#i feel like there was a bee there...

[horribluh]

i hope those smellerbee x longshot shippers from literally 10 years ago are having a good day

[puppyeared]

horrible truth bomb dropped on my head 20 min ago

[vulpixelates]

i know it will never happen but i so desperately desire an origins-type playable backstory thing in all games but especially veilguard. i feel like it added so much depth to origins and made you feel instantly connected to your character in a way that gets lost in games like inquisition where you fill in the blanks as you go except for the bare basics. like, i do enjoy the freedom to willy nilly decide where a character was before the events of the story from a creative perspective, but the playable origins were just so good! especially when you go back to where your warden is from and can engage differently with the arcs there

[ihatebrainstorm]

A little thingy from my nonsense sketchbook

Hope you all have a wonderful day- And if not, hang on a bit longer, you’ll get through it 🌤️

[slfcare]

Let your bad thoughts be bad thoughts and your bad feelings be bad feelings. Let "I feel so worthless right now" turn into "I want to do something that'll make me feel better" instead of "the fact that I feel worthless must mean that I am". There is so much power in actively refusing to tie negativity to the way you see yourself, without ignoring it altogether.

[inkymint]

setter sketches

[cubbihue]

Hey uh. Am I misinterpreting something or have you been implying that the entire changeling situation sucks for more reasons than “bad things happen if the changeling gets caught”. Like am I misinterpreting something or are you saying it’s directly terrible, at least the process, for the godkid???

Fifth Consequence of becoming a Fairy: Alterations of the Soul.

The child's body undergoes Physical Changes to become a fairy, but they also undergo a metaphysical change as well. The soul must be adjusted, shaped, broken and remade. These changes allows the child to accept magic into their body, and handle any disruptions in time or perception.

Their soul is transformed into their proper Fairy's Crown, and the child would have officially become a True Pixie! Yippiiiie!!

Thankfully, this part of the process is painless! Or, well, more like Timmy fell unconscious during it. Though Timmy says he sometimes feels strange moments of loss. Like an essential part of himself has been ripped away from where it should be.

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[fischlich]

doodles i did bc i was bored lol

[beesinspades]

shoutout to the aces who didn't always know or wonder what everyone's deal over sex was. shoutout to the aces who were horny teenagers who couldn't differentiate between their libido and sexual attraction. shoutout to the aces who only realized they were ace much later, perhaps after sexual experiences they regretted and couldn't understand why something they were so curious about felt so wrong. shoutout to the aces who made peace with these experiences and are now open to try again. shoutout to those who didn't and/or aren't. we're all valid as hell

[temporary-tats]

Mon Loup

Please send help, Wenclair has taken over my brain.

Per usual, do not reupload without credit/permission. Thanks folks!

(My ko-fi, should you wish!)

[theraprism]

An aspect of the Theraprism plot element that I think is really important is that, as readers, I fully believe that we are meant to be uncomfortable with it.

It's fitting for Bill to end up in an environment where he is trapped and unable to exert power over others, and the fact that he describes the Theraprism specifically as "overmedicated" is a full-circle moment IMO. As a child, his bodily autonomy was disrespected through the medical abuse he was subject to, and when he became an adult, he abused others through violation of their own bodily autonomy (see: the entire section of the lost Journal 3 pages concerning the possession battle). Bill isn't unpersoned by the narrative -- the book makes clear that he has feelings, no matter how much he denies them -- but the Theraprism unpersons him. In a literal sense, it *will* unperson him by transforming him into a being that lacks higher consciousness. The Theraprism brands itself as an institution that operates on the principle of restorative justice but is in fact fundamentally punitive.

From the angle that Bill needs to face the consequences of his actions, it's perfect. He might not recognize the suffering of others -- he might not even acknowledge his own suffering -- but he will be forced to feel his own suffering either way.

But from the angle that Gravity Falls is a show about healing from the past and moving toward a future with those who love you, Bill's situation is an utter nightmare for someone like him. You can't argue that he isn't a tragic villain at this point because it is so clear by now that he is trapped by the past, both in terms of the flashbacks he is stated to experience and in the way that the Theraprism is a punishment for his past actions. And the Theraprism, when it comes down to it, is not meant to accomodate someone like Bill.

The Theraprism's goal is not to rehabilitate Bill, but to keep him there alone forever. His recommended treatment is "infinite karmic rehabilitation". That's not atonement, it's a plain and simple sentence to life in prison.

I think that tension is very intentional.

[honeydewsblue]

( gojo and paparazzi ) — alternatively: this with gojo 💀…

╰┄➤ 1.1 k wc, reader n gojo are obsessed and in love with each other, jealousy, not proofread i’m too incapacitated (sleep deprived)

satoru has a sort of unearthly beauty to him, you think that much is a sort of fundamental truth. an axiom. he's a frustratingly attractive man, in spite of his piss poor personality and the uncanny features he possesses. he’s got white hair and blue eyes and height that makes him almost as tall as his ego; there is nothing about him that is anything short of unnatural.

satoru is unnaturally pretty—and unfairly so, too. he knows it. how could he not, when anyone who has the ability to see makes a point of acknowledging it? whether it's through envious glares or wanting stares, or by being awestruck at the sight of someone who doesn't look like he belongs amongst humans (if only they knew how right they were), people notice him. not as if he needs that to know his worth. in the back of your head, you can hear his raucous laugh at the prospect of being in any way dependent on something so insignificant; on anything at all. you think i give a shit about them?

(still, you know he thrives off of it, off of the attention—being the attention whore that he is.)

the point is, it’s obvious that people can see satoru’s beauty.

especially now, you think, when you watch women your age fawn and giggle to each other over him—watch as they snap pictures and take videos of him. it’s almost pious, the way they try to capture him in film.

yes, an agreeing hum rolls in your throat, it is a universal truth that he is beautiful. unnaturally so. but you really wish people could just be normal, and refrain from being so indecent as to film strangers on the street.

it's not the first time it's happened—the farthest thing from it. unfortunately, you know it's even farther from being the last time, too. satoru's always been a sort of spectacle, one way or the other; in his power, his skills, his looks... he's watched by everyone. he is someone to serve witness to. that, too, is a fundamental truth.

though you know this, an ugly little feeling crawls in your gut while you watch the scene play out in front of you. most of it a sense of disgust, given the impression of how out of touch people are—but, a smaller, yet even uglier, part of it is a little possessive.

that smaller, uglier part feels a little offended at the fact that they’re being so blatantly disrespectful in front of you. that smaller, uglier part feels a little humiliated.

it’s a familiar sight, something you’ve seen happen time and time again, but this is the first time you’ve taken it as an insult—the first time you’ve taken it so personally, the first time you’ve felt it. the first time you’ve felt your dignity being prodded at, like there’s a blazed red rod poking and poking, urging that burning feeling in your gut to grow hotter and hotter. it’s an invasive thing, this hot, rushing feeling.

it isn’t personal. you know that. it shouldn’t be personal, but…

when you meet satoru in the middle, your fingers slip under the collar of his dress shirt. your nails drag taut at the crisp linen like an assertion and you pull him towards you, swift as you press your lips against his. you can feel the hesitation, the fleeting shock against them—that sharp, nearly imperceptible gasp skipping across teeth—but it barely lasts half a second before he’s the one kissing you. that small, uglier little part of you hopes that their little camera captured the picture of you kissing him.

you keep your heavy eyes cracked open, capturing it for yourself.

his hand finds its way to your lower back easily, like a puzzle piece fitting into its slots, holding you close to him; securing you. his hand is weighted on your back in a way that grounds you, but gentle as his fingers skim across your the fabric of your shirt. heavy and gentle like he’s trying to get to the skin underneath. heavy and gentle, like the way he looks at you, eyes skimming across your face—your eyes, to your lips, your cheeks, your eyes again. heavy and gentle, like worship. he wets his lips, swallows. “what was that about?”

he likes the look you have in your eyes, likes the way they mirror his own.

(you see him like how he sees the world, like something all encompassing. he likes that he can see you, only you, with this overwhelming sort of clarity. he likes that he sees you the way you see the world—the tunnel vision of it all. your attention is the only one he really wants for. the only one really he needs.

if you told him he was dependent on you, he’s not sure he’d have it in him to laugh it off.)

you cast a dirty, sidelong glance at where you feel two pairs of eyes burning holes at the both of you; poking and poking.

(and satoru thinks you look awfully pretty right now, your eyes glaring and lidded, your lashes contouring the sharp and narrowed look you bear. awfully, unearthly pretty, and so very familiar in a way that makes him crave you, makes him want to immortalize you in his skin. it’s instinctual, the way he gravitates to you, minty breath ghosting your cheek.)

they’re borderline gawking at the two of you until one of them smacks at the other's arm not-so-inconspicuously, and they shuffle off to the sidewalk, whispering to each other yet again. it’s only then that satoru follows your line of sight. when it clicks, he looks back at you far too eagerly for your comfort.

“oh,” he drawls, his stupid pretty teeth bearing themselves in the stupid, obnoxious grin that spreads across his lips. “that’s what it was?”

the idea of you being so possessive makes his stomach flip.

“baby, are you jealous?” he looks awfully happy about it, blue eyes gleaming at you with an unabashed sort of mirth. even when he finds himself being on other end of that glare of yours, his dimples only get deeper.

“you’re worse than me,” you hum. you don’t admit it, but you don’t deny it—you can’t. maybe you’re spending too much time with him.

oh. goosebumps break out against your skin at the thought of picking up his behavior, a little horrified at the thought of coming off as obtrusive as him. you shrug it off, shaking your head. “doesn’t matter,” you say airily, glancing at him, “you’re mine.”

you definitely spend too much time with him, if your aloof nonanswers and attitude attest to anything.

when your eyes meet his, you think that he sees it too. there’s a certain look in his eyes, the way they widen a fraction like he’s trying to commit you to memory—as if he hasn’t already. you know it’s probably just from the dark of night, but his pupils are wide and that revered and blessed blue he bears is reduced to a ring. right now, his eyes are consuming. you think you can see yourself in them.

(and, he does—he does see it. with his eyes, he sees little bits of himself transfused with you and it’s the most satisfying feeling he’s ever gotten in his life.)

he only smiles at you, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your temple, his words spoken against your skin. “that’s right, baby.”

thank you for reading, feedback and reblogs are much appreciated 🤍!!

a/n. i haven’t posted anything in so long so i cranked this out… i really wanted to post something and that video thankfully gave me a lil idea hehe :’-) i hope it doesn’t seem too rushed <3

[spitinsideme]

hello this is obama can they play monopoly

i do not know how monopoly works .. confusong ass gamd BUT !!! they can absolutely play uno ❤️❤️ the demmon girls are obviously cheating demo ragayba keeps on feedi g ber cards to demon pomni !(they have zero idea how to play, the nuns do nor knlw thwyre managing to win)

[applestruda]

do you have a sona ref sheet or anything? what i’ve seen of it is cool and i love seeing people’s full designs

tbh this is the only thing i got of my sona, i dont draw her too much

this is my skin tho (i tried my best but ive never made a skin before,, also the flowercrown was done by @/thatcoyperson bc he made me a skin and i used it as a base to make this one)

[theminecraftbee]

Etho's head is still strangely fuzzy, filled with something like a combination of cotton and bloodlust and hunger. He's sitting in the middle of their base. Cleo is tearing down the dripstone, complaining the whole time that Etho hadn't even built it right. Grian is fretting over his magma cube, even though his task is done. They both keep checking the door, and also checking on Etho as they wait nervously to find out if the apocalypse that had happened that past session was going to actually wear off now that the task was done.

Etho sits in the middle. The bloodlust and hunger is swirling around, sure, but the thing he feels most is the cotton. The fuzzy not-quite-there feeling. Something fuzzy and strange and slow, like his thoughts are made of syrup and death and safety, and...

And it hits him all at once what has happened, when Cleo puts a hand on his shoulder, tells him that they'll keep him safe until it wears off. The bloodlust and hunger are far away, replaced with that blank sense of safety. He leans into the touch. "Thanks, Cleo. That was all pretty wild, huh?" he says.

He doesn't really hear the responses. He feels Cleo's cold, dead hands, and even though they really shouldn't, they feel soft.

It hits him all at once. He'd say he's not sure how it happened, but he knows. He may have a reputation as cold, a loner, a survivor, but what he really is--everything he loves goes up in smoke, is the thing. Dogwarts, Bdubs, Joel, TIES--all of them, up in smoke around him, flames licking at his feet. It's nice if he can pretend he doesn't care. It's nice to pretend he's cold. That it won't hurt him this time. That he won't watch the smoke and fall apart this time.

Someone who doesn't know him, they might even believe it.

Cleo walks over to say something to Grian and Etho holds them in his vision and--breathes. The cotton isn't wearing off, but looking at them, he doesn't feel hungry at all. And he'd say he doesn't know how it happened, but he does.

It's love, all over again.

He wonders how much it'll hurt this time when it's done, but right now, he feels blessedly safe again. Grian and Cleo get into an argument. He watches the red of Cleo's hair and decides he made an okay choice, this time, for the thing that's going to kill him in the end.

Her hair already looks like fire.

He rubs his head and leans back where he sits. He should keep his mouth shut while he's still half-zombie, so that he doesn't say anything stupid like that out loud. He's pretty sure Cleo wouldn't appreciate it. Or maybe she would. You can never know, with a zombie like that one. That's part of what makes her perfect.

[vodid]

good night