#it was supposed to come out in 2 days

[kabutoden]

Loved your take on cirava :3 think we could see one of the wonderful tired teal that is tyzias?

Gold Rule Tyzias. Tyzias is a member of the student branch of the Sufferer’s Scions, a diverse club of young trolls invested in caste equality. The Gold Rule colonies have always followed the sufferer’s teachings, circulated between helmsman by The Psiioniic—but Sufferers Scions believe more needs to be done. Their current most important issue is statistically disproving the myth of 'highblood rage' and instead showing anger effects all castes equally. They’re also setting up legal protections for limebloods as the caste enters the system, and always working on desegregation. The Scions on the main planet recently broadened jadeblood rights.

Tyzias specifically focuses on attorneys treating clients equally, and modifying certain laws. They work very hard to participate in activism on top of the normal intense workload Tealbloods have, so they're perpetually pretty tired. Their thermos is for keeping hydrated throughout the day, and they also carry leaflets for recruiting new club members and explaining legal changes. Scion members wear highlights of red to represent their cause.

[cubbihue]

Wait timmy isnt allowed in the human world, is hazels wish gonna cause him trouble?

Hrmm! Who’s to say? Timmy’s certainly displeased to hear about her discovering such a loophole!

Or maybe he’s just annoyed. I would be too if I discovered there was more work for me once I got back to my office.

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

[puppyeared]

au where asriel comes home early

[archersartcorner]

A year was not so long after all. He prepared her for the day when he would leave. But when the moment came, he found himself less prepared than she. For the first time in his life, Spock thought about returning from a mission, wondered whether or not he would survive. She had no one else, and that was a disturbing thought.

Back on board the Enterprise, he opened his case to unpack his few belongings and found things not quite as he’d left them. Tucked in at the bottom under all the folded clothes, Saavik had hidden away her knife. Spock stood in the privacy of his cabin turning it in his hand, remembering every word of their good-bye.

Some small doodles based on the above passages :)

[laugtherhyena]

Dra chapter 2 is awesome actually

[carlyraejepsans]

oh i am going to Murder my roommate

[esteljune]

Videogames I played in 2k23

[canigirl]

watched across the spiderverse and i have some thoughts (spoilers below obvi)

-i NEED prowler miles inspired shoes the same way nike released regular miles inspired shoes

-HOBIE!! love him sm i’m sad he only got like 5 minutes of screen time but i heard it took multiple years to animate him bc of his changing styles

-the way prowler miles has more of a puerto rican accent than regular miles bc his dad died so he’s spent more time w his mom omg

-can y’all tell i love prowler miles. certified prowler miles apologist idc he’s so cool (same w hobie)

[starsinthenigth]

★So. Happy second anniversary to 'Rise Of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Movie'.★

[ishizizzle]

stop it you two

[ihamtmus]

.

[thatneoncrisis]

oh captain my captain i didn't know what league of legends game was when i watched arcane. so i thought the plot was alright since i didn't (still don't) know the game lore. if it wasn't basically a prequel story, trying to aim the characters at the way they are in canon, do u think the plot and character arcs would have held up alright? or does that actually make the arcane canon story worse since it wouldn't at least have the existing canon as something it needed to land at eventually as an excuse for any "out of character" decisions? thank u

i wouldnt even call it a prequel story? its like a very elaborate au in a sense, one that feels comfortable changing things to a certain extent- clothes, personality adjustments, motivations, but they still have to hit certain beats. vi has to be an enforcer, jinx has to be a wild card harley quinn type, ekkos time powers ect ect. idk WHAT it is maybe the show needed more time or tighter focus or less characters but i just felt that like, some of the story decisions directly relating to LoL lore werent outright bad but didnt have a lot of time to breathe. the standout example being ekkos time thing, where when i watched that scene i assumed it was both a stylistic representation of a fight and establishing his and jinx's prior relationship (which is kind of too little too late considering they did not fucking speak once as kids pre time skip), and then i had to get a friend to explain to me for SEVERAL MINUTES that he literally died during that fight and it was supposed to be showing his rewind thing. it just wasnt clear at all and his character would not change in the slightest if he didnt have it. but you cant NOT include it so. *

really i have no clue the full extent of the story the writers wanted to tell and how much LoL is binding their hands on story beats. and i REALLY dont want to be inflexible considering i still have a full season coming up that might make me more receptive to certain decisions. but considering how much of the cast i REALLY like just straight up are not in the game, i think they are fully capable of making a solid story completely divorced from league

*someone in the comments told me apparently that Wasnt his time thing and my original read of the scene was correct so im not gonna hold it against the show.

[sentientsky]

a tiny little ficlet based on this lovely comment from @queer4cryptids on this post! (i accidentally made it angsty, i’m so sorry!! but there’s comfort and gay yearning in there, i swear!) when the night falls low and settles against the side of the Earth; when the the dark begins to carry a certain weight, he shifts his stance. he lets himself breathe air he doesn't really need into lungs that exist simply by virtue of his inclination to breath. it's the same pattern Crowley's watched unfold a hundred million times times over—the stretching of a thread until it frays, three women, a set of blades; a wicked inevitability carried in the lines of time-weathered hands.

and still it never changes, never lessens the welling of grief that builds and breaks in his chest, that stagnates and stratifies like layers of sand upon gravel upon so many eons since he first fell from the sky and lost the right to mourn a woman hungry only for bread and a little kindness.

he leans back against a headstone, swallowing down a familiar hollowness. the sparrows have all taken root in the knots of tree trunks. the moon blinks back at him, clouds swaying like an eyelid closing to sleep.

he turns his face away from the light, sucks in breath for which he still has no need. the rough-hewn granite is going to scuff his coat; he knows this with the certainty of having lived in a world full of serrated edges for so many years. and yet he doesn't care. Crowley can't find it in him to give a damn because finally, finally he's there. he's there and he's real and tangible and it's been eleven months, two weeks, and four days since he's last felt the warmth of angelic skin so close to his own. not that he's been keeping count, of course. and Aziraphale's got that faraway look again. the one pressed into the lines of his face in the aftermath of a flood that tilted against the sky; the same one Crowley saw in the stark daylight of a death warrant unfurled and stamped with the name of the holy Mother herself. it's the same, hollow, teeth-gritted look Crowley himself wore as he stood on a hillside reeking of freshly-cut wood, bearing witness to yet another child of the Almighty thrown to the wolves. Aziraphale turns, then, and blue eyes meet black lenses meet amber-gold. "Crowley—" Aziraphale manages, choking it out in a half-whisper, like it hurts—like it scrapes his throat with bits of barbed wire. and, just like that, something in him is breaking and the oak trees are all whispering dangerous things and still, still he can't find a version of this story in which he doesn't lean closer, doesn't press himself forward into air that smells of earl grey tea and old books and something celestial and hallowed and holy underneath it all. and as though he's drowning—as though the moon doesn't watch them with a flickering gaze and the trees can't hear the brush of skin meeting skin—Aziraphale presses his fingertips to the side of Crowley's wrist. he moves no further. the air holds still, time seeming to freeze around them. it's intentional, he realizes; it's fire and it's heat and it's utterly fucking terrifying. even now, so far above ground, Crowley can nearly feel the weight of hellish eyes on his back. a shudder runs the length of his body. and yet. in the atomic space of that hungry, desperate, throat-baring yet, he turns his hand, trembling, to the side. he finds the angel's touch like a bird bearing North—like a compass forever calibrated to a single, fixed point.

"I know—" he rasps. “Angel, I know.” he twines his fingers with Aziraphale's, and it's positively electric. every cell in his tragically, wonderfully human body has turned pure gold, conducted and galvanized and sparking. a sharp, stilted inhale; a quiet anticipation carved out in the space between their pressed hands (and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss...). the graveyard is still. the grief is there, still. the grief might always be there. but the sharp edges dull, the welling in his chest grows steady and slow and gentle. and the world becomes a little less difficult to bear with the two of them holding it up.

[jrueships]

guess whos not going in at all this week, actually

[purpurussy]

.

[deus-ex-mona]

my five surviving braincells when something remotely good happens: