#its probably cold

[transylvanilla]

He's asking for $10 btw

[hinamie]

the new jjk cafe fits have been living in my head . no thoughts except yuuji in a letterman

[sofiaruelle]

❄️☃️The SDV Girlies in their winter garb!☃️❄️

One side how i interpreted their lil avatars and then the other side is just me playing dress up lmao.

“Bois when?” Dunno. 🤷🏽‍♀️ I will if anyone donates screenshots.

[jess-the-vampire]

Ace Attorney x The Owl House au

I was asking for art ideas on my Instagram and this was one of the request ideas, probably because my AA hyperfixation returned recently

Then I got weirdly into it with its own lore to make these words work together, I didn't even draw all the ideas I had! I wanna do more and draw belos and some of the sprite animations for these guys !

So I'll do that later.

Honestly a lot of the names in this show could totally pass for AA names, Tinella Nosa is straight up an AA name.

Why is hooty the judge? Yes.

idk, enjoy this weird stuff i made

Bgs i made under cut:

[sevastiel]

GS Umbra posting

DE hasn't given us much to go off of on how Umbra's been doing post the Sacrifice, so until they tell me otherwise, I get to make the decisions. Some thoughts below :>

Now that his mind is back, I like to think that the well venerated dax and the loving father are bleeding back through the some-odd thousands of years of madness. Idr if how long the new war era took was mentioned, but between then and 1999, no doubt he's had much time to process and heal, with or without the operator's presence.

The way I write him, he was the operator's go-to for missions, whenever he was up for it, and undoubtedly he would have been there when Ballas again took from him a child he loved, while orokin transference left him helpless to do anything about it. It must have set him back horribly, but at least he was able to process it this time.

In future Guardian Spiral chapters, I do hope to be able to get into the sort of mixed feelings he'd have about the parts of him that were willing to get attached to the drifter in the same ways, just because the drifter desperately needed it. Oh, the harrowing ordeal of loving, but having lost so much because of having loved. Hundreds, maybe thousands of years of grief will leave a mark, even if the one who's fault it was is long dead. The mind may know, but the heart doesn't forget the pain.

[foolsfrogg]

AAAAGGHGHDSHJHSDFHSJFHDHHJDSFHUJ

IT FINNALLY SNOWWWEDDDD!!!!

(some time later)

[95-6qrsk2rx9uq42069nnnnnjthewolf]

i think tim is high maintenance the way a boarder collie or austrialian shepherd is. like you have to make sure they're not only given space to expend energy but you have to specifically let them get the herding instinct out and challenge them intellectually or they start destroying ur home

[justladders]

You’re bundled up in the only blanket you own, but it does nothing for the biting winter cold.

But, mid-shiver, you hear soft, hearty footsteps approaching, and you smile. Without needing to look, you already give thanks before Springtrap lays beside you and wraps you both together in layers of thick sheets.

You never felt so warm cuddling against the big, tender rabbit. 💕

[obsob]

there he is......the man of the house

[starrysharks]

winter assassin outfit

[turtleplushi]

Slays you violently. Um. Art jumpscare I still know how to draw

I've been thinking about Slay The Princess for a concerning amount of time. I'm taking it out on you guys now :]

Oh voice designs are mostly mine? Paranoid's mask, Broken's stitches, and Contrarian's everything were inspired by several other designs I've seen around, but the rest is me. Smitten is a bleeding heart dove and the rest are just bird adjacent things

[randomwriteronline]

pohatus very important observations on who is available for body heat sharing via snuggling, cuddling et al

Lewa: yes, serial snuggler

Gali: yes, appreaciates it

Onua: yes, great hugs

Tahu: yes but you have to goad him into it, es. "will you man up and cuddle w me". the warmth is worth the annoyance

Kopaka: the flesh would be willing but the soul is so complicated about it. lay down back to back with him and pretend to sleep to make him slowly turn around and snuggle. WILL wake up early to destroy the evidence. the chill is worth the annoyance

Turaga Metru: only yield to 2-second-long cuddles if exhausted. if you pile all six on one another they will automatically snuggle together though

Toa Hagah: only with each other and still very professionally

Turaga Dume: no (the warmth is NOT worth it)

Takanuva: yes, serial snuggler no. 2

Jaller: yes but you have to sort of casually brute force him into it. will fall asleep five seconds into snuggle

Hahli: yes but a bit shy

Hewkii: yes, loves a hearty cuddle

Kongu: no (very formal)

Nuparu: no (very awkward)

Matoro: the soul appreciates the thought but the flesh needs space. if you tell him youre available for snuggles he will keep it in mind and come to you when hes in need. very pleasant chill

Hafu: yes, especially if youre warm

Tamaru: yes, curls up nicely on your chest

Taipu: yes, splays himself like a corpse

Macku: yes but prefers Hewkii. fair

Kapura: yes. hes a perfectly still hot water bottle. delightful.

Kopeke: no (leave him be)

Krahka: yes, surprisingly

Pewku: yes and its good for your mental health

Jaller's crab: no (rocket launcher)

[starry-bi-sky]

no context snippet for a "SY is SJ" au i thought of at 1am last night, because i am a firm believer of the "amnesia doesnt erase your trauma it just erases the context of it" agenda.

(although in SY's case he DID kinda forget that trauma.. at first. it's coming back to him. the system gave him a grace period. there that's my excuse)

crossposted on ao3 too in case anyone wants to read it there instead

--------

Shen Qingqiu is painting again.

He's found himself doing that a lot lately, now that he's out of seclusion and Binghe is in the bamboo house, squirreled away into the side room where the Head Disciple should be. Painting is, of course, a logical course of action for a peak lord to do! Especially one such as himself, the Peak Lord of Qing Jing, which was basically the peak of the creative arts.

But— well, he wasn't expecting to find himself liking it so much. Or doing it so often. Painting in the style of the time period is a lot easier to learn than he expected, and it gets him B-points for in-character actions! Who knew the Original Goods was such an artist of the time? He had such an evocative way with his brush, he should know — he's found some of his works!

(They were tucked away like a dirty secret in the back of his closet, locked away in a qiankun chest that Shen Qingqiu found the key to far too easily. He’ll admit to being a little disappointed in the Original Goods’ predictability — a false bottom in the vanity, really? Anyone could find that!) 

This brought him to his next issue; he was getting headaches, and he thinks, perhaps, just a little, that the Original Goods' thoughts and feelings were bleeding into him. Just a tad! And he was certain it was the Original Goods too, because— because, well…

He keeps flinching. You know how you’re walking down a public but otherwise empty hallway, and turn the corner and nearly run right into someone, and your heart jumps three spaces to the left and back? Subconsciously you knew there was a chance you were going to see someone, but their sudden appearance still startles you? 

Yeah, that. He keeps experiencing it with Binghe. He about jumps right out of his skin whenever Binghe emerges from the side room or the kitchen, even though he knows his disciple is there! And he knows it’s not a habit from his old world, because Shen Qingqiu lived with three other siblings in the house, and always knew to expect someone to be right around the corner. 

And he knows, especially so, that it’s not a habit from his old world, because along with the mini heart attacks that come with Binghe’s presence in the bamboo house, is the discomfort. A distinct yet indistinguishably vague feeling of unease that comes with sharing a living space with someone. The kind that makes his hackles rise like a particularly disgruntled and cornered street cat. 

Again, he grew up with three siblings! That could not be coming from him. It has to be an Original Goods feeling slipping in, and it was really getting in the way of things! How was he supposed to give Binghe a sense of belonging and a better upbringing if his presence in the bamboo house made him feel horribly exposed?

Some days, he just can't escape the gnawing feeling of dread in his chest when he returns to the bamboo house at the end of the day, knowing full well that it will soon be accompanied by someone else. Even if that someone was Binghe. 

That feeling of a lack of privacy makes his skin crawl and his shoulders lock up to his ears with every step. It was inconvenient; annoying. 

It was utterly unscientific, it was his house! And it was only Binghe, who, currently, is a harmless little white sheep! There was no darkened protagonist here, come to tear his limbs off. There was nothing to be so… tense about. 

It does nothing to stop the little swooping his heart does when he opens the door to, sometimes, Binghe already there, kneeling at the table like a dutiful disciple as always.

Oh, and that's not starting on his steadily increasing dislike of physical touch. It had to be something to do with the ludicrous amount of layers he wears and the modesty standards of the time period — and, also, of course, the Original Goods' own aversion to it.

He knows he's never felt so uncomfortable in another human being's presence before! Sure, he wasn’t the most social of people in his old world, but he still remembers being able to leave the house and be among the masses with relative ease. Here, though, was an entirely different story. His personal space bubble seemingly doubled, no, tripled in size, and it was irking him quite unhandily. 

The worst offenders were the Peak Lord meetings, it had to be. Navigating through the sea of disciples, cultivators, and visitors on Qiong Ding was a nightmare enough on its own — lessened only by the fact that said mountain occupants parted like the red sea when they saw him coming — but sitting in a secluded room with eleven other people, majority of whom still disliked him despite his turnaround? Awful.  

The proximity between him and his martial siblings isn’t even that bad, either. He has plenty of elbow room and in fact, would need to make an effort to reach out and physically touch anyone on either side of him. But, still!! Too close!! 

Shen Qingqiu made the conscious decision to sit as close to the door as his own comfort would allow, but not so close that he couldn’t see it — he tried that once. He doesn’t want to speak of the incident. The stress alone will give him heart palpitations. 

(He, pointedly, doesn’t want to think about the time he arrived at a Peak Lord meeting and found the Long Ning Shou Peak Lord sitting in His Chair either. Shen Qingqiu has never been particularly territorial about ‘assigned seating’ before, up until that moment. While he’s proud to say that he didn’t do anything to Chen Qingxuan for sitting in his spot, he’s mortified by how childishly petulant he felt about it for the rest of the meeting. He’s pretty sure everyone could sense his sour mood.)  

Why, just a few days ago he nearly bit a poor disciple's head off during martial lessons when they accidentally tumbled into him after a series of spectacularly fumbling footing. The child had been so horrified and apologetic that Shen Qingqiu remembered to reel himself back in time and merely scold them, rather than tear their skin right off with a tongue lashing.

But— enough about such stressful things! Shen Qingqiu was painting, and when he was painting, Binghe knew not to bother him, and to not let anyone do so either. Lest they all be dealt with a moderately grumpy Shizun. 

(His emotions may be as volatile as a hormonal boy lately, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t know how to keep them in check!! He still had a reputation to keep.)

His studio offered him a sense of privacy and solitary that not even his bedroom allowed him — for Binghe could knock on his bedroom door to alert him for whatever needed his attention, and while he could do the same to the studio, the fact remained; a Shizun interrupted during his precious studio time, did not, a happy Shizun make. 

There were silencing talismans painted into the walls — courtesy of the Original Goods — that Shen Qingqiu really quite appreciated. It allowed him the peace of mind to do things his face could not allow him outside of it— and that is, he got to muse aloud to himself, and hum songs from his old world that he couldn't anywhere else. Some songs that he still knew the lyrics to, he was happy to half-sing under his breath.

It had to be a form of meditation, it had to be! With how much peace and grounding it brought him, it couldn't be anything but a form of meditation.

Currently, he was just letting instincts lead his brush strokes while he hummed a melody from some myth musical he stumbled across a few weeks before he died. The songs had been so catchy that he had most of them all but memorized! He's tried repeating the instrumentals on his guqin and ruan with varying degrees of success.

Painting helped kill his migraines the most. As it stands, he’s had a killer one hammering at his skull since this morning. Bad enough to the point that he nearly snapped at poor Binghe during breakfast, and the child could all but sense the sour mood radiating off his master, and in turn had been silent and subdued until he left. 

Aish, that child… Shen Qingqiu hasn't quite quelled the guilt in him. Something about that awful subservience rankled him in a way he couldn’t explain, making him want to recoil and snap out at the same time. Something dark and deep in him had reared its head, wanting to reach over and shake Binghe for it. 

He'd been horrified by his own thoughts, and then locked himself in his studio for the rest of the day.

Even in death — or wherever the Original Goods was — he was still making things difficult! It was only natural that Binghe would go quiet and careful at the sight of Shen Qingqiu’s bad mood, he used to beat the boy at whim for imagined slights! He’ll have to reassure Binghe better that he wasn’t going to hurt him. 

Bah. He was supposed to be painting, not thinking about things that made his head pound worse or his mood dampen more! He didn't want to think about Luo Binghe right now — a surprise, even for him! — he wants to focus on the scent of ground ink and paints, and his own soft humming.

He blinks, once, twice, and focuses on the painting. It happens, like now, that he would zone out and paint entire landscapes, people, whatever, without realizing. It was always a guessing game of what he's made when he lets his mind wander. Some of things he painted were merely of Qing Jing, other times— 

— a burning red fire, encased on canvas, hangs off his eyelashes. And following it, the ensuing qi deviation he'd shoved off. —

Other times aren't worth mentioning.

He's painted a boy this time, a young one, with dark skin and even darker hair, and a smile that isn't quite right. There's a beauty mark right above the corner of his lip, artfully placed, as if it had been hand-placed by an expert craftsman. The boy's upper face remains unpainted, as if he’d been born without eyes. Yet, even without them, the boy looks completely serene and non-judgemental. Mn, no, perhaps more accurately he looks passive? Peaceful? 

Shen Qingqiu can feel his gaze, missing as it is, burning into him. He frowns immediately. His headache no less lessened, in fact— he thinks it's gotten worse. There’s a horrid familiarity about the boy in the painting, like a word poised on the tip of his tongue that he can’t quite place. "Don't look at me like that." He says aloud, bah, he hadn't meant to! But it’s not like there’s anyone to hear him. "Don't you know who I am?" 

En, no, it’s placating. That’s what it is. The boy is placating him. How unscientific! Unneeded; ridiculous. Why would he paint a boy trying to placate him? He was a scum villain, and a grown man!

The painting says nothing, as it ought to, it was only wet ink and dry parchment. Shen Qingqiu's ears burn anyways, and his eyes drop down to the smile on the boy's face. 

He finds that he deeply detests that smile on his face, it disgusts him. 

It disgusts him in the way only sheer incompetence can, a burn of irritation that bubbles up every time he saw an objectively wrong take in the PIDW comment section. As if he can't believe someone would look at him, a scum villain such as himself, and still be able to smile like that.

More than that, it's not right. That smile. It's— there's something wrong with it. Which can't be right, Shen Qingqiu hardly makes a mistake when he makes these trance-made paintings. But there is, he’s looking at it right here. He hates it. That awful smile. It's so— so… insincere. If you're going to smile at him, at least mean it, eh? Doesn't he deserve that much?

Long, slender fingers dip into the small wooden paint bowl beside him and lift back up, dripping wet ink onto the side table, and then onto the floor, across the last two layers of his robes that he always strips down to in here.

He reaches for the canvas to— to what? Smear that stupid smile off that boy's face? Mould it into his own image, back into place like the way it should be, paintbrush be damned? That wretched child, smiling at him like that. That smile is too straight, too perfect. It's mocking him.

Where is the tilt? The slant in it? That boy always smiled with an off-kilter turn of his lips, crooked, that made him real the same way blood in the mouth did, and now he's not, and it's wrong. He will wipe that smile off the boy's face himself if he must, if only to get him to wear anything else—

There is a knock on the door, gentle, hesitant. Only his cultivator hearing is what allows him to pick up on it. Shen Qingqiu's head pounds terribly at the sound. It makes a screeching sound go off in the back of his skull, like an abrupt kick to the teeth. His jaw clacks together on pure adrenaline as he regains the sense to not snarl wordlessly.

Didn't he say not to interrupt—?

His ink-stained fingers snap back, a gunshot recoil that sends splatters of ink flying and splatting coldly against his face. His nails dig painfully into the soft flesh of his palm, and Shen Qingqiu gathers himself back into his lofty cultivator persona with a single breath and a ramrod straightening of his spine. His ears ring horribly. "What." He calls, perhaps a little too coldly.

"Shizun?" Binghe says softly, and the sound of that child's voice is like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head. Recognition hits him, and the guilt crawls back in at his earlier irritation. "Forgive this one for interrupting, but Yue-shibo is here."

Shen Qingqiu is still staring at his painting, but the boy’s smile burns behind his eyelids like a fire. It takes half a beat for him to respond; "…Alright," he says, and stands up, "prepare some tea, Binghe. And use the ginger root this master owns, he has a terrible headache."

He walks around the stool, fingers still dripping black, and plucks his robes up from the chair he draped them over. His head still hurts, and there’s a peculiar ache in his heart. He takes his time putting his layers back on, vindictively tying each button and knot leisurely. 

Surely Yue Qingyuan has the patience to wait for this one after he so rudely arrived unannounced, hm?

[pavlov-sdog]

Many posts lately have got me thinking about how Bell mentions struggling with remembering things at the beginning of the campaign and then basically never mentioning it again.

Each time they do they’re quickly brushed off, even when its not just something small or reasonable to forget. When talking to Park after fractured jaw, Park says that Bell supposedly spent hours decrypting the dossier, yet they have absolutely no memory of it. 

While we don’t see much of it, it wouldn’t be a shock that memory issues effect Bell a lot, we just don’t hear much about it. Imagine being so confused about losing so many hours worth of your memory and your colleagues and even most trusted friend just tell you to take a nap, maybe you need more coffee, oh don’t be so silly how could you possibly forget? Bell probably just gets to a point they avoid mentioning it knowing they’ll just be brushed off. They’re left to question their sanity and how much else they could’ve possibly forgotten with no support system. Also probably half the things Bell ‘forgot’ are things that never happened in the first place, the team is just lying to them, making it even harder.

[orangesand-lemons-234]

Porter has a pair of silver flame earrings that he wears everyday. These things are never taken out, to the point where Pearl thought they were built in.

They used to be Mommas. They were her lucky charms before she went into her races, and they never let her down. In all the pictures of her old racing days on the walls, you can always see the small charms on her ears.

She gave them to him when he was younger before his very first race, telling him they might give him the luck he needs in the races to become the next "Red-Hot McCoy."

While they most certainly didn't help in the racing side of things, he's been known to fiddle with them after something good happens- an easy run with Slick, a day off work- you know yourself. It brings him luck in other areas.

He's planning on giving them to Hydra if he sticks with the racing. While "Green-Hot McCoy" doesn't exactly roll off the tongue as nicely, he thinks he's earned his place in the family at this stage, and there's no better way to welcome him in.

[ghastlyaffairs]

for something as trivial and simple those feelings sure are hard to get rid of

also made a gif a version for fun + alt version with no tears under the cut

the gif is in very low resolution...this is a feature (i could make it bigger but that would require saving each frame individually and than glueing it all together. also i feel like low resolution suits it better. aesthetically and fits the mood)