#me butterfly wings

[heartnosekid]

weirdolini on ig

[improvapocalyps]

You have 90 minutes to complete. (original poem: r.a.)

In participation of the MCYT Recursive Exchange 2024 hosted by @mcytrecursive!

Inspired by know that all my love will be your breath (i will save you when your lights go out)

[text under cut]

1. Have you ever been in love? (Please circle your answer.) a. It's me and him b. Our hearts beat in sync c. Our lives intertwined

2. Do you understand what you’ve done? (Please circle your answer.) a. I couldn't do anything b. I lost my balance c. I doomed us both

3. It's been god knows how long since you felt phantom hands on your neck and there is no one in sight. If you were soul-bound to him and both of you died at the same time then why are you still waiting in the void? Please answer clearly, in full sentences. (Not a correct answer：I just wanted to see him one more time).

4. Define two (2)： Fate | The feeling of his forehead against yours Curse | The moment you realise he isn't linked to you anymore

5. True or False： i. It was your fault. ii. You wish you had met him under different circumstances. iii. You can’t regret a single moment that you had him. iv. You would do it all over again if you could. v. It ended long before either of you said anything.

thumbnails:

sketch cover thing for imgur link:

[bigfatbreak]

The Charity Ball part one / part two / part three / (you are here!)

bonus! rehauled Mayura~

I wanted. something. more dynamic to draw when she was getting thrown around-

[rkelspn]

cas dying in a glue trap

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

i wanted to make an alternate more canon-compliant butterfly Howdy... similar but Different! the wings were a pain in my ass!

[tubbytarchia]

Can we get the meow meows that are the Fairy Fort Alliance?

Yesss my little meow meows who always got along and to whom nothing bad ever happened to

Shoutout to Liauditore whose Lizzie bangs I wanted to steal without realizing they're just Sailor Moon bangs

[doctorsiren]

Drew Trucy in some outfits I’ve worn in the last couple weeks

[pinceauarcenciel]

🌈 Do you 🦋 like 🐥 the color 🌟 of the Sky? ☁️

Thanks for this year with you, Hero Girls 💖

※ Fanart: Hirogaru Sky! Precure © Toei Animation - chara Design: Saitou Atsushi

[tomatoteddy]

I’m so glad I’m not the only one who noticed their similarities

[looney-mooney-studio]

I know Lezah is dead. I KNOW. But her last name is Sllew and she SLAYS. I want to give her apple juice and trail mix with extra raisins in it as a snack break from breaking convention regulations

[desceros]

tries to sleep, fails, gets melancholy, copes by writing purple turtle fic donatello/reader, gn!reader, rated t, 1.6k. insomnia, friends to.... friends, (were you ever just friends? are you something more? what is love if not friendship shifted an inch to the left?), yearning, yearning, yearning, yearning—

Donatello is sleeping.

Hefting a fatigued sigh, you hover in the doorway to his bedroom for a moment. Staring at his face, taking it in. He’s gotten unfairly handsome as the years have gone by. Beautiful, even. Pretty angles, sharp defined lines, dark seductive eyes. Like this, unmasked, slack in sleep, it’s free for you to look as much as you want. More than you can during the day. A little secret thing just for your own heart’s keeping.

…Best friends shouldn’t want to stare at each other like this, you think with an ache.

It’s late. You can’t sleep. Lying down has provided nothing but racing thoughts you can’t quiet. Things to do tomorrow. Things to say when you see someone. Things to write down if you can hold them until the morning. Things, things, things. So many things in your head, ten thousand little voices like little snowflakes in your skull. Each small, powerless; but together, a force too mighty to outrun.

And Donnie is sleeping. Normally he’s awake. Fiddling, poking, prodding, studying, twisting, cracking, bending. Available to draw you into sleep. Always soothing, petting your hair, cooing at you until you drift off at last to the dulcet sounds of his low rumbles.

But not tonight. Tonight he sleeps, pretty in his sheets even as he’s all sprawled out and drooling. Cute. He’s cute. He’s cute and close enough to touch but so, so far away that you know you never will. Not like that. Not like that. 

It’s late. You can’t sleep. 

Slowly, not wanting to wake him, infuriated with yourself just at the thought that you’d risked it by lingering as long as you have, you peel away from his door frame and sneak into the living room. The couch greets you again. Inviting, soft. It smells like turtle ass. Popcorn. Movie night. It smells like family, like home. Scratchy beneath your cheek. You’ve been meaning to get them some new pillows. The way Mikey had laughed so hard he’d snorted his drink. Leo’s squawk when it got all over him. The weight of Donnie’s arm on your shoulder when he’d leaned on you while laughing until he got the hiccups. His cologne, new, smells nice. You should tell him tomorrow.

(You can’t tell him. There’s no way for a best friend to look at the other with pupils shaped like hearts and be the same. You can’t tell him.)

Heavily, you sigh. It’s late. You can’t sleep.

You sit up. Get up off the couch. Stretch a little before exhaling and walking around a bit to try and work off some of this excess energy. The darkness of the living room isn’t so much, anymore, what with how your eyes have adjusted. You can see the pieces of the evening strewn about. A pizza box that Splinter’s going to find in the morning and yell at the lot of you for not throwing out. Raph’s teddy bear, leaning against the other couch where he’d been pretending he hadn’t been using it to hide his face in the scary parts. Mikey’s cup, half-full, forgotten in Leo’s panic to find paper towels. And—

—Donnie, standing in the doorway, bleary-eyed, arms folded. 

“Why are you awake?” he asks, voice tumbling over your ears like rocks on a riverbed. Guilt strikes you like a blow. He’s exhausted. You’ve woken him up.

“I’m sorry,” you say as an answer, tangling your fingers in the shirt you’d borrowed out of his closet. The shirt you always borrow. The shirt that’s half yours, now. 

Donnie’s quiet. You sink your teeth into your lower lip and hope he’ll shrug and go back to bed. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’s got enough sleep juice in him that he’ll drift right back off and forget this happened. 

He doesn’t. “…Can’t sleep?”

The guilt burns your skin like sand in the wind. You smile and pretend. “I’ll be okay. Go back to bed, Don. You need it more than I do.”

He doesn’t. 

“…Please?” you try again. 

You’re met, instead, with a sigh. He rubs the back of his head where his mask would tie if he were wearing it. Lets his arm fall to his side—ah, except no. He’s holding out his hand, palm outstretched, inviting you to come close. When you don’t, his beak wrinkles. “Come here.” 

You take a few steps closer, but don’t take his hand just yet. “What are you doing?”

“Just come here,” he says again, curling his fingers a few times in an imperious grabby command. You come closer. He opens his tired eyes in a squint, mouth dipped into a frown, and his gesture gets more demanding. “Come here.” 

Stepping closer, closer, closer, finally you get within range. You realize he wants your hand the moment he loses patience with you, watching as he rolls his eyes and reaches out to encircle your wrist with strong fingers. They eclipse the bones there easily, tugging as he turns, pulling you out of the living room. 

“Don—” you start to protest, but he stops you with a breath.

“Stubborn,” he accuses, though there’s no heat to the word. The scoff is thick on the back of your tongue—Donnie of all people calling you stubborn—but you don’t let it out, knowing it’ll be too-loud in the pitch night. 

He pulls you into his room, the very room that had been such a sweet siren song to you earlier. He pulls you towards his bed. He pulls you in behind him when he settles in. He pulls you beneath his blanket. He pulls, pulls, pulls, until your chest is flush to his plastron and his arm is around your waist and his breath is in your face and your heart is in your throat.

It’s late. You’re not going to be able to sleep.

“…Go to sleep,” he says after a few seconds, doubtless able to feel the way your pulse is like a hummingbird against his skin. 

“Sorry,” you say in lieu of—anything else. You don’t dare try to say another word, unsure of what exactly would tumble out instead. Perhaps a sweet poem about the texture of his skin against yours. Maybe a lament that he feels the need to tuck his thigh between yours so so so close to where you wake in a pool of sweat dreaming of his touch. Or possibly a whispered confession that tastes like lightning and blood and sugar all at the same time; that you want this but not this, you want this but more. 

Gently, a forehead bonks against yours. Dark eyes open and meet yours, centimeters away. He studies you, and you watch the gears turn. More slowly than usual, lethargic even, because of his slumber. 

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs. Dumbly, you nod. “Need to talk about it?”

“…Yeah,” you admit, then, “…but I won’t.”

He doesn’t like that. A frown mars his beautiful, beautiful face. 

“Why?”

You swallow the incredulous laugh, the kaleidoscope of responses. They’re all irrelevant, impossible to share, save for one. “You should sleep.”

Donnie’s hand tightens, fingers curling in his—your—shirt in the small of your back. “So should you.”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“…”

“…I don’t understand.” The confession, rare, makes you sigh. 

“…I don’t either,” you tell him. And you don’t. Why did you have to feel this way for him? Why couldn’t it be someone easier that stole your heart? Why does it have to be the one person you can’t stand to lose? Why does he have to be so comfortable touching you like this and making it hurt even worse? Why can’t you stop feeling this way?

Why can’t you sleep? Why can’t you sleep? 

His fingers unfurl from your shirt. His hand dips beneath the hem, finding the skin of your back. Slow shivers spread like little earthquakes as he strokes along your spine, tectonic caresses that ripple and destroy. It's familiar enough a touch that you don't stop him; unfamiliar enough that it rends you inside out.

Donnie leans in. Ghosts his lips along your jaw. It’s not a kiss; you’re just friends, after all. But it’s a sweet caress that feels good, all the way to where he lingers at your ear, whispering there, quivering at the touch that's too close to something else to be fair. “Close your eyes.”

You have one rule: listen to Donatello. So you do; you close your eyes, let his nails drag down your back, let his mouth press warm into your pulse, let his chest rumble with churrs that fill the night air with something akin to a lullaby. His legs curl around yours, mixing, confusing, making the separation of you disappear. 

It’s… maddening. You hate this. You love him. You love him so much. You hate that he can do this so easily. 

“Shhh,” comes the gentle coo against your skin, like he can tell you’re pulling away from his intent. You obey that, too. Donnie says to be quiet, so you quiet. Thoughts, movements, words; all of them fall away at his beckoning. “Just like that. Good.”

Good, you think, feeling a little fuzzy. It feels good to be good for him. God. You’d be so good for him—but no. None of that, now. Not when you can pretend that these little presses of his lips are kisses. That the thickness of his thigh pressed to your shorts means something. That his hand scratching lines in your skin is something meant to claim as much as it is to calm.

“Making me work for it tonight,” you hear him mumble, half-conscious of the words, not sure if they’re real or part of a dream he’s built for you. “Good job, sweetheart. Just like that.” 

More brushes of his mouth. A slow glide of tongue. A lovely dream, you think, finally letting your muscles go slack. A dream of a Donatello who would hold you like this, talk to you like this. A Donatello who is more than just your best friend.

It’s late. Finally, warm and held and pulled into a sweet dream, finally, you sleep.

[heartnosekid]

white morpho (morpho polyphemus) | diana_murguta on ig

[sharkker-dude]

ok guys, this is the last shrignold (promise).... i'm moving on to the next character.

[xerndrawz]

goodbye to the first precure season i ever watched live...it was as if this season grew with me as a person and i. AUGH . im going to miss them so much WAAAAAAAAAAHHH

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

.... well this noir Vaggie au edit got waaay out of hand ha ha!

self indulgent au lore under the cut bc WEEEE

Detective Vaggie finally got enough blackmail on Valentino for Charlie and Angel to pin him in a corner, but as Vaggie expected, Angel Dust ends up doing what almost every other Sinner has done after Vaggie hands the evidence over to them, and chooses to just accept Valentino’s renegotiated and seemingly better soul contract rather than break it and make a mortal enemy out of an Overlord

Of course the first thing Val does is force Angel Dust to destroy the evidence they’d used against him, just like every other Overlord Vaggie's worked against always has, leaving Angel at his mercy again

And also leaving Charlie devastated. She'd given Angel her promise of protection as soon to be crowned king of hell-

(long story) (Lucifer wanted to kill Vaggie for scarring Charlie a few years back and Charlie had to beat him up to stop him) (the Overlords, led by Velvette and the Vees, decided to flex their power by saying this invalidated Lucifer as king and made Charlie the new ruler of hell) (she reluctantly accepted because..)

-hoping it would be enough to counter any Overlord threat against Angel once he was free

Ironically though, Angel Dust having come to see her as a friend after all this and not wanting to put her in the line of fire ends up with him sticking with Val instead, who gloats about it, and tells Charlie to her face what he'll do to her friend and her pet P.I. if she (as soon to be king) doesn't back down and let the Vees do all the real running of hell (like they already have been)

Charlie the Pissed let's slip she's had enough of Val as she leaves his studio (both her and the studio being on fire)

No one takes her little threat seriously, except for Vaggie, who sees Charlie picking up and weighing Vaggie's spear in her hands when she thinks she's alone. Vaggie freaks out realizing Charlie is about to go do a murder

So Vaggie decides to break her own no-more-murder vow AGAIN for a girl AGAIN (last time was for Velvette) and she kills Valentino before Charlie can reach him, regaining her wings (kinda), absorbing his demonic energy (yuck), belatedly becoming one of the Vees like Velvette had once wanted (not in the way Velvette had wanted), and accepting all Val's soul contracts including Angel’s, which she breaks

She also breaks the truth of everything to Charlie on coronation day-

(maybe also breaking up with or getting dumped by her, even though they weren’t even dating)

-confessing to the murder and her exorcist past

Now that she’s an Overlord and Charlie’s about to be King of Hell, anything publicly personal between them (like Vaggie staying the basement of Charlie's abandoned hotel instead of sleeping in an alleyway next to a dumpster every night) would throw the other Overlords into a rage over the power imbalance with normal sinners caught in the crossfire or getting used as canon fodder, something neither Vaggie or Charlie can stomach

Besides which Vaggie feels 0% worthy of Charlie anymore after breaking her no-murder vow, and Charlie is feeling more things than she knows how to name about that and the exorcist thing, none of them good

Their last kiss (for now) leaves claw marks on Vaggie’s face to match the scar she gave Charlie all those years ago-

(which Charlie has finally also confessed to her about, to Vaggie's horror, Vaggie having blotted the memory out after binge drinking with Husk the following week)

-the scar from when Vaggie happened to still be holding her spear as Charlie reached out to help her, and ended up lashing out instead of flinching back, unintentionally driving away Charlie and their happy life together

(this shit luck is what pinged Overlord Husk's gambling powers and led him to Vaggie, meanwhile Angel dropped a paying client to go check on the random demon chick- Charlie- soon to be nicknamed Apple Slice by him- holding her bleeding face in her hands as she stumbled down the street in a daze)

Charlie and Vaggie made do with other friends when what they both most needed was each other

They’ve both been miserable and lonely since then, had only just started to build up what they should have had together all along while camping out at the old hotel working on Angel's case together, but the case is done and now…. this

This is NOT a good timeline for them (yet)

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

saw @chez-cinnamon's absolutely BANGER butterfly!Howdy design and couldn't resist! two fluffy flutterbyes <3 solidarity