#okay i should probably just sleep

[favoure]

a lifetime of indentured servitude

used this frame from the mv of "femme fatale" by kedarui as ref for this piece ! just thought that it fit them perfectly orz

[b4kuch1n]

pre-marination doobles. dont ask me questions

[lethality-of-dual-strike]

I love you peri-weri one of these days I’ll learn how to draw you consistently

I think what we need for season 2 is some good ol perirep slapstick I need to see them scrapping it out like looney tunes

[like-the-rest-of-la]

Happy Little Accidents

The last thing Eddie Diaz expects to come out of his trip to Buckley’s Plant Nursery & Landscaping with his son, is to develop an honest to god schoolgirl crush on the guy who owns the place (and not notice that that is what’s happening for an embarrassingly long time).  

The plan is simple. Get in, have Christopher pick out a couple of succulents or whatever he needs for his school project, and get out without infesting any of the gorgeous plants in the shop with his bad plant karma. 

But then, the first thing he’s greeted with is a hunk of a man, carrying two heavy packs of soil on his broad shoulders. Eddie swears he can see a drop of sweat running down the man’s face in slow motion. His t-shirt looks like it’s one strategic muscle flex away from bursting at the seams and Eddie—Eddie feels nervous all of the sudden. And he’s gaping like a fish. 

“Hey,” Hunk-man says as he hoists the soil on the counter next to him with a grunt, “What can I help you with?”

At least Eddie has enough self-awareness to close his mouth.

Or: the one where Buck owns a plant nursery and Eddie stumbles through his crush (and has no game during all of it)—oh and also, there are a lot of Bob Ross references.

Read on Ao3

(With a banner by the wonderful @theladyyavilee thank you so so so much <3)

[mx-giraffe]

Okay okay wait so a fic where Luffy is like in a gang (modern au obviously) and ofc it’d be like the Strawhat Gang you know and so he meets Law at some point and he’s like “wow this guy is super cool” and “I gotta protect him” and so he’s like doing all this stuff to protect Law from all the shit he gets into and then at some point something happens and he finds out that the whole time Law has been the leader of like an equally powerful gang and Luffy’s like “HUH??? WHY DIDNT YOU TELL ME?!” And Law just smiles slyly like this man has been totally waiting for this moment because he thinks he’s hilarious and he just shrugs and says “you never asked”

[satorisoup]

people will think im ordinary until they say one (1) thing about tmnt and all of a sudden im explaining the entire lore starting from the 1990’s movie & why donatello is the best turtle i fear… T^T

tag limit fights me… i must yap… please listen… SOB </3

[disposal-blueeee]

VARGASTOBER - day 1 : edgar vargas

[volivolition]

✨ thinking of him thursdayyyy ✨ (<- said in a monotone deadpan with jazz hands)

[wereh0gz]

Been thinking abt corrupted au again. I'm unwell

Anyways. I think corrupted!Sonic would struggle with dissociation. He has a lot of moments where he feels unreal, untethered from his body. Watching but not feeling

Some of Sonic's idle dialogue in Frontiers implies he may have been dissociating a bit while he was working to save his friends. "I know I'm moving... I can't feel it" and "I'm so cold now... numb" specifically come to mind, though you could also attribute these to physical exhaustion. I like to think it's a bit of both

But corrupted!Sonic continues to have these episodes even after everything that happened in the Starfall Islands has passed, mostly due to what remains of the cyber corruption in him

He's completely silent in that state (not like he talks much to begin with after getting amnesia, but he's noticeably quieter) and mostly unresponsive. Sometimes he'll stay right where he is, spaced out. Other times he'll run off, his body basically going on autopilot and wandering to places that were once familiar. It might even happen while he's doing something else, and he won't remember having done it when he comes to

Aside from the more severe dissociative episodes though, he also feels generally disconnected from his body. It feels unfamiliar now, and he often finds himself trying to make himself smaller because that's how he remembers being. But having grown and changed so much makes that hard. Not even curling up into a ball feels the same now. He has to get used to being a teenager all over again

[mirrortouchedsea]

dark. that was all he had ever known. cold, dark, damp. the boy shivers in the small room, painfully alone, only a book and his magic to keep him company. he tries not to use his magic very often, though. it seemed that the people above knew when he used it and they always always always refused to give him food until he “woke up” next, if they bothered to keep track of that. maybe this time he’ll learn their lesson. the boy whispers his spell, cur memini, and creates a small light in his fingers. this is the only spell he can cast safely, too small to be noticeable by the people above. he holds his hand over the fading book on the floor. the boy can’t read the letters on the page, but this book has pictures. he flips through it again, careful of the pages that were falling apart, admiring the figure in armor who always comes to rescue the figure in the tower, cut off from the world, just like him. the boy frequently dreams of a figure in armor coming to save him, despite the years he has spent alone. dark and cold and damp. 

the room the boy lives in, the only room he has memories of, is empty besides himself and the book. sometimes the people above would give him water and stale bread to eat, and then there was a cup and a dirty plate, but otherwise it was just the boy and the book. the boy knows why the people above have locked him away, they told him that he was a freak of nature, unnatural, dangerous. but the boy could only make lights in his palm, and that wasn’t very dangerous at all. he thinks to himself that the people above are the dangerous ones, locking away a child for something like this, but he can’t say that out loud. he doesn’t want to die again. 

the boy’s stomach grumbles and he curls in on himself, the light in his palm fades out. he longs to see the sun again, to play with the other children he can hear through the ceiling, to be normal. the people above must have decided to punish him again, though, as he doesn’t remember the last time he had anything to drink, to eat. his stomach would eat through his skin and he would still wake up the next day. why can’t he just die once and for all and be rid of the pain? why is the world keeping him here? why was he even born?

the boy closes his eyes, and falls asleep. maybe this time it won’t hurt so much. 

--- 

how long has he been here? the boy doesn’t keep track of time. he knows he’s died at least a dozen times, but how long does it take for a dozen lifetimes to pass? 

--- 

a clattering on the floor wakes the boy up. the people above decided he can eat today. stale bread and water again, but better than nothing to the boy. he crawls closer to it, listening to the door. it closes and the voices disappear. where was the sound of the lock? did they forget? 

the boy scarfs down his food and water before tiptoeing up the stairs. he doesn’t hear any voices, but he needs to be careful. he doesn’t remember what the above looks like, but he needs to leave. he needs to be free. 

slowly, quietly, he opens the door. it’s dark on the other side of it, but still much, much brighter than his room ever was. he closes his eyes but keeps the door open. breathe in, and out. opens his eyes again, blinking the brightness away. pushes the door further open. steps on the hard ground outside the door. he’s so close. closes the door quietly. turns around and holds his breath. where was outside? pick a direction and go. his legs hurt. turn the corner, listen for voices. voices are dangerous, get away from the voices. whisper his spell, create a small light. keep moving keep moving keep moving. window ahead. break it? open it? is he strong enough? lift the window up. too weak. voices coming. hurry hurry hurry must get out now. whisper spell again, hand on window. break the glass and jump through it. cuts on feet cuts on legs deal with that later. voices getting louder voices shouting. run run RUN. 

the boy runs away from the building, away from his room. freedom is so close. first get to the trees, then… he hasn’t thought that far, but he will find a way. gunshots from the house. he runs faster, must get to the trees, must hide, must be free. cur memini, he whispers again, crossing into the forest. his spell can make lights and now break windows, but he needs it to protect him at this moment. run run run until the voices are quiet again. his legs are giving out, but he needs to run. he can’t die now or they’ll find him. keep running. bare feet on sticks and stones and sharp things, everything hurts but he can’t stop. he keeps running until the sun comes up. his heart beats out of his chest. 

--- 

when he wakes up he doesn’t know how much time has passed. his heart beats fast and he sits up. did they find him? he looks around. trees, rocks, a gurgling stream. he’s free. he’s free. he sighs and lays back down. how far did he run? he needs to go further. away from other people, away from anyone who might lock him up again. he sits up again and forces himself to stand and walk towards the sound of the stream. he can start there. water is important, and he might be able to get food from the little stream too. 

his first drink of the stream water is icy cold, quenching his lifelong thirst in just a few swallows. he washes his face with it, removing years of sweat and grime. he wants to sit by the stream forever if only he could, but the people will find him eventually if he doesn’t keep moving. but he allows himself a few minutes to bathe in the water, savoring the feeling of water on his skin. his stomach still growls, wanting something more filling than the freezing water of the stream, but that would have to wait. he needs to get his bearings. 

the light of the outside world is almost blinding, he realizes. the sun and the snow made it almost impossible to see anything. he should get up above the trees. can he even do that? cur memini, he says, trying to get his voice to be louder than a whisper. his feet float a few inches above the ground. he closes his eyes and says his spell again with more conviction. Cur Memini. he feels himself shooting into the air before he opens his eyes. he can see the forest stretch out for miles around him. trees covered in snow in every direction. if the old house is behind him, he should fly straight ahead, towards the forests on the mountains. tentatively, he leans forward and focuses his magic on keeping himself afloat. 

it doesn’t take much to exhaust what little magic he has, but he’s put more distance between himself and the old house and the people above now. he should be safe to rest, truly rest. but first he should find something to eat. is there anything to eat out here? something in his head tells him to look a little closer to the ground. to his left. there’s a bush full of berries. he’s never had anything but stale bread, and doesn’t know what to expect as he crushes one with his teeth. 

the sensation overtakes him for a brief moment. the berry is sweet, yet tart, and delicious. it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten and he thanks the little voice in his head for the information as he picks several more berries from the bush. the juice runs down his chin and makes him sticky, but it feels good. he feels truly alive for the first time. 

once he’s finished picking the bush clean of its fruits, he needs to find a place to rest, to stay warm. he’s shivering in the intense cold of the north, but it’s nothing he isn’t used to. the room was never very warm after all. he listens to the little voices calling out to him, guiding him towards a small cave, instructing him on how to make a small fire to warm himself up. a small rabbit brushes against his leg and he swears one of the voices is coming from it. and with the fire going, he thanks the rabbit before it hops away back into the snow. he would be roasting that same rabbit over the fire a few months later. 

the boy can’t stay in the cave forever though. as days turn to weeks turn to months, he worries that the people above are getting closer to him. they’ll put him back in that cold, dark, damp room again. he needs to keep moving. he has been practicing his magic, casting stronger spells, and he needs to be ready to fly. it's been long enough. cur memini he says holding his hand out. a rough stick with twigs tied to the end flies into his hand. it’s a poor excuse for what he understands is a broom, but it will work. he climbs onto it and focuses. cur memini cur memini cur memini. he lifts off the ground and watches as the branches of the trees get shorter and eventually he passes above the treetops. 

he takes a moment to gather his bearings. he no longer remembers the direction the house was in, but going up is his best bet of staying away from the people above. he laughs, realizing that he is the one above them now. after a moment, he flies into the mountains. the small voices change into bigger, unfamiliar ones as he gets further into the mountain range. they tell him to hide, to stay away. he doesn’t listen. they cannot be more dangerous than the humans he is running from. 

the boy lands, still exhausted from using so much magic, but he was able to travel further this time. that has to count for something, surely. he gathers some sticks and looks for another cave to make his home in. the caves remind him too much of the room he left, so he chooses to stay close to the entrance, close to the light that reminds him he is free. the fire keeps the animals away, but the voices are curious about the new presence in their woods. they make him curious too. he should stay in the cave tonight though and regain his energy. maybe he can get some small game to fill his stomach before settling in for the night. he listens for a rabbit’s voice, or maybe a squirrel, anything that would be small enough to kill with his hands. 

at last, a small fox’s voice is heard nearby. he wonders if fox will taste different from the other game he’s eaten thus far. he lifts a hand-sized rock and slinks out of the cave towards the voice. it takes a few minutes to find the source, but the fox is curled under a tree, shivering, hungry, just like him. the boy hesitates before bludgeoning it and slinging the corpse over his shoulders. there are more foxes. he is much more important. 

the fox is only the first animal he hunts in those mountainous woods. he spends several years in that forest and eventually humans settle up there as well. the boy, or rather, the man now, has made a name for himself amongst the human populations of the north. he is no longer afraid of humans capturing him and locking him up. they are still terrified of him, but now he is in control of that terror. the hunters that left his territory alive whispered tales of the great wizard owen who inhabited the mountains and terrorized anyone who had the bad luck of running into him. 

all of this is perfectly fine with owen. eventually his reputation will grow beyond himself, encapsulating atrocities that were impossible for even someone as strong as oz to commit, but that would be a problem for future owen. for now, he is still young and living in his cave on the outskirts of a small village and scaring hunters who stray too far from their boundaries. the wolves don’t like these visitors either and gladly listen to owen’s lamentations. it keeps his hands clean of the bloodshed if he isn’t casting the spell himself. the wolves don’t care for owen either, but they respect him. and that is enough for owen. 

the first of the unwanted visitors was a young man, someone who wanted to provide for his family. he pleaded with owen and the wolves to let him go and he wouldn’t cause any problems. those pleas fell on deaf ears though as owen looked the man in the eyes. won’t your family be disappointed, he asked almost innocently, you don’t have anything to show for your efforts. the man stammered a response, they’d rather i come back alive with nothing than die trying to find food. is that so, owen reached out for the man’s chin, the distance between their faces was almost nothing. y-yes, sir, please just let me go and i won’t bother you anymore. owen grinned. oh i’m sure you won’t be causing us any trouble again. the wolves stalked out of the woods, drooling at the prospect of tearing a piece of that man for themselves. owen snapped his fingers, and they came running forward, only to stop mere inches from the now trembling man. there was a suspicious yellow stain in the snow beneath him. p-p-please sir, anything you ask, it’s yours! then make sure you tell the rest of your little village that this forest belongs to the great wizard owen. the man ran off, leaving behind a hunting rifle and a ratty sack. the rifle would be of use, but the sack became tinder for his fires. 

despite the warning from that first man, hunters continued to enter into owen’s territory. and one after the other, they ran off screaming with their tails between their legs. this should have annoyed owen, that people would ignore all of the warnings and stories that had started popping up about him, but it doesn’t. their fear feeds into his magic power, only making him stronger, and that is all fine with owen. he is no longer a weak child locked in the damp, dark basement, and he never will be again. 

[faaun]

oh my god u rly are everyone you've ever loved !! for better or worse !! a part of you becomes them!

[adozentothedawn]

More thinky thoughts about The Guy because I cannot help myself.

You think the wider Readceran public knows where Waidwen came from? Like the specific village? They definitely don't know his opinions and/or reputation, they do know he used to be a farmer (but then so are most people there). Do they know about his family life? And if so, what is the lesson they took from it? Is abusing your children bad or is it how you get yourself a prophet? The answer is probably just No, it's not publicly known, but that leads to its own questions. Does the Morning Council know and they decided that that's a bad look and to keep it down? Did Waidwen spend that one year dodging questions about his origins like League players dodge Yuumi games? Is there a whole group of conspiracy theorists dedicated to trying to uncover the mysteries of Saint Waidwen's origins? Just how much bullshit is floating around in the rumour mill? Did the people of his old village just never make the connection because the idea of "Waidwen, prominent Eothas hater" and "Waidwen, prophet of Eothas" is just so absurd?

Lots of questions, none of which have canon answers I'm pretty sure but all of which are fun to think about...

[lengthy-artery]

.

[artsandstoriesandstuff]

Me looking through all the reblogs/comments from people genuinely concerned about my wellbeing:

[dirtbra1n]

so let's say I start talking again. shirahama kills god. shirahama is god. shirahama's at conflict with greed, selfishness, helplessness, at conflict with the shirahama kyouji (白浜恭司) who dared to ask for help. the shirahama kyouji (白浜恭司) who killed miyano yoshikazu. shirahama (シラハマ) is a fragment of himself. sure, right? making clear things I didn't say before. what else.

shirahama learned this world as a player and isn't the player anymore. was the protagonist and now isn't. same things at different angles, bad enough on its own.

miyano changes things. character too charming eyes too beautiful. landscape changes. shirahama starts seeing depth where he didn't before. stupid thing to say, no shit, it's not a 2d game anymore. can go behind buildings he couldn't before.* try to melt into the wall—too similar to real life, ha ha. spare us a bitter laugh, kyouji. fade, ghostly, into the sunlight dripping onto the classroom floor.

get shoved into the damn hallway wall hard enough you see two kagiura akira's in front of you instead of just the one. Can I help you? asked like someone who is just begging to get roughed up, which we will not be investigating. teammate kagiura interrogates you: What's with you? you wonder what he's basing this question off of. you're not a character to begin with, you're just.. a nothing guy. nothing compared to him. Nothing, you reply, which is the worst answer. Nothing's with me.

kagi's rival goes dodging behind fucking trees when miyano yoshikazu gets within a 50 meter radius of him. kagi's rival is plain running away from a guy nearly a head shorter than him. kagi's rival—

That's a stupid answer, kagiura tells shirahama, because it is. the masses continue to mill aimlessly about the halls like nothing. shirahama continues to feel like he's having his lunch money stolen. kagiura readjusts his grip. You're playing worse.

shirahama turns his head to try and catch a glimpse out the window. petulant, What's it to you...?

kagi drops his grip. appalled. ...Nothing. I'll see you at practice.

which is fine. it's fine.

you learn nothing in class here and grasp halfheartedly at the things you learn there. not one good night's rest because there are no good nights. best you've seen in ages is dusk brushing the horizon; summer's too long. maybe sunlight feels so artificial because you've seen too much of it lately. desperate for winter. like a moth to flame, if fire was cold, and if moths were so helpless to romantic whims that they killed their best friends. Ha ha. funny, shirahama. really funny.

outside of your purview, miyano's having a hell of a time. assumptions about characters maybe 75% right on average. out of your purview, kagiura's falling in love with his roommate—you haven't met yours yet, because you have without fail decided every night to "sleep" in the common room so as to "wake up" choking and coughing in your own bed with relative, worthless privacy. outside of your purview, hanzawa senpai's "route" still goes untouched.

good job, shirahama! now instead of caring way more about the one person in your life who matters to you more than he cares about you, you care way more about every person in your life who matters to you more than they care about you. every character you fell a little in love with, eyes trained on miyano. what are you gonna do, blame them? hypocrisy, on your list of crimes, is nothing. sure! sure. protagonist miyano, and the boys who were created to love him. protagonist miyano, the boys who are his love interests, and you.

you hit the rim again. run another lap.

play an official game of basketball and feel the most real you have in ages. don't notice the way kagiura notices.

fine!

[sorrowsaint]

im going to bed

heres a song i like goodnight