#either way thank you so much for reading

[boygirlctommy]

i love the bit from oct 17 2020 when tommy and quackity trapped wilbur in a cobblestone box to keep him from pressing the button... wilbur punching through the blocks with his bare hand to try to get to the button... tommy frantically replacing the block in front of him yelling for quackity to do something... the moment when tommy stops, blocks the exit, and tells wilbur to do it. press the button. but then theyd die with him. quackitys like "wait, wait-" but tommy holds his ground and wilbur. ohh wilbur. "why'd you have to make it so hard?"

[hoshiina]

pairing: hoshina soushirou x gn!reader (no prns)

request: Hii im the anon who ask for the wips and i saw the blurbs you have. IM VERY MUCH HOOKED with the third ones where hoshina loves reader's smile🥹 relating to that maybe i would like to add(if you want, but feel free to do seperate if you want) soft moments with hoshina x reader who felt like she being the most pessimistic person regarding love(not anti but just felt like she doesn't deserve it) so she is on denial when hoshina make a move on her

notes: reader is usually rather energetic, talkative reader, hoshina thinks you are "beautiful" at some point, TYSM FOR THE REQ!! sorry it took so long omg

wc: 1300

Something was wrong— terribly wrong. There was no way someone would want you, let alone your vice-captain who could have anyone in the world. Not your vice-captain who did everything with such care and looked after everyone so preciously. And definitely never your vice-captain you were terribly in love with.

There must be some mistake. Or else he wouldn’t have just said what you thought he said.

“Pardon me?” you asked.

He looked a little flustered and you had never seen such an expression on him, confusing you further. “I love you,” he said again, softly. “I’d love to know if you’re in a relationship.”

The way he spoke so carefully added to how nervous it made you feel— it was so different from how he usually talked to you. Now, you were lost to say the least, because you couldn’t think of one reason why he would like you, let alone romantically. Under normal circumstances, you’d assume you were being played with or that this was a silly prank or dare, but you knew that Hoshina wasn’t one to do something so horrible. So what was happening?

“I am not…” you said, still confused, but the visible relief in his eyes made your heart tighten. Oh gosh, is he serious?

“I’m… thrilled,” he said, and he wished you goodnight and left. While you were terribly flustered to know he liked you back, there was a voice in your head that wouldn’t stop making you feel anxious. Something felt so odd to you— to be loved back. To be loved back by him. You enjoyed talking to people so you talked to him often, but never had you thought he'd think of you like that. Having a naturally talkative personality, it was true that both of you had fun talking to each other, but you had accepted that your love was unrequited ages ago. When would he have possibly fallen in love with you? The more you thought about it the more impossible it sounded. As thoughts of him circled your head, it’d be morning before you knew it.

It'd be hard for him to point out exactly when he fell in love with you, because he was in love before he knew it. Before he knew it, he'd catch himself following you with his eyes. He adored watching you work, because you made everything look exciting. Of course, he saw how you groaned at the paperwork you had to do, but he'd see how the little things would put a smile on your face.

He liked the work he did, he liked all of it quite frankly. From neutralizing kaiju all the way down to the research he had to do— rarely did he think something was a chore to do, but if you were around to laugh at something silly he found or mutter about the binders and binders of files that the 3rd division just doesn't have space for anymore, he'd start looking forward to these moments.

While he knew you were like this with everyone, he hoped that you were happiest with him. It would mean everything to him if you looked forward to doing seemingly mundane work with him too.

However, while he loved so much about you, there was one moment specifically that made him realize he wasn't moving on. His heart would be yours forever at this rate. You'd look so horribly tired after all this work, and yet, if someone needed help with anything at all, you'd still smile and ask them what's wrong. You'd find the energy and speak to them so kindly. You might not have the energy you usually had, but you'd be so happy to help. Even if they couldn't tell how exhausted you were, he could. He knew how much you did for everyone in the division, and he thought you were stunning when you did so. You were the most beautiful when you had that lovely smile on your face that seemed to light up his world.

He loved you so dearly.

You loved talking to people, so there always seemed to be something for you to talk about. A new finding you wanted to share or a terribly random thought that popped up in your head. While you naturally talked to most of the people in the division, you looked forward to talking to Hoshina the most. The way he'd always listen so intrigued at your dumbest thoughts and laugh at the smallest things you said meant more to you than one would probably think.

And if you shared your daily happenings with him, he'd share his with you too. To say you loved these moments would truly be an understatement. Nothing could possibly make you happier.

However, you knew he was like this with everyone. His laugh would always manage to keep the morale of the division up and he'd never miss potential problems in the condition of any of his officers. You knew he was a sweet person, but also the best one could ask for in a vice-captain. You weren't special— he was like this to everyone. You knew better than anyone else.

You couldn't imagine anyone falling for you, let alone the kindest person you'd ever meet in your life. Let alone the person you'd probably love for the rest of your life.

Yet, here you were, alone with him this afternoon working away through paperwork and it was quiet. Eerily quiet. He was the first to break the silence.

“I rather dislike the rain,” he said, looking out the window. “It’s been raining all day.”

You paused to look outside as well. “No, you’re right. I don’t mind the rain, but I hate how dark everything is.”

“Yeah,” he said. More silence.

“Sorry, I’m awkwardly nervous now,” he said, eyes fixed on his work. “I didn’t mean to make things… weird.”

You could tell he probably didn’t want you to, but you couldn’t help but look his way. Your eyes widened and your heart filled. You weren’t afraid to say much, but you were afraid to talk about this. However, you thought you’d be able to if you were talking to him.

“I just… can’t imagine that you’re… in love… with me,” you said, looking down at your paperwork. “Sounds too good to be true. I know... sounds unlike me, right?”

Immediately he looked up at you, shocked to say the least. You could tell he probably wanted to ask why, but he thought for a moment more.

“What… would I be able to do to show that I am?” he asked. “You’re the one I love… you always will be.”

Your eyes widened. “I just… don’t know why,” you said honestly. “Why me?”

“Because I love you,” he said. “I love a whole lot about you, but I love being with you. I enjoy spending time with you and watching you enjoy the life around you. Is that too simple?”

It took you a second to reply, but you felt a lot better. “No, not at all,” you said. “Because I feel exactly the same way.”

“You’re kidding”

“Absolutely not”

“I’m going to kill you if you’re lying,” he said.

That made you laugh. “You know I wouldn’t,” you said, and yes, he knew you wouldn’t.

“Hey, Hoshina,” you said, avoiding eye-contact. “If I get worried… will you tell me again?”

“I’d tell you until you get sick of my voice,” he said while getting up to kiss your forehead. “I love you so much.”

[anna-scribbles]

“He was— He was my ‘buttercup’,” she sobbed out, and his hand gripped her far shoulder, “And I— I never even— I never got to tell him how much he m-meant to me— not even th-the stupid sun thing—”

“Oh… Marinette…” he whispered, his nose brushing against her hair, “The sun thing wasn’t stupid.”

this scene from chapter 6 of drowning (in plain sight) by @buggachat has PLAGUED me since i read it i am deeply unwell

[ruvviks]

we would sell anything just to buy who we're not // we kill our way to heaven

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @hibernationsuit, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree

[oc-center]

Welcome to OC-Center's BIRTHDAY PARTY! 🎉

One year of sharing people's OCs to give them visibility, one year of a growing community, one year down with many to go ♥ Below I will share the OC-Center Wrapped, to see everything about this year in stats! 🙌

In the meantime, what better way to celebrate than showing off your own OC in this big party photo?

All your OCs are cordially invited to join in the festivities - add them to the picture in a reblog with a short tidbit introducing them to everyone; that's the best way to make friends at a party!

Will you accept OC-Center's invitation? 🥳

OC-Center Wrapped:

Anniversary: 11th of December Posts: 3,331 Followers: 866 'Needs Love' (posts with 10 notes or below): 41 Most popular original post: Bubble Web post

Number of OCs shared: 3233 'humanoid' OCs: 2261 'anthro' OCs: 646 'creature' OCs: 403 Submissions shared: 226

What a wonderful year! Thank you everyone, and here's to the next one ♥

Ressources used for stats:

Tumblr Stats: https://jetblackcode.com/TumblrStats Tag Counter: https://drunkonschadenfreude.com/

[misericorsalvator]

An Epitaph

Henry didn't know where he was. It was cold, freezing, but that was all he could tell, from the sharp chill that tore through his damp clothes, to the frigid air that felt like icicles in his lungs when he breathed. Even if he was someplace familiar, it would have been impossible to tell through the veil of rime in the air, the thick hoar that coated the ground. But wherever he was, he had to find shelter. soon, before his limbs grew any number that they already were and he lost the three fingers he had left on his right hand to frostbite. It took a good deal of walking, trudging through the snow, before he found something resembling sanctuary. A rocky hovel dug deep into a mountainside he hadn't even noticed was there. The crooked mountaintop loomed far overhead like a wind-swept pine tree, towering over the barren expanse and shielding the small patch of land near the cave's entrance from the worst of the snowfall. It was a narrow fit, the opening more narrow than a coffin, but it opened up into a wide chamber beyond, dark, lit only by the little light reflecting on the snow outside.

Panic stabbed at him suddenly. That chamber felt familiar, though he couldn't recall from where. The rockface of the walls was smooth, man-made, and the stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling above were unnatural, all the same length, jagged and sharpened to fine points. But he had no time to waste on the unnerving interior. The weather outside was getting worse, the wind howling like wolves on a hunt, and soon his shelter would be just as cold and dangerous as the outside. He had to think, find a way to keep the warmth in. Henry returned to the entrance. He twisted around in the narrow space as best he could and began piling up snow with his numb hands, stacking it, pressing it into shape, mouthing breathless curses to himself, until he had built a solid wall halfway up to his neck. It should last. He didn't know for how long, but at least for now, until he could catch his breath. It had to last.

Henry slumped against the wall of the cave. The barrier he had built offered some protection, but he could still feel the cold creeping in, seeping through the gaps and cracks in the snow. A damp chill gnawed at his bones, freezing the air in his lungs. He knew he had to keep moving, to do something, anything, to stay warm and awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not here. Not now. But his limbs were leaden and his body creaked in protest with every movement. His teeth chattered as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The harder he tried, however, the more his thoughts seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. Panic clawed at his chest once more as he looked around the cavern. The walls seemed to close in, the smooth stone shimmering with a thin layer of rime frost. The ceiling above with the unnaturally sharp stalactites, loomed over him like a mouth full of fangs. He had to get out.

Henry pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaking beneath him. The snow was piling up faster now, further in through the entrance than the wall he had built, and he frantically began to shovel it away with his hands, trying to clear a path through the narrow gap. He shovelled harder, floundered, grappled til his fingers were too numb to move, but for every tiny hopeful opening he made, more snow took its place, as if the storm outside was determined to bury him alive. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his very soul. Outside, the wind roared, a feral sound that echoed through the cavern and made the air thick with cold. Each breath now was a knife to the chest, each inhale burning his lungs. The snow crawled closer, blocking the entrance fully, and began to cover the cave floor inch by painful inch, forcing the hunter back step by painful step.

Henry's mind was reeling. He stumbled further into the cave, away from the encroaching cold, the bones of his legs creaking in protest. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to close in on him, the smooth rock pressing down, suffocating. The quiet there was unnerving, an oppressive stillness that made him painfully aware of his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. The silence of the grave. For what felt like an hour, he pushed himself forward against the stone walls, cowering under the stalactites which were now low enough to graze the top of his head. No matter how far he went, the snow followed close behind, blocking the way back. Henry's movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he could no longer outrun it, and that white frost began piling up around his boots. He felt the fight leave him, his breathing weakened, his heartbeat slowed.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a single snowflake, delicate and perfect, drifting down from the ceiling above. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it fall, impossibly slow, through solid rock. It glowed faintly in the dim light and Henry’s eyes followed its descent, almost hypnotized, until it landed softly on the ground. On something dark, something that wasn’t stone. He crouched down, his stiff knees cracking in protest, and wiped away the snow, his fingers brushing against a cold, unyielding surface.

A hand.

His hand.

His breath caught in his throat. He was looking at himself, at his own lifeless body, crumpled and broken, half-buried in the snow. The wounds were horrific—deep gashes and punctures that were draining the life out of him-- and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

This wasn't real.

The snow, the cold, it was all in his head, growing blurry as his brain ran out of oxygen. And the cavern wasn’t just familiar—it was the place he was dying, right now, in the real world. The place where his body was lying, bleeding out into the cold ground, his blood darkening the stone ground.

For a third time, panic surged through him, but it was laced with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The wind howled louder, and now Henry could make out voices, battle cries, screeching and yowling in twisted satisfaction. The snow now poured into the cave through the solid ceiling above, burying everything in its path. He wanted to claw his way out, to escape this nightmare, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. The snow was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. As his vision began to blur, the walls of the cave pulsed, breathing with a life of their own, in tandem with his own slowed breaths. The snow continued to fall, endlessly, burying him, until all he could see was white. And then, from the heart of the storm, he saw a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette that moved with unnatural grace, cutting through the blizzard as if it were nothing. Henry tried to focus, but his mind was slipping, the edges of his consciousness fraying like old cloth.

His final thoughts drifted to Bran. A deep guilt welled up inside him. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t see his boy’s face light up when he opened his presents, wouldn’t hear his laughter echoing through the house. Regret gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In his last moments, as the darkness closed in, Henry barely registered the sharp pain in his chest—a bite, cold and searing, as if winter itself had latched onto his heart, and his eyes froze over with unshed tears until the world faded and he breathed his last.

In a long-forgotten catacomb in Wales, as the last drop of Henry's blood soaked into the humid ground, something ancient stirred. Beneath the layers of earth and stone, within the crypt that had long been forgotten, a pair of eyes snapped open. After centuries of entombment, something awoke. The blood of the dying hunter seeped into its consciousness, filling it with the remnants of Henry's life, his memories, his regrets. And once the blood had ran dry, the ancient knight rose from his tomb, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.

He tore through the killers, the blood-thirsty beasts who had chased their prey to the ancient tomb, splattering the walls with their undead blood that burnt to ash, until none were left. Then, he looked down at the broken body of the hunter who had unwittingly become his saviour. With a grim sense of purpose, the knight knelt beside Henry’s lifeless form. He whispered words in a dialect long dead, a prayer, perhaps, or a vow. Then, with a reverence reserved for fallen comrades, the knight lifted the hunter’s body and carried him deeper into the crypt, where heroes were once laid to rest, where the knight's own tomb stood, broken apart from within. The hunter was gone, his spirit entwined with the ancient knight’s own, but his legacy would live on, honoured by one of the very creatures he had once sought to destroy.

The knight sealed the tomb with a final, solemn gesture, then left the catacombs behind and stepped out into the warm summer night, into a world which had long outlived him.

[witchqueen]

Does anyone have any tips to help stop yourself from comparing your artwork to others, or equating your value as an artist with likes and reblogs?

I've struggled with this for a while and it's getting old, I don't know how to just shrug it off. Any genuine advice would be nice

[llitchilitchi]

Commission for @kg-clark-inthedark, portrait of her OC Matheo from her fic Beyond The Spheres

thank you so much!

commission info

[seventh-district]

not even gonna tag this properly bc i don't wanna get Involved but i do have some Thoughts i need to get out into the void so here we go

(aaa quick edit: CW for mention/discussion of Boothill leaks)

[absensia]

There is a cost for resurrection, even for a vessel such as Charlotte. As a vessel for the primordial void, Charlotte's body undergoes a supernaturally rapid decomposition after death, decaying so completely and so quickly that in a matter of a couple scant hours, there will be nothing left of her whatsoever. What took a mere fraction of a day to break down, however, will take ( at least ) a few days to reassemble. ( To date, the shortest amount of time it's taken for Charlotte to return is 49 hours; the longest absence was 8 days. )

In the time between her complete decomposition and her reappearance in our reality, the vessel we know as Charlotte must be reassembled, rather painstakingly, by Khaos itself. Just as it did when it first created this vessel, Khaos brings together the fragments of a being: personality traits, memories, stories, and eventually, the physical form, too. Piece by piece, it reassembles the killed and obliterated doll and then, once it feels she is once more ready, like on that sunny day in June all those years ago, it reintroduces this vessel we know as Charlotte back into this reality, this world, this life. As such, it appears, for the most part, that while she may not be totally invincible or capable of auto-resurrection on a god-like level, Charlotte has no real reason to fear death. If she dies, she can be almost certain that she will be back to cause more trouble in no time. But resurrection does not come without a cost and this is a fact Charlotte has become increasingly aware of the more she has gone and come back, gone and come back. . .

"There's never enough...to fill the hole up again." To make a long story short, Stephen King's Pet Sematary revolves around the resurrection of dead things ( animals and people ) and how sometimes, dead is better, because nothing that comes back to life ever comes back exactly the way it was before. There will always be something missing, something wrong. Charlotte's resurrection, at the hands of Khaos, is not an exception to this idea. Each time Charlotte dies and comes back, she may seem mostly intact and to be picking up exactly where she left off, but she is not, in fact, the same. With each "respawn," the vessel will be adjusted and changed based on what the Void deems necessary, but mostly (!) the process of reassembly itself means that there will "never be enough" to make Charlotte exactly as she was again.

Just as a "wound never [seems] to fill in completely" despite being considered healed and healthy once more, the resurrected vessel will, by nature of chaos and decay, contain less and this is the cost of resurrection. For better or worse, there remains a heavy consequence for dying and so, as comical as it sounds, Charlotte has learned to take dying more seriously. With each resurrection, there runs the risk of her losing memories and perhaps some of her humanity, but most assuredly, she loses more of what makes her her... More specifically, with each resurrection, Charlotte grows colder, steadier in a way, and while she may seem more or less the same on the outside ( as Khaos wants to maintain her likeness and essence ), by and by, if you look closely, you won't find the same spark in her eyes that she has now to set her apart from the cold abyss of the primordial entity that resides inside her. Like a wound, Charlotte never heals completely. There is never enough to fill the vessel again. But if there is not enough of her to come back after death, then what must fill the vessel upon its return is obvious: absence. Absence is the cost of resurrection.

[just-a-creep-babe]

I’m so anxious for part 20 of a demons ache omgggg 😭 keep up the good work like always!! You’re doing amazing. <3

Ahhhhh thanqqqq!!!! 🥰🥰🥰❤️❤️❤️✨✨

I’ve actually jUst finished writing it & now all I gotta do is edit so it’ll be up soon!! It’s also the ✨✨finale!!!!!✨✨

There’s gonna be an epilogue & a few more bonus parts after that but yeah main story is done. She’s finally finished 🥹❤️

[srldesigns6277]

.

[todayisafridaynight]

So Allegedly Infinite Wealth is 100 hours... not that you can't already spend that long on the games if you really want to, but I'd say it's the first time that could be said to be the base experience rather than a time only hardcore completionists are likely to get.

Yokoyama was talking at length about wanting to make the game worth the price tag since the team is incredibly conscious about the value of the players' time and money. They essentially feel they owe players ten times what they paid, so they're aiming for "an enjoyable 100 hours, but also an unforgettable 100 hours."

If they pull it off, I personally think it'd be 100% worth it and not just a "well other studios are doing it so we can get away with it too" price hike... I'm at least happy to know that's not the intent, and I'm intrigued to see how everything pans out and what the ratio is between story and side content

oh yayaya i saw that article this morning!!! 100 hours is actually so unfathomable to me in terms of an rgg game- i mean y7 was At Minimum around 45~50 hours but when i think of other RPGS that easily dip into 70's and 100's of hours, i'm not too surprised to see LAD start to climb towards those numbers now. it'd be such a jump in rgg's terms tho, so i'm TRULY curious to see where the nearly doubled gameplay hours comes from..

i really appreciate yoko's respect not just to RGGS but also to its customers: they want to make a great product, but they also don't want to sacrifice what they want to do to do that in the process

[meadowlarkx]

One of my favorite things about the worldbuilding in The Left Hand of Darkness is the "perverts" in Gethenian society—those who are permanently in one of the kemmer forms. The "normal" person on Gethen goes through a kemmer cycle with periods of somer, but that's not every Gethenian. People whose bodies don't work this way get treated with repulsion. Genly compares them to "homosexuals" in his society, and that comparison is really instructive. Gethenians may not have gender roles and identities the way we do, but they do have societal norms, including about bodies and sexuality. And those norms leave people out. They are imperfect and sometimes they are unfair. I think this is part of the point.

In subtle ways, this theme is woven throughout the book's descriptions of Gethenian cultures. To stick to sexuality, something similar can be said about the different norms surrounding incest on Gethen and the empathic treatment of Estraven's past relationship with Arek. There is no taboo about incest between siblings on Gethen, only on siblings vowing kemmering, but if a child is born of it, the parents have to separate (and it seems like Estraven is separated from Sorve because of this). The reason for including this element, in my reading, isn't to impose our own moral standards by "showing" that Estraven's relationship with Arek was "bad" (in fact, we learn fairly little about it, beyond that Estraven cared deeply for him.) Instead, I think it's partly to demonstrate the dissonance between Gethenian mores and our own, and unsettle both. Because, like Genly, we see Gethenian norms as strange, we can notice that they bring about particular situations and cause particular hurts. Even the custom of vowing kemmering monogamously for life, which sounds more familiar, is shown as double-edged. Estraven breaks a taboo by making his "false" vow to Ashe, but was trying to build a new life with Ashe really wrong?

These things are not 1:1 to any "real life" issue, but like everything else in this story, I think they're chosen because they are provocative. It's really meaningful to me that even in terms of gender and sexuality, Gethen isn't painted as a utopia, but as a real place. Le Guin shows us two sets of norms and asks us not just "are our norms arbitrary and/or constructed rather than essential truths?" but also "are norms always socially constructed? Should we question them sometimes? What harm is done to maintain them? Who is being left out?"

[iatecroisant]

I don't know who needs to hear this, but not speaking Spanish fluently (or at all) does not make you any less Latino and/or Hispanic. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[blackvahana]

OY. When did you add bull horns to your banner? Nice touch. °v°

Oh if there are bull horns in art it'll either have been there since I put the banner there or be an optical illusion! Can't remember for the life of me what my desktop theme looks like but. both blog header and pinned post art (now that I've gone looking because I. did not remember wtf I put there) look like they could have horns but. both are just other elements that happen to come together like that. If desktop banner of some form has them it'll have been there for a while now. Either way... Hmm.. 👀Interesting.....