

[gossippool]

i was gonna make a personal poolverine headcanons list because other people were doing it too but i realised my fics already have most of them so. here are some of my headcanons in fic snippet form. some contradict with others and some i don't even think are necessarily true but it's fun to experiment

people have said this before but logan fights wade because he sees himself in him (or because he realises that he actually doesn't and he hates that)

wade knows about and feels the (emotional and psychological) effects of all his other variant selves (and everything else if he tries)

logan's heightened senses gives him synesthesia

logan doesn't actually like violence/fighting/blood during sex or like ever. it's just an unhealthy addiction that started from him killing all those people that he snuffed with alcohol but revived with wade, and a way to take his anger out on (someone like) himself

with regard to wade's chronic pain slight p pressure on his skin hurts more and in a worse way than sharp pains like getting stabbed

[crybaby-bkg]

……wanna be bullied by the BakuSquad soooo badly…..

They just push you around so much, disguise it as a little teasing and fun, even though you cry and whine for them to leave you alone. It’s apart of the game, they always tell you once they’ve cornered you into empty rooms, that’s the whole point of playing with such a pretty thing like you.

And you think Mina is better, doesn’t associate herself with those stupid assholes, that you can find comfort in a, hopefully, female friend. But she’s just as icky, as slimy as the rest. She asks you to join her, come spar with her so she can perfect this one move she’s been trying, only for all four boys to already be there in the empty gym.

They all push you around, stand over you and laugh when you sit there and cry, Mina pinching your cheeks when you blubber up to her that you thought she was your friend.

Friends give each other favors, don’t they? She’ll ask you, already slipping her leggings down, already pushing you flat on your back, already stuffing her cunt in your face.

Friends offer themselves up, because they always want everyone around them to feel good, don't they? You hear her ask when you're pushed on your knees and there are too many fingers stuffing your cunt. When there's a weighty cock slapping at your cheeks, a hand squeezing at your face until your mouth drops open. When she comes around and shows you the right way to take a cock down your throat, before she's shoving it down yours next.

Friends like to get used as toys, don't they? She asks you as she sits back to play with her cunt while watching you get used and tugged and manhandled. Like some doll that too rough boys play with and fight over, pulling you and your mouth and your hole every which way they can. You can hear Kirishima and Denki fighting over who gets to fuck your ass first, Sero telling them to just double stuff you as he lazily fucks your mouth, Bakugou snarling from under you that its technically gonna be a triple stuff.

Friends take it all, don't they? She whispers to you, cheek to cheek, as she holds your mouth open to catch the sticky white all the boys shoot on your face. She grins when you nod enthusiastically, attitude turned around and adjusted when you realize that she's right, that she only has your best interest at heart, that this is truly what friends are for.

[rusomnia]

just saying jason todd probably wrote batman fanfic as both a form of therapy and karma

my evidence:

- he's a lit nerd. every lit nerd has written fanfiction at somepoint. if you're a lit nerd and you haven't, you're a liar or you will be writing fanfiction soon. be ready.

- you're a liar if you think the batfam didn't have a giant fandom in gotham city (and other cities that had batman shipped with their hero (metropolis im looking at you))

- he'd get to tear the shit out of batman with well thought out arguments against stuff without actually having to try and make bruce listen

- the authors notes.

- 'sorry i haven't updated in two years, i got blown up resurrected and turned into an assassin by my step-mum. here's some fluff as an apology'

- i feel like i could go on for a while but I'll leave it there

[yeyinde]

i can't talk right now. this fic just changed me fundamentally as a person and now i feel like a hollow shell of my former self.

[sguidwards-bestfriend]

New Dimension, Who's This?

honestly writing this cuz I saw @gin2212 's comment and made me teary, so were gunna finish this bad boy! not today but you know... it will happen

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, part 5, part 6

Explicit mentions of death (but of characters that are currently living) Kind of OG version of their deaths

Danny had only walked through the Wayne’s home adjacent gardens once, in a direct route to the barn. Batcow was a highlight of that little excersion.

Now, however, they were actually looking at the shrubbery shaped like boring spheres and rectangles.

He felt Jason become distant and floated back a bit, he’d turned left into a very small opening.

Inside were three unmovable cement benches that curved slightly into one circle. The well cut bushes were wilder in here, making it cramped and impossible to see over the hedge.

“This spot used to be my favorite, when the weather was nice. I’d come out here with a book and whatever drink Alfred had decided to make that day.” Jason looked down at a square of cement in the middle, probably where a table had been. The indents on the side of the seats, likely from the mold it was made from, had moss growing in it.

“This seems like the perfect hideout.” Danny smiled and sat on the bench opposite Jason.

Jason hummed in agreement, he coughed awkwardly even for Danny’s standards and spoke up again. “So, you’re the god of death?” Jason was probably really good at looking casual and intimidating to most people, but Danny could sense the tension emanating from his core as he sat near a branch mere inches from his face with his hands in his pockets, probably wishing he could lean against something to look nonchalant.

“Nope, I’m the king of the dead. They aren’t the same thing.”

“So, you’re not Hades?”

“I hope not, I’ve met him and he’s kind of a dick.”

Jason laughed softly, he liked how it sounded “Okay, cool, so the Greek gods exist.”

“All of the gods do, technically.” He waited for Jason to look at him. “I know it’s hard to wrap your head around, but the infinite realms isn’t really a dimension on its own. It’s the space between all dimensions. When you die you have to pass through it to get to your destination. Some people don’t have a place and they end up part of my realm, some get lost, some sell their soul, others forget their lives entirely and are part of my people from the second they pass over. Then there are the never-borns: souls that form from pure will of the infinite realms. All that is part of my domain.” Danny floated up a bit to try and catch a glimpse of the stars, the smog from Gotham blocking everything. He looked back at Jason and his stomach did a little flip that he decidedly did nothing about. “But just so were clear; hell, the underworld, and all those other things are in the infinite zone. They aren’t all the same thing.”

“Okay. So, you rule over those too?”

“Again no, once a soul gets into the correct dimension, I don’t really have anything to do with it.”

“Wait so if someone who believes in an afterlife sells their soul what happens?”

Danny slouched in the air and grunts, “That’s where all the fucking paperwork comes in. I really want you to imagine the most bureaucratic way to possibly move to a new country, but you have none of your documents. Being stuck in this dimension was a fun break at first, but now all I can think of are the stacks of A-13 forms that are probably covering the castle floors.”

Jason shifted and with it came a wave of uncertainty. “If someone was killed and brought back, what then?”

Danny has seen how ghosts in the zone get when they talk about their deaths. For many it’s all they remember of their life. If a ghost with years to think it through reacts explosively he’s not sure how it will go with a newbie. “Well, a few things. The soul could come back to a place without a body in which case you have a true haunting. If the death was quick, it could have flash formed a core, that’s like a soul that has died fully, and then shoved back into the living body. That’s how you get halfas like me.”

Jason still looked cool and collected on the outside but there was unbelievable turmoil seeping out of him. “What if the body was dead for a while? What if a soul or core was shoved back into a body on purpose?”

“I’ve only seen one revival before, but there was a lot of time warping there. The necromancers I’ve met who were trying to bring someone back didn’t have access to ectoplasm which had results that are very different to… having it.” Danny breathed out to calm himself, letting that calm wave wash over Jason as well. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright.” Jason shuffled his leather jacket, “You call it ectoplasm.”

“Yeah.” Danny answered with a lilt in his voice.

“The green goop filled pools you said you emptied, you mentioned they were corrupted.”

“I did yeah.”

“What would happen if someone was exposed to that?”

“Honestly, it’s not the first time I’ve come across it but never that much. For ghosts it can leave them sick and weak for days. Not like polluted water, more like if you switched out the water a healthy person drank for soda exclusively. It won’t kill them, but it will have a negative effect.” Danny thought for a second and remembered the one-time Sam got covered in a mix of good and contaminated ecto during a fight with Undergrowth. “I saw how a diluted version of it affected a living person, her mind was warped and she had the same sort of tunnel vision a ghost has if they have a particularly strong obsession.”

Jason took a breath, he’d been going strong so far. Danny may come to regret this, but he put a hand on his shoulder and floated where they’d be face to face, letting his bottom half fade away into the ghostly tail. “I won’t do it if you don’t want me to, but I can subdue your emotions a bit if you want to talk about it.” Jason looked up quickly and Danny scrambled to correct himself. “I haven’t been doing that! Well, like not in a controlling way, more like the ghost version of calming down a friend who’s freaking out. If you pushed past it I wouldn’t hold you back.”

“You should.” Danny couldn’t help the questioning noise that came out of him, “The first year I came back, I don’t remember it well, but I tried to kill Tim… and possibly Damian. If I do go too far hold me back.”

Danny nodded, “Back in the hall, when Tim was taking an unorthodox amount of coffee cups out of his room,” Jason snorted a bit and smiled, “you didn’t fight me stopping your emotions from bubbling over. I think, with even a little help, you do in fact make the right decisions.”

Jason’s hand came up to hold on to Danny’s forearm, “I went out to stop the top villain at the time, the Joker. I really did think I could beat him so I turned off my coms. He… He beat me to an inch of my life and left me to die in the explosion he’d rigged up.” Jason’s body was hot to the touch and he was obviously timing his breaths. “I can still feel the damn crowbar he used whenever I fall asleep. Batman had never been late before; he’d never let something like that go past him. My plan B was him, and he didn’t make it.”

Danny hummed. A benefit of their shared ghostliness in needing not to use his words, he pushed through waves of camaraderie and understanding.

“I had dug myself out of my own grave. I don’t remember much other than pain for months. Then Talia, Damian’s genetic mother, threw me into a Lazarus pit. The first thing I remember seeing was looking up at her terrified face, tinted in green.”

There was anger as he spoke her name, Danny controlled the waves of corrupted ecto that were threating to turn those emotions against Jason’s true wishes.

“I was fifteen, how does someone let a child do that. I was a kid!” Jason’s emotions were switching around and Danny could hear the forming core start too fuss. “I was just a kid.”

Danny came closer and wrapped all four of his arms around Jason, squeezing him just enough to feel a weight on him, but not so much it was restrictive.

Jason still seemed tense so, Danny did the only thing he could think of, he talked of his own death.

“My parents built the first ever physical portal to the realms. I was messing around with friends and they dared me to walk into the useless frame. My parents always had a tendency of forgetting lab safety and making just one mistake in every build. I’m not sure how they managed to put the on button inside it, but I tripped, hitting it on my way down. I could feel every bolt of electricity ripping me apart as the link between worlds opened directly on top of me. I died separate to my body and ended up like this.” Danny moved back and looked down at himself without letting go of Jason. “I tried to tell my parents at first, but they were always busy.

They spent the day I finally gave up trying to trap my sister; thinking she was the ghost their devices we’re picking up.”

Jason rested his forehead on Danny’s, sighing against the cold touch. “How old we-“

“Fourteen.”

“We were kids.”

“Yeah,” Danny kept his forehead against Jason’s. Two arms he left at Jason’s shoulders, the other two caressing his arms.

With a wave of confidence and fear Jason grabbed Danny by the waist and pulled him in for a real hug.

They held each other there, hidden amongst the foliage, until it started to drizzle.

“We should-“

Danny cut him off, pulling back to show the tears running down his face. “Can we go to your room?”

“Yeah, come on.”

They didn’t touch on the walk through the garden, or at the entrance, or in the hall. No, it wasn’t until the door was closed behind them that Danny came forward and just barely touched his arm.

Jason grabs him and pulls him in again, this time resting his chin on the top of Danny’s head. The attempt to calm Danny down just as he had for Jason made him start to cry again, this time much happier.

The surge pushed his kingly nature to shift into something more human. His arms went back to only two, his skin became that of a pale human’s (for the most part), his ears shrank down and his pointy teeth rounded out. And, surprisingly, his form gave him pajamas.

The ecto the change required didn’t accept the contaminated ecto that Jason had sent and Danny sagged into Jason, his knees buckling.

“Hey, hey.” Jason hushed, “I’ve got you.”

He sat Danny on the bed and went to get pajamas for himself. Once changed he laid down beside Danny and curled around him.

Danny was laying on his back, his legs bent over Jason’s thighs, who was laying on his side up against Danny. Creating a cocoon to hold Danny in.

They fell asleep quickly, Danny held Jason's hand on his chest throughout the rest of the night.

Neither of them had nightmares.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

@bjurnberg, @skulld3mort-1fan, @akikkobara @undead-bi-dinosaur, @amyheart19, @phoenixdemonqueen, @not-your-average-url, @seraphinedemort, @theywontletmeusetheoneiwant,  @satisfactionbroughtmeback, @kyrianclawraith, @i-always-say-yea, @gin2212

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

i've never even seen the show First is from and yet i love your First x Chase Young ship so i have to ask. If anything did HAPPEN between the two of them what sort of emotions would they be dealing with afterwards?

Wow, this is such an unexpectedly nice compliment for me? Cause it means, you are a Chase/XS fan, who saw my crack ship and went 'I don't know what's going on, but I enjoy your silly little ship, funny crossover shipper.' and you know what? It's very nice and made me happy. ;) Thank you!

And well who said nothing ever happened between them lol IF anything happened between those two (be it emotional or physical ;3), their default way of dealing it would be DENIAL DENIAL DENIAL, in similar but also in slightly different ways.

Chase Young is a man who seemingly doesn't do softer emotions. Any possible feelings and reactions who could be attributed to him actually caring about First Ninja, are re-labeled in his head into him doing all of this because he is trying to manipulate First on his side (and he totally still is, but he also now wants to feed that man, talk with him during long evenings and perhaps take a nap with him, you know, disgusting cute domestic stuff amidst oh i dunno- taking over the world and being evil together. >;))

First Ninja on the other hand, is very much aware that for things to go this far means that he is absolutely having emotions about Chase. But he is also in denial, because how can he betray all of his moral standing and beliefs, if he starting to care about someone like Chase Young? So he shoves it so far deep, he is in denial about denial, and turns completely blind to anything even resembling them being something more than opponents who tentavely respect one another.

[sunshinetrinket]

adderall or whatever idk i got carried away after the first few lines.

uncut screenshot under the cut

[toji-bunny-girl]

There’s never enough of the right word for him to describe how he feels about you. Gentle? Loving? Pretty? Yes yes, you are those. But then he never really felt that they were what you meant in his heart.

You were more like the colours on an artist’s palette. You’re his colour and he’s the brush, painting the canvas, the papers, the world with the two of you. The light and darkness, mixes and blends of his world all depended on you. And what could a brush do without his colour?

You were like the pure darkness of a room, surrounding him in black that he couldn’t differentiate whether his eyes were shut or not. Everything was a stranger to him in that room. What could be in his grasp if he reached his hand out? A sharp bite from a creature that’ll have his limb gone away? Or a door that’ll be him free from the dark unknown, and into the pure light perhaps?

The way to truly describe you was not a singular word. Rather, it was lines after lines of his thoughts—all with not the same meaning. But nonetheless, you’re always the one that he has on his mind.

[sampegger]

omg hello everyone. now that i have people following me i would like to also let u all know that i DID in fact document my entire experience as someone watching the cw's supernatural in 2023 by briefly writing my thoughts in my notes app after every single episode in real time. PLEASE ask me to post my real time reaction to any episode and i will very gladly oblige. i have nothing else to do with them please they must go somewhere

[sforzesco]

Did you used to like Mark Antony and dislike Cassius? What changed your mind ?

honestly the condensed version of events is that Antony and Brutus became uninteresting, extremely boring as POV characters to me at the same time for the same reasons, that prompted me to look closer at Cassius, and then I decided to spend two years trying to untangle Cassius from Brutus which completed my transformation into a part time Cassius apologist

like, both Antony and Brutus are still compelling figures, it’s honestly the versions of them in media and pop culture that I personally dislike and find boring because it’s not discussing anything I find interesting & frequently I feel like my time has been wasted, while their historical counterparts is more of a ‘wow I hate what you’re doing, keep it up!’

and ofc: the general passage of time. you get older. things that interest you change. being a hater as a recreational activity is fun. variety is the spice of life. people who write about Cassius are delivering poetry and I’m not immune to it. etc etc.

[camels-pen]

Hgggggh fic between arcs post timeskip, possibly on the way to Punk Hazard

warning: Usopp having issues related to abundance of food (too much food), self blame

-

The crew was running low on food.

Most of the others had their fair share of worries and thinking of their own solutions and Usopp was no different.

Until he was.

The initial announcement- of needing to cut back on snacks, to up the hours and people fishing- it filled Usopp with utter relief.

And the very next moment, a horrible horrible guilt.

He started to question his own intentions, actions.

Had he really tried his best to lure and catch fish? Why did he still agree to sneaking late night snacks with Luffy and Chopper, all those times before? Why did he bother when he hardly ate their pilfered food anyway?

And on and on and on.

Usopp had a feeling the others would try to say it wasn't cut and dry. That there was no easy blame to give, and no point in trying to find it. That maybe he should go easier on himself- or harsher, depending on who he asked. But even trusted voices like these- ones that were so much stronger now than during his time away- were no match for this particular failure. And yet, even though he'd admitted it to himself- that yes, it was a failure and definitely up there as one of his worst- it didn't mean he knew what to do about it.

The brave thing would be to fess up and figure things out with the crew, with Chopper. The cowardly thing- what he actually did- was fall back on old habits, lying and pretending and hoping they didn't see how he was dragging them down, literally killing them the longer he was there.

Workable solutions were hard to come up with, but he did his best to fix things without admitting anything in the meantime. Like making excuses for fishing duty, refusing late night poking in the fridge, that kind of thing. It wasn't exactly hard or suspicious thanks to their current dilemma. Usopp had been trying to fish for most of the days leading up to his excuses, asking for a break didn't seem so unreasonable. And they were already low on food so of course he'd avoid sneaking any more.

He never did come up with something workable, but still they survived until they docked again, ready to restock.

And they restock they did.

Sanji was antsy for a long while about the food getting low- and for some time before his announcement too- and Nami didn't want a repeat either, so she gave him extra shopping money. A good chunk of the purchases were things that would last ages and could be packed in the back of the pantry. Now, Sanji hummed a happy tune, a pep in his step as he put things away.

They'd all noticed how stressed Sanji was when the food started dwindling and the fish weren't biting. Usopp had heard him once, in the galley, tearing up paper and grumbling to himself. Muttering things about how he wasn't on some rock anymore, wasn't a little kid anymore, and he needed to keep it together. How the crew needed him to keep it together.

So Usopp should've been happy, seeing Sanji like that. Seeing him too preoccupied with his task to tone down his smile or the chipper in his voice. To notice he'd forgotten to fix his mussed up hair from countless nights of pulling and tugging at it. To drop the aloof, cool guy persona for a single moment in time, piecing himself back together bit by bit with every ingredient he put away.

Usopp should've been happy.

Instead, he was afraid.

Because with every piece Sanji built himself with, a piece was torn from Usopp's own body in turn, bloody and screaming.

Usopp wasn't afraid of Sanji. Wasn't afraid for him either.

He was afraid of the abundance.

The last time they'd stocked up this much, they were headed to Fishman Island and threw a reunion feast as soon as they could. He was overwhelmed with the euphoria and sense of rightness that filled him up, seeing his friends again. He didn't have the space to spare even the slightest thought to what hid behind the galley door.

And every meal since, Usopp had found comfort in watching Luffy scarf down most of the table himself. Almost like he was eating the danger away. And seeing Luffy do it, well, it helped Usopp finish his own plate. It felt odd- like he was using his captain as a poison tester- but knowing, logically, there was no danger to speak of, it didn't bother him. A rarity, considering the way his mind seemed to constantly twist in on itself.

But while Sanji put away the last of the groceries and Luffy asked for an early lunch, requesting something with meat- while the rest of the crew was lounging on deck, chiming in with their own requests- Usopp could only feel a growing indescribable dread. One framed by vines, ramen rivers, and cake flowers.

The others cheered, startling him. Lunch would be done soon and everyone was headed for the galley.

"Aren't you coming?"

Sandalled feet were in front of him.

The dread surged.

He needed to finish his drawing, he said.

He was making good progress, he pleaded.

He just needed a little more time, he begged.

"Oh."

There was a moment of silence. It dragged on long enough Usopp was sure he would drown under the mounting feeling suffocating his-

"You should eat when you're hungry."

A sharp inhale through a long nose. A pair of large, wobbling lips.

A moment's pause. Then the hat shading his eyes was replaced with another. Tattered, worn, and straw.

There was not another word before those sandals were slapping their way into the galley, the heavy door following behind.

It closed with a thorny snap.

Usopp's sketch pad was pressed to his chest. He scrambled to pull at frayed edges, trying desperately to block the blinding sun with his mangled grip.

His sketch pad fell to his lap.

The page was blank.

Usopp stifled a sob.

[legend-as-old-as-time]

I've gotten a plot bunny that in stories / AUs where Mata Nui's awake, one of the topics he's no-nonsense / strict about is people blaming themselves / others for their mistakes. This is partly inspired by discussions with @mothnem about the Great Cataclysm.

The Toa Metru could have made less mistakes? Yes, they could have. Also: Mata Nui was already sick and very late in chosing them. He'd been sick for decades at this point, slowly weakening. Teridax already controlled Metru Nui in secret, had the remaining Toa Mangai killed except for Lhikan, and captured hundreds of matoran.

There were no toa left to guide the Toa Metru after Nidhiki and Krekka captured Lhikan.

This left the work maintaining the city = the Core Processor undone and less places that could syphon off the power overload. The Toa Metru had no idea that he would put Mata Nui into a coma - there was no information about that -, nor that he even could. They had little to no chance to stop him, powerful as he was.

Except for very few, nobody knew that this work kept Mata Nui's body alive. Or that Metru Nui was part of his brain. Nobody had anything to cure the virus putting him to sleep.

There's also no telling if the GSR would still have failed on the way to Bara Magna, stranded in space- or crashed onto the planet even if they had stopped the power overload.

Things were long in motion before the Toa Metru ever came to be as a team. They were not at fault for the Cataclysm, the damages wrought to their former home, or his coma. Agonizing / feeling guilty over it doesn't help anybody.

Edit: And others blaming the Toa Metru doesn't help, either.

I have ideas for the Toa Nuva, Toa Mahri, and Toa Hagah, too, but less concrete.

@crystaltoa

@magicalgirlmascot

@randomwriteronline

@mothnem

[pochapal]

uu. uu, even.

[coffinkissez]

twst pokémon teams - scarabia

jamil viper

thoughts: theming for him was posion/dark types, no bugs, and some snake pokemon. Ended up making an exception bc oricorio is a dancer n the color pallete matched!

kalim al asim

thoughts: wanted to include water pokemon and :D guys in kalim’s team and thats what i did ☝️☝️ i picked Samurott bc of “sea otter”, Copperajah to represent Kalim’s elephant bro has in game, and the water pokemon were just to represent his spell oasis maker! flareon ill be honest was kinda random but it looks rlly good w Copperajah so.