#kinda ooc post?

[fandomwe1rd0]

Rick C137 x Reader dating Headcanons!

This one is for the Rick simps! I usually don't do stuff like this, buttttt I like making headcanons soooo, also all of these are sfw! I don't think I'll do NSFW unless it's like- by super popular demand- But I doubt it.

I feel like he would be a very jealous person, if he saw you hanging out with some other person, he would start getting possessive and would probably throw a sulking fit, then when you ask him he won't tell you, but it would be obvious why. He's like a giant man-child sometimes, in canon he's a very jealous person

He would be very physically affectionate with you, but he would probably tense up whenever it's returned, he's not uncomfortable with you or anything, he's just autistic as hell and is uncomfortable with physical touch in general.

He would be pretty protective of you, he's just protective about people he cares about in general. But there's also the added paranoia of what happened with Diane. He would kill anyone who touches you, and would badly hurt anyone who DARES to insult you. He's a weeee bit overprotective.

He would really value your time together, and his love language would be a mix of quality time and acts of service, he would just want to spend a lot of time with you, and would do nice things for you, but he would downplay it like it's no big deal, even when he does big gestures.

He would definitely call you names like baby, sugar, etc.

He would definitely be a bad influence, like if you said that you'd prefer not to drink, he would probably be like "C'monnnn baby, don't be lame." and would do stuff like that.

He would be extra affectionate when drunk, since he has less filter when he's drunk.

Whenever you cancel a date, no matter how good of a reason you may have, he would be EXTREMELY salty, he really values quality time and would be super sulky and stuff.

He would probably wanna take you on adventures but would leave you out of more dangerous ones, since he cares about your safety, even though he'd probably be bad at showing it.

He would probably want to cuddle and stuff, but wouldn't want you to cuddle back, because, as mentioned before, he likes giving physical touch, but doesn't like receiving it because he's autistic and we love him for it :)

He has a massive soft spot for you, and you're probably the only person he would act soft around since he's less guarded when it comes to his romantic interests

He would have trouble showing appreciation, but he does love and appreciate you, he's just not ok. He would also have trouble apologizing, even if he screwed up royally, but he would feel guilt at times, but probably wouldn't at others

He would sometimes go on weird, unhinged rants, for example, if he ever proposes to you, it would definitely be in an unhinged, but weirdly sweet rant, and you would probably feel flattered and terrified at once.

He would definitely say "Rick and [Your name] 100 years!" Since he says that in canon when it comes to his favorite people [Morty, Birdperson]

His flirting would get explicit pretty quickly, it'd be fine if you guys were alone, but he definitely would do it in front of your family and friends and stuff, either because he doesn't realize that that wouldn't be the time, or he simply doesn't care, your pick.

He would rarely, if ever compliment you, not because he doesn't love you, but because he's like physically incapable of showing affection through words, because he's traumatized and we love him for it.

He wouldn't say "I love you." a lot, because he has trouble with love due to *cough* Diane *cough* but he would show that he loves you, in his own unique way.

If he ever moves in, he wouldn't put in any work or do any cooking, he'd just be extremely lazy and would probably leave dirty laundry and beer cans everywhere.

He would be uncomfortable with PDA if you initiate it, but he would probably initiate it at times

You'd be the only person (Besides like, Morty) who can calm down when he's upset.

You'd be the only person who can talk him out of doing stupid and dangerous things.

[dxkjf]

uhhh sorry guys cringe moment 🧑‍🤝‍🧑

[haisfan]

maybe ppl done some of these but me and my friends were making incorrect isat quotes on call like months ago - soem are new tho teehee

[raycatzdraws]

LU WIND BUT HE'S A ITTY BITTY HUMMINGBIRD

Slingshot Proficiency!

+bonus doodle drafts

[bittasol]

smile, iruma! | hey ive been here before

[misteria247]

*inhales gently*

I love the Reverse Portal Au because it's an au that's so full of angst potential. Mainly Stanford angst. Like let me explain-

If Stan went into the portal instead of Ford, it would have forced him to come to terms with some things. A bit of a reap what you sow and you don't know what you have till it's gone kind of thing. It's easy to remain angry at someone when you can bury your head in the sand so to speak. When you subconsciously know that essentially that person's relatively safe. You feel like you have all the time in the world to hold onto things like grudges.

Till you're reminded that nothing is timeless.

That's something Ford would be reminded of as soon as Stanley disappears into the portal. It's like a bucket of ice water being thrown on him because it's suddenly a horrifying reality that Stanley, his twin, his little brother could possibly be dead. There one minute, then gone the next. And it's then that grudges and old hurts suddenly have no meaning because despite everything Stanley is still his brother and now he's gone.

Ford would never hear him laugh again. Would never see him and his smile. Wouldn't hear his jokes or feel his arm on his shoulders in a hug anymore. Everything that makes Stanley, Stanley would be gone in the blink of an eye. And that realization would eat Ford alive. And the kicker???

It'd be his fault. (Kinda).

After all, he built the machine. He's the one who trusted Bill over his friend. He's the one who called Stan to come to Gravity Falls. It's like a sick, twisted joke that he in his anger and delirium, while trying to protect the world and by extension Stan, would be the one to do the metaphorical killing blow. And it's after this horrible thing, and months and months of trying to figure out how to help Stanley that he's forced to think about everything. From the argument 10 years ago to the tragedy that Ford unwittingly played a role in. And he regrets so much, regrets that he never got to fix things with his twin. That he never got to sit with him and enjoy his company and share more memories with him.

That he never got the chance to tell Stan that he loves him and that he's sorry.

It's this experience that makes him feel the loss, because it's different being angry when the other party's there and in one piece. It's a whole other ball game when they're gone. And now that Stan's gone, Ford realizes that he took Stan for granted because all he can do is think about things and grieve at the unfairness of everything. He spends the next 3 decades reaping what he sown and it drives him nearly mad with guilt, regret and grief. And then there's Bill who'd fucking feed those feelings in his cruel unusual way, tormenting Stanford and letting him know that his brother's demise was all Ford's doing. Even though it was an accident.

This is only just a little bit of what I'm trying to put down here do you see my vision?????? Do you see why I'm unhinged with the potential here?????

[ghostbredtt]

sketches doodles useless thingies

sorry guys I'm dead summer finally killed me so baii 😁

[poorlydrawnvriska]

BADLY DRAWN HOMESTUCK GOES TO SEE THE FNAF MOVIE

[nouriyx]

scar i'm sorry. i'm so sorry, i'm so sorry, scar-

[ninyard]

Hi! I've been reading your social media au and officially, you are the funniest person ever. Do you plan on making more? 🥺🥺

I do!!! I wanna make so many more but I’m currently feeling very not-funny atm so it’s a bit hard!!

but for now here’s two im not including in one of the next posts because they didn’t come out as funny as I thought they would and I lowkey just don’t really like the characterisation of them ahhh

[offorestsongs]

check Vil, choose Vil, vote for Vil Schoenheit

[fandomwe1rd0]

I'M AT 250 FOLLOWERS! I'm getting started on the ranking right now! But first I just want to say thank you to all of my followers! All of you guys are very special to me and I love making posts in this account and interacting with y'all! I'm very very grateful! I love you guys sm :D

[ashenquill]

[The Watchtower. The Flash is relaxing in a common area, sprawled chaotically across a couch and munching on a high-calorie protein bar. Green Lantern approaches from the side, pushing away Flash's legs so he can flop down beside him. The Flash quickly finishes his bar, then spitefully brings his feet back up to rest on Lantern's lap.]

Hal: I’m getting real sick of Spooky giving me heart attacks, man.

Barry: What happened to being “always vigilant”?

Hal: I am! It’s not my fault he’s the scariest dude alive!

Bruce: [Appearing out of nowhere] Just be grateful you haven’t dealt with my kids.

Hal: WHAT THE F—

Barry: Your kids?

Barry: I always thought they were more…

Barry: sociable

Bruce: [gives him a tiny grin, looking something between smug and amused]

Hal: Hang on, I feel like I missed a chapter — Spooky has kids???

Barry: Keep up, Lantern

Hal: You cannot in good conscience tell me to “keep up,” you’re literally a speedster—

Barry: So, wait — if you’re not the scariest guy alive, then who is?

Bruce:

Bruce: Depends on who you ask

—————————

[Cut to an Office-style confessional with all of The Batman’s sons. Each is interviewed in a different location, and required varying levels of convincing in order to participate.]

—————————

Dick: [Upside-down, in the middle of doing a workout on gymnastics rings. He wears a thoughtful expression as he holds a handstand, making it look effortless.]

Dick: The scariest one of us?

Dick: Well, I guess… probably Tim. His morals aren’t exactly... clear.

Dick: Not to mention the fact that he literally stalked us for years as an untrained, civilian child without anyone noticing.

Dick:

Dick: Actually, I’m pretty sure he still does.

—————————

Jason: [In his apartment, arms crossed and seated on an outdated-looking couch. There is flipped and scattered furniture all around him, and he holds close a copy of Pride and Prejudice. Its cover is spattered with blood.]

Jason: You really broke in just for this shit?

Jason: Fuckin’, me, obviously.

Jason:

Jason: But, if I had to pick someone else…

Jason: [Sighs]

Jason: [mumbling] Demon Brat.

—————————

Tim: [Sitting at a large desk in his office at WE, wearing an expensive suit. His tie is loose and his eyes are dark-rimmed, and papers are stacked all around him in a messy, yet organized fashion. He was woken up from a nap for this, despite the fact that a mug of coffee is sitting to his right and several discarded energy drinks can be seen behind him.]

Tim: I mean, I don’t think any of us are particularly scary anymore. Like, we all have similar skill sets and abilities, and there are contingencies for if anyone goes rogue.

Tim: [smirking] Plus, you don’t just stalk the “world’s greatest detectives” completely unnoticed and feel intimidated by them — I know way too much for that.

Tim: [sighs] So, if we’re going by my standards? Couldn’t tell ya. But if we go by sheer intimidation-factor to outsiders, then it’s probably Jason.

Tim: Like, sure, Batman has his whole schtick, but plenty of Gotham has been around the block by now and knows he won’t kill people. But the Red Hood? He made his debut with a duffle bag of severed heads.

Tim: [shrugs] I hate to say it, but that’s pretty badass.

—————————

Damian: [Sitting in a plush chair in Wayne Manor, looking poised. The fireplace is flickering picturesquely behind him, and Titus sits faithfully at his feet. The scene is incredibly photogenic compared to the others.]

Damian: Tt. What a pointless question to ask — the entire purpose of our training is to ensure we are all equally intimidating. But I suppose I will entertain the thought.

Damian: Grayson, as the heir to Batman’s mantle, is the obvious answer. He is highly skilled in combat, deductive reasoning, and, of course, acrobatics. He is confident, competent, and a strong leader.

Damian: [grinning smugly] Of course, even if this was not the case, it would still be an easy conclusion to reach, given his competition. Drake is weak and Todd is soft, therefore giving Richard the clear advantage.

—————————

Alfred: [Calmly preparing dinner, chopping vegetables with speed and precision. He is nonchalant and does not look up as he gives his response.]

Alfred: While I would be happy to entertain the question, I am afraid if I were to answer honestly, I would have to say none of them.

Alfred: [smirking faintly] The boys are all very well-accomplished, of course — but it is my opinion that the “scariest” one in the family cannot be anyone other than Miss Cassandra.

Alfred: After all, stealth is the key to startling one’s peers, and she has mastered it thoroughly.

—————————

—alternate response from Tim—

Tim: Oh, definitely Dick, but probably not for the reason people think.

Tim: Like, sure, he started before he hit double-digits, but I figured out who Batman was at that age, so it’s not really that impressive. And, yeah; original Boy Wonder, successor to Batman, Tamer of the Demon’s Heir— all great for the resume. But the real reason he’s the scariest?

Tim: [shudders]

Tim: He went to therapy.

[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?

[justewil]

happy sycamore sunday :3

close up of luke because i. like how i drew him

[not-the-avatar]

so question is it normal to have like heart palpitations and be out of breath and have your ears ringing and feel crushed by the weight of like everything