#its just SO refreshing to see

[thescriptorium]

the way this development scratches a part of my brain

[mako-mahko]

THIS, THIS, ALL OF THIS!!

Especially when they took the Asian immigrant storyline and imbued his character with genuine depth and outlook from that perspective- it richens his entire arc and fundamentals and you simply do not get that with other versions of TMNT. It also brings up an entire discussion of how culture fades through the lineage of those who have immigrated when we see it presented with the boys. It's a wonderful narrative and character outlook that an awful lot of people gloss over.

Hi just thinking about Splinter who went from a dashing internationally loved superstar to a hideous mutant who has to raise four rowdy boys alone in hiding while struggling with latent trauma from his mom abandoning him, cutting himself off from his family, and getting betrayed by the love of his life. Thinking about how him “letting himself go” wasn’t just written for jokes but from a place of unspoken depression. Thinking about how he never shared any of this with his boys and never projected his trauma onto them but his distance led to them being starved for affection. Thinking about how much they ADORE him even when he’s blatantly neglectful, insinuating that he does pay attention when it matters. And don’t get me started on his movies dubbing his accent over or how separated he became from his own culture, leading to parallels to the Asian immigrant experience.  He’s a flawed parent. He’s an okay sensei. He’s a loving father. He’s a badass family man. ROTTMNT really looked at the boring one dimensional mentor with culturally insensitive stereotypes in past iterations and went nah we can do better. 

And then they made us all cry. 

[justaz]

thinking about arthur who has crazy quick reflexes and is a relatively light sleeper who woke up to the sound of someone in his room and saw merlin crouched down messing with his keys before softly asking “whatre you doing?…before breakfast?”

[fictionadventurer]

Maybe the problem with Christian fiction is that it's non-denominational. People are just "Christian", with no effort put into showing what practicing that religion looks like for them specifically. No indication that there are other Christians who could have different beliefs. No wrestling with differing ideas and the struggle of how one should live out their Christian faith. And that makes it unrealistic and unrelatable.

[deoidesign]

Time and Time Again comes back tonight!

Thank you all for being so patient with me, I know it was a long hiatus.

My health was struggling, my arm was (is) hurting, and I decided it wasn't worth it. I'd rather be slow!

So thank you for giving me that grace, and I hope you'll be there with me for the rest of the series.

[aroaceleovaldez]

full on feel like pjo tv s2 is not gonna hold up so they need to drag as much attention to the series as they can by using nico as a sock puppet w tsats2

im fully expecting the show to go the way of the movies. it doesnt help Sea of Monsters is almost unanimously the least favorite book of the first series. People frequently forget it even exists or what happens in it, especially more casual fans.

Heck, just look at how little fanfare the second season has gotten so far as compared to the build up to s1. I wouldn't be surprised if s2 totally flops. It would be a little funny.

[a-lonely-dunedain]

all I knew going in was that the movie was called "Godzilla Minus One" and I was like "haha you mean there's no Godzilla in this? less than one Godzilla?" wrong, there was indeed a Godzilla. 11/10 movie

[egberts]

the duality of the red white and royal blue facebook group is so funny. on one hand it's a bunch of classic fangirls obsessed with gay relationships and on the other it's a bunch of actual middle aged gay men who just loved the movie because they're seeing themselves in a romcom for the first time. and they're just interacting and nerding out together over it. also because it was the number one movie on amazon in the world, the language barriers being broken to talk about it are not insignificant.

[alaritheaurora]

I started a sketch when I watched the first episode of his minecraft series and decided to finish it. I love the cherry biome, and his house and little bridge is really cute, so I figured it was a good excuse to practice backgrounds and also having people in scenes.

[kitamars]

some soogs

[daboyau]

I got an idea when looking at this post by @tangledinink. I couldn’t rest until I’d jotted it down. The art possessed me like an evil spirit. warnings for body horror, vomiting, general fuckery. 💚

what probably happened directly before Leo found himself in this situation:

Leo: Fairies? No way those sparkly little assholes are real.

The fae who happened to be within earshot: and i took that personally.

Anyway, here we gooooo:

Leo opens his mouth to scream, but the sound won’t come out. He gags on the feeling of it catching inside his throat, and then again when the trapped scream begins to grow thorns. It scrapes its way up, and he claws desperately at his throat, trying to tear the feeling out, falling to his knees as he gags around the forced silence.

The threat of suffocation is enough to tear his attention, however briefly, away from the horror of what is happening to his shell. His body is changing itself on the urging of some other thing’s whims, and even though his nerves didn’t seem to get the memo that a dissolving shell (you know, the thing that most of his internal organs and, like, half of his bones need to stay inside his body?) should probably hurt a lot, he can still feel it.

He retches as the first flower falls from his lips. It hits the ground with a disgustingly wet sound, coated with bile and saliva. It shines wetly, rich orange hues standing out brightly against the black soil. The rest follow shortly after, a painful deluge of familiar colors, and he’s helpless to do anything but dig his fingers deep into the rich soil and try not to let the horrific impossibility of the situation drive him crazy. Tears flow freely, staining his cheeks before they fall to the ground below, greedily absorbed by the cursed earth of this place.

“Oh, dear,” a voice says, too close for him not to have noticed their presence. He tries to jerk back, but he can’t pull his fingers from the dirt. It hurts when he tries. A high pitched whine escapes his throat, but he’s too terrified to be embarrassed by that. The voice shushes him, soothes him, and warm fingers wrap tight around the back of his neck. They come to rest just above where the lip of his shell should be. He sobs at the way his back squirms as heat shoots down his spine and something begins to grow. The furred fingers drag like velvet against his scales as they squeeze, the sharp prick of claws threatening to break skin, and then release him just as suddenly. 

“So much sorrow and pain. And, oh, so many regrets,” the thing says as she circles him, humming a tune that makes his head pound in rhythm with his racing heart. His hands have sunk beneath the black soil, and it has begun licking greedily at his wrists as well. He can feel tendrils of something wet and cold winding themselves around his fingers, and he wants to scream again, but the bursts of bile-soaked colors decorating the ground keep him from opening his mouth. He can feel a petal still clinging to his bottom lip, and when the thing kneels before him, she reaches out to pluck it off, unbothered by the way he shrinks as far away from her touch as he can manage.

She slips it between her lips, and he catches a flash of a blackened tongue as it darts out to meet that single purple petal. Her teeth are sharp when she smiles at him. They hadn’t been sharp, when she’d first approached him in the Hidden City. Nothing about her had been.

In the dim lights of the underground world he and his brothers had only recently begun to explore, she had looked soft. He’d seen her approaching, and the first thought to flit through his head was, aw, bunny. A fluffy, rounded face. Big eyes, dark and deep as a still pond as they reflected the flickering neon of a sign in the shop window behind him. A pink nose had twitched when she’d smiled at him, sweet and kind, and asked him for his name. 

(What had he told her?)

Now, she would be unrecognizable, if not for the same strawberry patterned dress that drapes over her stretched out frame. He’d think to compare her to a hare now, but the hares he’d seen when watching Animal Planet with mikey had never looked like they would take delight in tearing his nails off one by one or plucking out his eyeballs. They had never made his vision swim or his body shake when he’d looked at them. Maybe she’s become more of a wolf.

The soil has reached his elbows. Those cool, slimy tendrils have circled his wrists like shackles. They’re squeezing tighter and tighter, and he feels his fingers throb and tingle as circulation is cut off. 

His mind flashes briefly to raph and how he used to tell them not to wear rubber bands on their wrists, convinced that their hands would fall right off if they got squeezed too tight. He wonders if the things that live beneath the dirt will steal what they’ve claimed, just like she’s stollen his shell. Another sound wants to bubble up his throat at the thought, and he lets it, because what use is a swordsman without his hands?

The hysterical giggles escape as big, iridescent bubbles. They glitter pink and blue and leave a bitter taste on his tongue. They only float a few feet into the air before they fall back to the ground, their attempt to flee the horror of this situation not getting too far at all. Soft green grass rises up from the dirt to catch them, but they do not pop. They rest, suspended on those tiny blades, for far longer than any bubble he’s ever blown before. He watches, transfixed, as his laughter is eventually swallowed by green. It begins to spread.

A hand cradles his chin, and his gaze jerks back to the thing that brought him here. She is watching him intently, eyes darting to take in every tiny change in his expression. She looks curious, in the same way that donnie does when he’s thinking about all the ways he can take something apart, and what he can do with those pieces to create something better. 

Her hand is soft where it touches him. She is gentle as she wipes a cloth across his mouth. It feels like water, soothing and cool, and he finds himself leaning into this tiny offer of comfort among the stomach churning violation of what is being done to him. His eyes flutter, and he distantly registers that the face she wears seems to swim before his eyes with each rapid blink, shifting back and forth between bunny and wolf and something other. She looks like she wants to devour him whole, no matter which face she wears.

From this close, he can see the way her eyes sparkle and dance when she smiles. He can’t help but think that maybe being swallowed whole wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, after all. 

The writhing shackles around his wrists tighten. 

She laughs, breathy and soft, and the sound is layered and beautiful like wind chimes. It conjures a hurricane inside his mind. Her cool breath gusts over his face. It smells like churned dirt and funeral flowers and pustulous rot. He doesn’t know if he wants to gag or breathe deeper. 

“Little blossom,” she croons, cupping both his cheeks, dragging their faces close. He doesn’t resist. She giggles, and she drags those soft hands and those sharp claws down his neck and over his shoulders, fingertips bumping against the disgustinghorriblewrongparasitetumor gathering of delicate buds that have sprouted up all across his back. She pinches one between the pads of her fingers, and he wants to screamcrybeghertostoppushherawaycutherdownandtearthemalloutbytheroots be good for her.

“Little blossom,” she says again, and those dark eyes catch his gaze and hold it as a heavy feeling settles against his skin, across his shoulders, around his neck, and he can’t look away no matter how desperately he tries. But he doesn’t want to try. Her smile stretches wider, wider, and for one brief flicker of a second he can see blood on her teeth as she asks, “Do you believe now?”

.

(Side note just for fun. The flowers that appear in this but aren’t actually described or named are:

Orange marigold, for grief and despair

Purple hyacinth, for sorrow and asking for forgiveness

Red cyclamen, for goodbye and resignation

Yellow zinnia, for missing a friend and remembrance

Bluebells, for gratitude and everlasting love 

[androgynouspenguinexpert]

if u need a little lovin call on me

[m00ngbin]

Are YOU ready to suffer? Are YOU ready to listen to me rant and suffer and cry and giggle and throw my phone?

Well guess what? It's happening. All that and more because TODAY... is tfs tuesday (but it's actually a Thursday)

I have read the first two chapters of it but it's been a while and I haven't been able to do much reading recently SOOO today I'm to binge all of it cause guess what? It's winter break! I don't have to go to bed early for anything! Not school, not work, not my family's peace of mind, nothing. In fact it's two in the morning. (I have a teeny tiny migraine so I can't sleep, being awake rn is not necessarily my choice.) While I wait for the Tylenol to kick in so I CAN sleep, I'm gonna read this.

Let's get ready for pain and suffering on planet Earth. Or Mob. Planet Mob. PLANET TFST ALRIGHT DONE

[the-acid-pear]

Y'know somethign that actually gets me in impostor (amogus note) or doppleganger horror isnt the What Is A Human 🧐 or this questioning i dont think the idea of someone imitating and camouflaging amongst humans while not being one is scary i do that on a daily basis but its moreso when this individual is... someone you know, someone you trust. Especially in domestic settings. Having your trust shattered and your world turned on its head when the face you thought loved you is hunting you down. This says nothing about my life and home life at all btw. nuh uh

[weregonnabecoolbeans]

Hands down one of the best things about the acolyte is the ALIENS!!!

[crystaljellie]

Creating is something that's so special and so meaningful, bringing thoughts to life and bring comfort or joy or even simply just leaving other people with that feeling of being understood. Or putting something into this world that's so close to your soul you may as well be writing the lines of your body on a page. The joy of creating in the form of a brush stroke or the writing of a pen or the movements of a dance or acting or whatever it is. You are creating you are bringing your vision and your joy into the world. Or your sorrow. Maybe creating is something that starts with your wants. But it reaches more than just you, maybe thousands more, or maybe one lonely person, who is seen. No. who is saved. by your work. So I refuse to stop creating, to stop expressing my thoughts and my feelings. I will write and I will make and I will share the words of my soul with no end. Because creating is saving me and maybe saving someone else.