#but i couldnt find em

[jimmygibbs-jr]

anyways this was the final look (FACE REVEAL!?) here's me as 4'11 filipino transmasc ellis

couldn't find a proper hat in time so i just thrifted a lego one and put a patch on it jsgsh even tried to make a stubble with makeup lmao

diy bullshifters shirt (its literally just markers thatll wash off 😭)

[biillys]

billy hargrove: in every scene — 3.01 chapter one: suzie, do you copy?

[butterflies-and-mirrors]

fuck romeo and juliet i want what all those lesbians in honkai impact 3rd got going on

This is actually just an excuse for me to post all my favorite hi3 ships

[puddii-ng]

happily ever after !

[cupidsncheerios]

i really want to see alastor and vox in the same room in season 2 but at the same time it'd be so funny if they were in the same room but like. in the same room the way vtubers are in the same room as fans at cons

like the vees have a meeting with the hazbins to discuss marketing or something and vox pulls up like this

rejection so bad you pull an ironmouse at the business meeting so you don't need to make eye contact with ur ex

[wishchip106]

still on my yapper!Erik x listener!Charles brainrot

honestly they’re a mix of both but these guys could just talk for hours nonstop and not get tired

give them a topic and they’re breaking it down bit by bit while also arguing with each other

i personally hc Erik to narrates in his head (like me) so even when they’re not together Charles can still hear him talking on and on about anything

Charles being the first person Erik opened up to so now he has to have a debate or discussion every hour or so (he doesn’t care, he would’ve done that with Erik anyway)

sometimes they forget they’re even playing chess because the debate got too intense 😔

i’m gonna knock these guy’s heads together like barbie dolls they wont let my brain go

[napstabloody]

day off in 𝙠𝙮𝙤𝙩𝙤, i got bored at the temples

[mistxmood]

yeah

[sw33t-oubliette]

we all moved on WAY too fast from this one. like what.

[desirdaejunker]

Desirlimb — a desirdae term for those that desire/yearn/want to have [a] different limb[s]. this doesn't just apply to biological human limbs!

reasons for all of these might include coping with amputation, chronic pain in ones limb[s], atypical dysphoria, alterhumanity, etc.

coined 4 myself :P @desirdae-archive

Desirarm — a desirlimb subterm for those that desire/yearn/want to have [a] different arm[s]. this doesn't just apply to biological human arms, modifier terms like desirmecharm and similar also fall under desirarm

Desirleg — a desirlimb subterm for those that desire/yearn/want to have [a] different leg[s]. this doesn't just apply to biological human legs, modifier terms like desirmechleg and similar also fall under desirleg

[oddtaxicab]

GUYSS!! i was playing grandfest and my name is splatoon is sans and while playing grandfest i found a papyrus!!! 😭😭 crying this is the sweetest thing ever,,, THEIR TITLE!!! THE TRUE ULIMATE BROTHER 🥺🥺🥺🥺!!

[sheetzking]

coloured in some sketches :3

[whollyjoly]

alright we doing crazy predictions for 911 tonight??

here we fucking go:

tim nash isnt going to be bobby's brother, he's going to be bobby's dad in a flashback

hear me out-

john brotherton, who's listed as playing "tim nash" on the imdb page for step nine, is 15 years younger than peter krause. now, it could be that bobby just has a much younger brother. BUT, i think with that age (44) being peak Dad Age, it makes a whole lot more sense to me that its flashback!dad than brothers

the synopsis for 7x08 says that "bobby delves deep into memories of his childhood, unearthing moments from his fractured past" and like...if we're going to see memories of his childhood, again a 44 year-old playing "tim nash" makes a lot more sense for a dad!!

we've heard a bit about bobby being a third generation firefighter, and its something that he's very proud of. i think it would be really interesting not only to see his dad as a firefighter, but see that hero worship from bobby towards his dad, and his early love for the work and for saving people...especially in the context of dealing with the trauma of the apartment fire.

if bobby has always wanted to be a firefighter, watched his dad saving lives and heard stories of his grandfather doing the same, what would his young self think of the man who caused so much grief and pain, of the man that amir thinks he is, of the man who cost 148 lives?

maybe, just maybe, "step nine" isn't just making amends with amir, but making amends with his past self, the one who just wanted to help people, who he feels like he betrayed??

because i would LOVE to see that kind of angst - the reconciliation between the man bobby dreamed he would be and the man he is now.

and like....thats not even approaching the question of bobby's "fractured past" that the synopsis talks about, which i have...so many questions about

we know basically nothing about his family - what if bobby's dad also struggled with addiction? or had something happen at work that also cost lives, and young bobby was never able to forgive him for that? maybe bobby sees the anger amir holds towards him, and realizes that he still holds something like that towards his own father?

bobby has talked about a brother before, but i think the only time that he's mentioned it was in a story about playing "lawn darts when they were kids". maybe something happened to his brother, and he's held his father responsible for all these years? in the same way amir holds bobby responsible?

i have!! no idea!!!

i dont exactly know what they're going to throw at us (shakes fist at tim affectionately), but i think that with where this season has been going - focusing on the cornerstones of our main characters, of the things that run the deepest and are haunting the narrative (eddie's catholic guilt, buck's bisexuality, chim's journey and love for his family, doug, kevin, shannon) - it would make sense for us to take a look into bobby's childhood, something we basically no nothing about.

and with that, i truly think that "tim nash" as bobby's dad makes a lot more sense than it being his brother, and that's who we're going to see in flashbacks tonight.

but, whatever happens, i cannot WAIT to see where the angst train takes us! ✨

(bonus, since im thinking about that sweet bobby angst: do you ever think about whether bobby feels a deep sense of failure and guilt that, because of him, there will never be a 4th generation firefighter in his family? do you think the first time bobby told his dad he wanted to be a firefighter when he was a kid, his dad looked both so proud but also so worried? and when asked about it his dad just said "you'll understand when your kid says the same to you"? and that bobby realizes he will never understand because he took that chance away from them?

...cause yeah, i think about that sometimes)

[sifloopboning]

odile: to be honest. i cannot ever see myself being a mother and even the thought of it makes me nauseous.

sif, using their call loop craft skill so loop can make an appointment at the abortion store on his behalf: so true bestie

[bitchapalooza]

Why is it that I can focus on organizing and reorganizing my pin collection but I can focus on cleaning or packing whatsoever, wtf is wrong with my braiiiiiin

[randomwriteronline]

Ko-Wahi was a short variety of generally not necessarily pleasant things: it was desolate, cold, harsh, and - when the winds didn't rush after one another through the icy peaks with low howling shrieks, cutting through the frigid aether like claws of an enormous Rahi reaching out to grasp any wayward Matoran foolish enough to dare wander in its territory - it was abnormally quiet.

So it reasoned that if Kopaka, Toa of Ice and Hating Being Around People, was not found anywhere else, he had to have secluded himself to a place that at the very least resembled the environment he had first felt at home in.

He didn't even flinch at the rush of air that accompanied the stomps which suddenly stopped by his side.

"You're late," he only commented.

The jovial jab Pohatu had ready for him froze in his throat, and he tilted his head slightly in genuine confusion: "Late?" he repeated.

"I expected you to be here five minutes ago," Kopaka replied.

"You were expecting... Me?"

"Of course I was," the other replied matter-of-factly: "If there's something I can depend on, it's the fact you'll chase me down to the ends of the silver sea just because."

The Toa of Stone blinked quickly a few times, eventually smirking back: "And if there's something I can depend on, it's that I'll always find you somewhere snowy and deserted."

He then leaned a little closer and proceeded to add, in a goofier tone: "Like your heart."

The gentle elbow punted in his side made him snicker as he successfully evaded it the first time; he cackled a bit louder when the second jab actually hit.

His friend did not dignify his amusement with any verbal response. Instead, he extended his finger.

Pohatu followed where it was pointing, staring at the same vast expanse of white he had just sped through (luckily without having to skid through any frozen snow - perhaps one of the very few things he certainly did not miss about the island of Mata Nui), and found nothing.

At first.

His pinprick pupils, so used to the desert sun, struggled a little more, trying to tighten even harder or widen ever so slightly: even with the clouds shielding his eyes from the sunbeams turned blinding as they were reflected on the candid coat of snow, the uniformity of the colors confused and unified all that supposedly existed before him with only few exceptions. There was snow, snow, snow, more snow, a leftover Visorak web, even more snow, another patch of snow, something looking vaguely disgusting half covered in snow, some more snow, a lance of light reflected from a point just outside the clouds' range, a vast amount of snow, a smaller amount of snow, snow, snow, and one last puff of snow over there. Riveting!

But Kopaka seldom pointed at nothing at all just to stretch out his finger; and once he truly focused on the exact location he was indicating, Pohatu saw.

He saw a jagged thing, sharp end splintered and jutting towards the sky like a blade, ever so slightly greyer than the pallor surrounding it; he saw its missing half laying mournfully among the powdery ground, defeated, cracked, open wide.

He saw its entrails, eroded by the weather, far too small to properly distinguish one object from the other from this distance - still they glittered grey and blue in the lack of color as if to remind in silent screams of their existence, once, as tools and furniture and inventions of scholars, before they'd found themselves abandoned in the wake of their master's leave as strange crystalline gore only partially hidden away in the haste of a half hearted burial.

He saw dozens of the jagged corpse's kind - once pillars, columns, immense bastions, now nothing more than ruins. Enormous animals frozen in place, never to thaw awake once more.

He saw frail, beautiful exoskeletons awaiting with such tiredness to be crushed, replaced by larvae in the bowels of which knowledge would thrive.

The wind passed between them without strength, not even lifting a snowflake.

"Breath-taking, isn't it," Kopaka murmured.

Pohatu nodded in silence.

They simply stood there for a long time, side by side, looking upon the carcasses of Ko-Metru's knowledge towers.

Looking upon what was left of a city of legends.

There had never been a Matoran called Kopaka, in the Turaga's tales.

He had never competed with Ehrye as they rushed to run errands for the seers in the hopes of one day being allowed to stand beside them at the top of those magnificent crystal constructions, spending days pondering and reading stars, uncovering the secrets of the future to the point of turning the very idea of tomorrow into such a mundane thing; he had never known Nuju, never looked at him with awe, or respect, or burning envy. He had never walked those streets, or skied down those slopes, or travelled to the Colosseum inside of a protodermis chute.

And yet he had found his chest aching as he had listened to those descriptions, from a nostalgia that wasn't his own. As though Vakama and his stories had handed him a coal that had long singed the Turaga's hand, still weakly sizzling, that now burned his palm in turn.

Mata Nui had been all he'd ever known as far as he was concerned. There had been nothing before; and if there had been, it wasn't the land the Matoran had been forced away from.

Yet despite knowing as much, despite the attempts to soothe the dull pain that had no place in his logical mind, in the long last hours he'd gotten to spend on the chiling peaks surrounding Mount Ihu the Toa of Ice had been unable to keep himself from wandering away from the material world into absentminded daydreams, trying to construct a memory that had never been there, a life he had never lived.

He had imagined Ko-Metru many times. He had imagined Metru Nui as a whole many times, the orderly archives, the silvery canals, the smoky furnaces, the dangling cables, the unmoving statues - a world for smaller eyes (like his never had been) to see. He had imagined the Colosseum, its inner mechanisms, even the Vahki guards, despite their presence being nothing but an annoyance at best and a source of uneasiness and dread and outright danger at worst. He had imagined himself getting in trouble with them often - who would they have been, to tell him what to do? What made them any different from a Bohrok?

He had imagined them often, but he had never seen them. Never whole. Never alive.

As he stared at what remained of a city of seers, he ached to have been there. Maybe he would have understood better. Maybe it would have hurt more. Maybe it would have felt more like home.

But would he have noticed? Any of the beauty, the lack of strife? Would he have liked a life such as this, spent either pondering on who knows what, or reading pages of history before they were even written, or running around tirelessly for people who did both former and latter? Would this sight have stirred something deep in him now, or would his amnesia have kept his feelings at a distance?

His chest hurt. Something inside it ached terribly, pushing hard against his muscle and metal, like a fish suddenly rushing to break the still frozen surface of a lake in a bout of claustrophobia.

He felt strange, uncomfortable.

Like something misplaced.

Kopaka's eyes wandered over the crystal towers, suddenly overwhelmed. He let out a shuddering, watery breath, as quiet as he could.

He needed not worry about being heard.

Pohatu was too enthralled by the sight before them to notice his momentary frailty.

He gazed on, unable to tear his his eyes from what his brother regarded as an enormous grave he could not mourn properly, and beheld only a thing of beauty.

It was not the vast expanse of Po-Wahi's desert, nor the infinite lushness of Le-Wahi's jungles, the burnt forests of Ta-Wahi, the Ga-Wahi reefs, the cavernous labyrinths of Onu-Wahi - it could not even compare to the frigid landscape of Ko-Wahi despite all their similarities, and he could tell from a first glance.

Ko-Metru and its siblings could have never been what the Koro of Mata Nui had been - they were not a breathing nook interwoven in the world around them: they were carefully constructed bubbles, encased, entrapped within themselves, the wild nature that once had run through it tamed carefully only to cry out despite its weakened form once the binds upon it had been snapped to pieces and left to rot.

It was not beautiful in the way he knew a land to be; it was not open and grand to the point of being frightening. It was shut on itself, broken, a pale imitation of what it had been.

And yet he found it all so gorgeous.

It had embarrassed him at first - not feeling. Remaining still and unfazed as the Turaga had longingly described what the Toa of Stone should have regarded as home, a field of statues tirelessly carved by artisans of his people. He had struggled to imagine it properly, managing only hazy scorches of some undefined place, like a mirage in the desert; and hearing his brothers and sisters wonder aloud, so curious, of how they would have expected their Metru to be, he'd been all but mortified at his own lackluster enthusiasm.

Had he really grown so self centered? All the world seemed to feel as though it had only started existing with his birth upon that fateful shore.

A city of legends on the other side of the sea... He could not have ever pictured it.

But now he was there, walking upon its streets, traveling across its lands, and it looked nothing like it had been described: it looked shattered and lost, and broken, and rusted, and standing still where it had once stood so proud and shining only to spite the cruelty of time that wanted it to bend and turn leveled.

Pohatu had lost himself between scattered remains of monumental statues, details sanded down until unrecognizable, or filled with what little life could make its home in such a crevice. He has searched between the broken Kanohi nobody had ever melted down again, seeing his and his siblings' likenesses over and over and over and over, he had followed broken cables back to the towers from which they had once served a purpose, raced along empty canals to make a sense of them, peeked into tunnels the roofs of which had been torn open like dissected anthills.

Metru Nui had never been whole, not for him.

It had always been this gorgeous wreck, this beautiful ruined landscape. He could not imagine it as anything less; he could not see it as anything mournful, or dead, or ugly.

Each toppled building was where it should have been. Each destroyed spire was exactly as the Great Spirit had intended it to be.

Such a frail, stubborn, lovely, wild thing.

A tragedy and a celebration.

Glowing brighter than the twin suns with every ounce of its incomplete, breath-taking beauty.

Kopaka felt something tug very gently at his arm. When he turned, he noticed Pohatu still hadn't taken his eyes away from the shimmering remains of the towers.

"Did you want to show me this?" the Toa asked, quietly, quietly.

His friend looked back to the sight before them and swallowed a heavy knot in his throat: "I did," he replied.

The grip on his limb tightened ever so slightly.

Comfortingly.

"Thank you." Pohatu whispered.

Kopaka did not answer.

They looked on.