#if you get the reference thank u

[cherriiblossomii]

this is what the miis do when they're not doing sports

[yellow-sword]

Can I request body swap so kinich with Ajaws demeanor and vice versa?

Here u go lmao the expressions were nice to do

[wanderingibon]

a flock of birds, a crow family — everything aside, despite viago's frosty, stern demeanor I think both he and teia care about rook like family, in a way that goes past the pretenses of being a crow or just part of house de riva, they're literally found family to meeeeee

and while you have time, please consider finding a family on op. olive branch 🍉 and supporting / sharing their campaigns, especially the ones with low funding <3

[kusanagihaku]

“Onwards, Jiro! To tricks and treats!”

[galaxygermdraws]

Some S10 doodle dumps. Just some miscellaneous doodles then an in depth of how I've designed a Cyberpunk Impulse (plus a bonus Bdubs). I've been having way too much fun.

(reblogs with tags/comments are appreciated. Thankyuuuuu)

[daisyswift3]

So I think I may have cracked the code. Listening to Clara Bow w this context in mind from the 4th, 9th, and 10th 🎃 messages makes the lyrics cut even deeper and explains the purpose of the anthology.

What Taylor is essentially saying is that above all else she is proud of her humanity. “Human. Human. Human.” “Flesh and blood.” Unlike some ppl in Hollywood like greedy big suits (cough SB^2 cough Big Machine cough) she’s managed to keep her humanity intact and didn’t let these negative experiences corrupt her or turn her bitter. She was able to find peace and courage in spite of it. And she’s saying I am abt to come out of the closet and while I am hopeful I’m also a little fearful. But isn’t that an amazing thing? Because being fearful, sad, furious, insecure, hopeful—these experiences are unique to humans! “Your heart beats red and hot and furious in your chest.”

“And most importantly, they will know about the human heart.” THIS is the purpose of the anthology. This is why she released 31 (13 backwards) songs for her fans to dissect and decode. Bc she wants them to understand that she’s not a god. She’s a flawed human just like the rest of us.

I think there’s a very good chance that THIS is what her movie is going to be about. Her journey out of the closet and all the hardship that came along w it and helping other ppl to understand the human heart. And I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a memoir that was released w it—“the professor said to write what you know.” And it makes sense too why the manuscript lyrics match perfectly w the all too well short film. Bc they’re talking abt the exact same thing!! She has a relationship w a much older man, experiences heartbreak, heals, and then writes abt it in a book—the story of us AKA the manuscript.

And this is why 🎃 kept referencing the story of us. I couldn't make sense of it a few months ago but now in hindsight it all makes perfect sense. Message in a bottle was probably a red tv vault track for this reason too. Bc the message in a bottle is the manuscript. The puzzle pieces really do all fall right into place.

[pinkfey]

remember how in dao there were always like multiple flirty options u could just spring on ur love interest and it wasn't something that was brushed past it would stop a conversation dead in its tracks to have a cute secondary flirty offshoot with small variations dependent on the flirty option u initially chose with a unique course correction to get back on topic after...... yeah.

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic june 19 — mechanic — 843 words aka motocross enthusiasts to future boyfriends

James hastens to unclip and throw off his helmet. Carelessly, he throws it to the side where it lands with a dull thud in the foliage while he runs over to the person that just slipped off their motocross bike in front of him.

They were racing each other.

He came out of nowhere, appearing on the trail right next to James. As if he’d materialized himself out of thin air. Decked out in all black and bike an atrocious lime yellow-green that doesn’t blend with the background of the forest even if it wanted to.

He’d snaked his way in front of James when their twin paths united again. Two fingers were tipped from his helmet in a mock salute and then he’d accelerate hard and fast, swirling dirt at James’ helmet visor.

And, well. James has never said no to a challenge a day in his life. Especially from such a cheeky opponent. So James had revved his engine and done his best to keep up and find ways to overtake his mysterious challenger.

The thing is, the other guy was fast. Quick and nimble on his bike, winding between trees and seeking out every opportunity to get a good head start. Jumping off hills instead of taking them easier, dangerous maneuvers, snapping branches and leaving behind angry wheel tracks.

And James was chasing. As soon as the trees cleared a little James managed to pull almost level with him. The biker threw multiple looks over his shoulder when he noticed and James’ grin sharpened when he heard a short laugh from his front left. They parted ways when James chose to round a hill instead of going up and over it, slowing down to keep out of the other’s landing range.

But just as quickly James’ smile was gone.

Maybe the ground was muddier than the guy thought or he got too high-spirited. His hind wheel slipped right from underneath him upon hitting the ground again, making him tumble forward with the remaining momentum and his bike sideways.

Now, James skidders down onto his padded knees next to the body laying in the dirt. “Fuck, hey! You okay?”

He gets a groan in response, raspy and breathless.

And then James gets all breathless when the other guy weakly shoves off his own helmet. It’s pale skin contrasting starkly with his all black getup, dark curls tumbling onto his forehead and stormy eyes fluttering up at him.

Oh.

The gorgeous man on the ground grunts vaguely, “Never been better.”

James makes a skeptical noise. “Hey, open your eyes for me again. Can you see clearly?”

Slowly, grey eyes blink open and try focusing on James’ figure kneeling over him. His lips part around a silent gasp once they’re wide open, looking at James intensely. “Um, yeah,” he answers.

James’ mouth tips into a grin. “Hi there.”

“Hi,” the other breathes weakly.

“And your name is?”

“Regulus.”

James hums, “And how many fingers do you see, Regulus?” He holds up 3.

“Three,” Regulus answers dutifully.

James switches his fingers, holding his thumb to his forefinger, the tips of both of them creating a little heart. “And how many now?” James smirks.

Regulus’ wide eyed glance turns into a scowl, lips pouting as he pushes James’ hand away with a grumbling noise. James doesn’t miss the way his cheeks pinken though.

Regulus tries to sit up but he immediately plops back onto his elbows with a groan.

“Don’t be a hero,” James admonishes and pushes him to lay back down.

“How’s my bike?” Regulus wants to know. It’s quiet safe for the sounds of the forest, birds chirping, wind rustling the thicket.

James looks over his shoulder where the lime green atrocious is laying sideways in the leaves. The motor isn’t on anymore but it doesn’t look bent or scratched. “Looks in okay shape,” James replies, turning back to Regulus. He’s looking up at him with an uneasy gleam in his bright eyes. James drives a hand through his hair, licks his lips. Regulus’ eyes follow the motion. ”Easily fixable, I bet,” James reassures, “Probably just some of the electronics impacted.”

Regulus lets his head thump back into the foliage with an unhappy groan.

James grins. “Hey, y’know what? I’ll take you to my mechanic. Guy’s awesome! Funniest person I know and he really knows his bikes.”

James expects Regulus to lighten up and be thankful for the offer but instead he’s met with an almost patronizing smile in return. “Hard pass. I already have a trusted mechanic.”

James narrows his eyes, feeling defensive. “Well, your loss then. Sirius always does a flawless job for a good price. Plus,” he grins again, “His fancy ass espresso machine makes a mean hot chocolate. And he lets me have one every time.” James nods to himself, feeling victorious.

Something flits over grey eyes and then Regulus’ own lips tip onto a smirk. “I know,” he answers and James is properly confused for a few momentps before Regulus goes on. “I bought it for my brother.”

[doodleodds]

Happy Valentines, Akira. Happy Valentines, Asshole.

If you can’t read what Akechi’s secondary inner-dialogue says cause I obscured it too much behind his regular dialogue, here’s a transcription in panel order: Hello, you fucking- Ah- Hello, Akira! Fuck off, why should I tell you- Just a soda- there’s a new flavor.

I don’t want your shitty gift. Oh- haha! You’re so sweet.

I hope I choke. They’re lovely, thank you.

Like hell. Likewise. There’s no way it’s just a coincidence. Still though, it’s a funny coincidence.

[honkshoo-zzz]

i didn’t wanna draw more saxwell,,,.,, but the parasites wanted to draw more saxwell.,…,…….

anyways go read my saxwell fic Don’t Go on AO3 :)

[megueggu]

design piece of Jasper for Youso ✨

[strawberrycamel]

hey psst c'mere... no a little closer... a little closer- there we go

Loop lips are part of a racist caricature of Black people. Stop drawing Black characters with loop lips. I don't care how they look in canon, it's racist.

okay that's all you can go

[archersartcorner]

Back in Far Harbor gang… I get they probably didn’t want to extend a cutscene where the player had no control out too long, but I do wish in the Acadia meeting that you can eavesdrop on they brought up Nick 😭 but they do Not so here’s me making up scenarios. The Usual. 😏

[hurglewurm]

thinking about how. MORE than one old white woman presiding over me during my master's program in some capacity,,, has gently (unprompted) insinuated to me that accommodations are available, academic or otherwise

like i've had classmates undergo the same meetings, the same presentations for the same prof, etc and they do Not get the same gentle "oh you poor little thing. is this so hard for you? do you need help?"

and it's like. on one hand cool, thanks, glad that's available. i am, however, legit fine and chilling and doing better than ever in a classroom environment because i Stopped Masking in my mid-twenties and i sit cross-legged and play with my spiky ball sometimes and i'm vibing

glad accommodations exist. none of them would do anything helpful for me specifically. but if me being visible is what it takes for you to ? ? feel like you're Helping students who need/use accommodations ? to assuage your Guilt idk lol ? then ok white woman i will continue to exist within eyesight

(wish you'd respect the accommodations of students who actually require them, instead of giving platitudes to me who is i guess more Visibly 'other' to you)

[pastellguts]

trying to put him in my art style

[powderblueblood]

How about Lacy finding Eddie's writing? 🤭

need you to imagine me listening to a fifth of beethoven from the saturday night fever soundtrack whilst writing this because i became insane and filled it with Clues.............

it's like trying to understand the fucking zodiac killer.

it's all codes and ciphers and scrawls and-- well, she thought she might have been reading that one upside down but it's actually indecipherable any way you twist it.

and it's not like any of it is even written on paper either. torn open cigarette packs, napkins, burger wrappers from the diner. one time a leaf.

because eddie's not like lacy in the way she keeps a journal but eddie's like lacy in that if he's roundhoused with a thought that he needs to remember, he's got to write it down now immediately pronto on any available surface.

which is pretty pointless, since he keeps losing all this garbage and she has to pick it up after him.

she bears over the spread of scraps like an fbi agent, palms braced to the table. there's a thread here, but she can't quite untangle it. she's staring at a pile of shit that says shit like

crabs incident-- bruised like a peach worth biting-- violet like violence??

red tights. tingly. carnelian little carnivore.

track two. treasure.

persephone's hall pass.

seventh grade & as many minutes in limbo. shoulda ripped off band aid.

mage in a mink coat.

well, that last one--

"you dumpster diving now? hard times."

fuck! fuck. told you, rat blood. appearing out of nowhere with no noise no notice to then become the loudest thing in the room. he's like thunderclap, this fucko, like a spontaneous combustion.

he also doesn't even recognize his own handwriting, seems like. she blushes, furious. doesn't know why.

"community service. they have me picking up the trailer trash's trailer trash."

"snitty!" he shoves the bag of chips he's holding at her--an offering, he can't do anything normal around her--and reaches for one of the scraps. lacy watches him like a scientist watching a guinea pig for brain activity-- and his eyes go all wide and panicky. "wait."

"eddie-- hey!" but he's scrambling now, going for all the little pieces of writing she'd been trying to arrange on the table like a pointless puzzle. "don't--"

"where'd you get all this shit, huh?! going through my pockets now, is that it? like a cop?"

"i-- hey, don't you fucking dare-- look, you shed!"

"i shed?"

"you shed. you've got shit falling out of that stupid, enormous nerd binder every goddamn day because you just shove shit in there and don't organize anything, and i wasn't gonna stand around and let you just litter everywhere and--" now it's her turn to be like. wait. crosses her arms, eyes narrow, she's mother superior serving nailed ya bitch. "--why are you all skittish?"

"huh?"

"it's just-- trash, right?" she snatches a burger wrapper out of his grasp. oh this is delish.

"yeah," he grabs, but she's holding it behind her back and god her face is like stupid smirky, "but it's my trash. my--giveit--private... trash."

eddie munson is blushing.

"who's the mage?"

"the fucking.... the what?"

little crinkle as she unfolds a piece torn off a brown paper bag. "mage in a mink coat. who's that?"

"nobody."

"i have a mink coat."

"oh. does that really say mage? 'coz it should say mange." he's such an asshole. she's grinning so wide.

everyone says revenge is a dish best served cold but she bets she could use eddie munson's cheeks as a hotplate and eat right off 'em. it'd taste so much better. lobster bisque. filet mignon. michelin star.

"have you been writing about me, munson?"

his face is all stone-set, mouth all i can't fucking believe this and eyes all i'd cut the brake lines in her van if she wasn't the one scamming rides off me all the time. "li'l miss my life is incomplete without eddie munson wants to talk?"

"called you a neanderthal in the next sentence. don't forget that."

"you're such a beastie."

"carnelian little carnivore, you wrote."

"what makes you so sure it's all about you, huh?"

"context clues."

he glances down. she is, in fact, wearing the aforementioned tingly-feeling-inspiring red tights again today. shit.

"what happened in seventh grade?" she's pointing to the scrap in his hand, one he's managed to keep out of her snatchy little fingers.

she doesn't remember anything significant about seventh grade. but he does, and a knot tightens in his chest and he's about to lie and say something crass about my fist, a stopwatch and a view of you from underneath the bleachers at cheerleading practice-- then final bell rings.

"that is for me to know--"

"--and for me to die ignorant?" she's an active listener.

"precisely, you wench. now get the fuck outta here, i got hellfire."

lacy leaves the scraps.

"i will find out, y'know."

he knows. "you're like a bitch with a bone that way."

"the bitchiest."