#this one fought me SO hard

[eorzeanflowers]

Glamtober Day 20: Another Time

"Explorer is... admirable Four... I just don't see us getting past being a Soldier like myself." "Well, not any of us can just stay in the Allagan army! You and Nurse can do just fine." "Lore, Sol doesn't mean much about it, he's just worried about you." "I am too, just because we chose combat jobs, doesn't mean you have to. I mean, look at Archie there!" "I'll make sure you get your dream, Four."

One of the final conversations between the allagan eternal soldier project test subjects.

All (Archie, no dyes; Lore, Sky Blue; Nurse, Rust Red; Sol, Millicorn Yellow) Body: Late Allagan Armor of Striking Hands: Late Allagan Gloves of Striking Legs: Late Allagan Bottoms of Striking Feet: Late Allagan Sollerets of Striking

[hinamie]

playing around w slightly different hair renders

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Congratulations to TEAM CHEESE for winning the popular vote on the Charcuterie poll!

[veinsfullofstars]

🌅 MetaDede Week 2024 Day 5 & 6: AU & Secrets 🌅

(ID: Kirby series fanart comic of a moment in King Dedede and Meta Knight’s youth, when - during a trip to the beach with their friends - the teenaged penguin realizes that he might feel more than just friendship for his little winged buddy. Transcript in Alt Text. END ID.)

Oh.

Previous Day | Next Day | Prompt List (made by @/mtddweek)

Started 08/20/24, finished 08/24/24. | Childhood Friends AU Masterpost

[crowiin]

quick thing of a lesson in changing the world by @thousand-sunnies because it made me giggle

[satoruhour]

a/n: jjk 236 spoilers, mentions of suicide from reader’s side, no comfort, cry. around 1.4k. tagging @jabamin @hyomagiri @saiki-enthusiast @arminsumi @shotorus @satohruu so yall can suffer w me

the first signs of grief manifests in you when there’s a bright light that signifies gojo’s disperse of cursed energy, the familiar hollow purple that obliterates half the buildings around the two strongest sorcerers — one from the heian and the other one from our times. surely, your lover wouldn’t do something as foolish as involving himself with the blast, but gojo satoru is always one to take risks.

when he took up the job of taking care of megumi and tsumiki at just eighteen years old and providing all the things they needed to fluorish. gojo is risky as he convinces a kid with a terrifying curse to make some friends and learn about cursed energy. he sometimes puts himself in danger when he takes up more missions he can shoulder just to show the higher-ups that he can kill them any time.

gojo satoru has the world of jujutsu in his hands; how his birth had changed the trajectory of the society, altered the balance of the world and now—

“satoru!” you call out once the smoke clears and he’s still there, intact, smiling a sick smile like the many times you’ve seen him done at megumi and after burning french toast. you brief a sigh of relief and the pounding of your heart calms down momentarily before sukuna emerges and he’s missing a hand and a leg and your heart pulls lower and lower seeing the kid you raised be such a ragdoll for sukuna’s entertainment. but there was always the hope to isolate the king of curses’ soul and save megumi somehow. shoko and you had discussed it, you know it to be true, it has to be true, until there’s a sharp noise that cuts through your ear drums.

it’s high-pitched, like a flash of light that shines in your eyes too abruptly and you have to cover them. but it blinds you as much as it deafens; an attack from god knows which end and you swear you hear the reaper’s scythe.

gojo thinks you look beautiful like this; hand on your cheek and head in your hand as you watch him and the melodic sounds of the knife hitting the cutting board. you’re so concerned about him cutting his hand again that you’ve dragged your chair all the way into the kitchen to watch him closely, which was counterintuitive; the whole reason why he had bled in the first place was because he was looking at you so much.

he admires the way you curl into yourself on the beanbag in the apartment, a book on your lap on how to get to know your teenager better, hair falling over your eyes and the reading lamp not even helping that much in illuminating the words. gojo skims over your features and the way your chest breathes slowly, like everything good in the world. he hopes he’s able to get that with you in this life, for as long as he lives.

you feel it before you see it in the screens that the fight is broadcasted from — something is missing. a light has switched off, satoru has stolen the blanket at night and left you freezing again, seeing your favourite snack missing from the fridge. and you run. past the students you’ve raised, past the bright blinding screens and into the battlefield, past the debris and each crunch of cement under your feet brings a fresh bout of tears to your eyes. the tokyo winter is cool, snow starting to slowly fall upon you and the saltiness on your face seem to crystallise and harden and you’re not even sure any more. there’s a tingling feeling in your feet, in your finger tips and a pull of your heart. you know where gojo is before you see him.

“s— satoru…” you mumble, eyes welling up with more tears when his bottom half stays standing, baggy pants stained with red, red and more red and you’ve never hated a colour like you do now. you hate it, you hate it, you hate it even when he’s proposed to you with a red velvet box and gotten you valentine’s day chocolates in that same darker red and there is just too much blood.

and then it’s like the hierarchy of grief doesn’t matter any more. all those articles you’ve read preparing yourself after gojo’s fated meeting with death at sixteen, and then after shibuya — you think you can’t handle any more of the collecting and patching up and crying and headaches and holding a finger up to your chest and hoping you’d kill yourself with your own technique. the only time you’d accept the absence of the bright blue on his face is when he was sleeping and his chest moved with even breaths, not like this.

not like this. 

“satoru—” your voice cracks and you cannot even see. tears and tears and mucus and the fresh crunch of snow under your feet as you step closer to his severed body.

“baby…” he mumbles, barely above a whisper, hand twitching and reaching out in the direction of your voice because this is infinitely worse than getting stabbed in the neck by toji fushiguro, perhaps a little worse than seeing your best friend of your high school life get manipulated by a cursed user. satoru wants to demote all of that and say that seeing you stumble to your knees in front of him while you hyperventilate and sob hurts the most. 

“d-don’t move, ’toru, we— we’re going to get you b-back, okay?” you’re playing with god now. “shoko!” the doctor stifles a sob at your cry, broken up by the feedback of the sound system. she knows you’re trying to defy god.

“i don’t think—” the light is slowly dying. the world’s light, the student’s light, your dawn and dusk. “m-my love, everything is…”

“satoru, please, you need to—!” they say the last sense to go is touch and hearing. you crouch to his face to see him react to your warmth, eyes moving an inch to where he thinks you were and puts all of his cursed energy into one hand just so he could hold your cheek. you, warm as always as the sun and everything good in the world, a new rush of warmth overtaking his hand when your tears flow over his battered, tired hands, the same hands that has drawn over his love time and time again over your body and you are a canvas made of gojo satoru’s endless, unconditional ardour.

“i-i’m…” it fades out, his voice box is almost gone and you wail again and the snow from below wets your knees. his name is all that leaves your lips and you think if you can’t play god, you can only beg, even if your religion is solely gojo satoru.

“no, no, no no nono, satoru, c’mon, baby, stop it!” you scream in his face, words all mushed together when you feel the breath of life leave his chest, the blues die out in his eyes, “i love you, i love you, darling, i love you—” your lover barely manages to muster a small smile and you scramble all over his chest, clutching at the tattered black t-shirt and his hand that is starting to go cold and he has the energy to mutter out a stupid remark like gojo satoru always does.

“i’m sorry i got y-your favourite outfit stained with red, princess…” satoru whispers and that breaks the dam fully. you sob and groan and cry and wail until your voice is hoarse and you cannot speak any more and gojo wants nothing but to full heal himself again just so he could stop your crying. perhaps hold your face in his hands and kiss your forehead and nose and lips and embrace you until you couldn’t breathe. perhaps even to tell you he loved you more than anything and everything; more than poems and that foolish line he just had to say at the end and kikufuku and waking up next to you.

but in what world will gojo satoru ever get repose and a normal life? you hope for every other universe to have him be a preschool teacher, or maybe a florist, or even a superstar. but not in this one, no.

the hand that caressed your cheek is replenished again with cursed energy.

satoru gives you three squeezes.

[patchworkpoison]

girls who say bruh

[formulanni]

Esteban Ocon as the Knight of Wands:

This person is a man of action - he represents the manifestation of an idea and the passionate pursuit of a vision. Because this person is highly focused on action, he can also be brash, impulsive and unrealistic.

This card embodies high energy, enthusiasm, and a willingness to take on challenges. The Knight of Wands encourages us to embrace our ambitions and pursue work that aligns with our passions. However, it also cautions against hasty decision-making and advises careful research and planning for long-term success.

Tag list: @st-leclerc @rubywingsracing @saviour-of-lord @three-days-time @the-wall-is-my-goal @albonoooo @ch3rubd0lls @brawngp2009

[carrion-art]

I think this just about killed me OTL

ANYWAYS! Day 5 is "fix-it" and this is a bit inspired by crest by piqu3d on ao3- I love the thought of them getting a shitty apartment post-war

[adri-atics]

I’m so obsessed with Drink With Me you guys don’t understand - the resignation, the acceptance of what will inevitably come in the morning, the choice they made to stay and see it all through to the end, despite everything.

Then Grantaire says:

“Can it mean you fear to die?”

“Can it mean your death means nothing at all?”

Which are such strong and beautiful lines, but also the voice of all their fears. Maybe it was all for nothing. Maybe they died for a belief that could never be.

And yet the next verse is happy and hopeful and dedicated to camaraderie. They don’t want to die, but they will. And they chose to spend their last night with their friends.

“Here’s to you, and here’s to me.”

[kendyroy]

i’ve always wondered what worst logan thinks of main logan. is he jealous at all of how revered he was? i mean what do you even think of the guy that’s considered the “best version” of you when you’re seen as the worst.

[al-luviec]

juvie buddies

[vadlings]

studies ✌️

[high-noon-raccoon]

Finally finished reading Legionnaire but unfortunately it set me back on my bullshit and I'm trying desperately to spare my tabletop group from it.

I need to just sketch more, it helps me remember how to draw like an actual frigging adult.

[lunarharp]

hi

[thegirlsarethriving]

just finished undertale. ok i see the vision. i now understand yall's Sans-to-Benrey obsession pipeline. and the Papyrus-to-Tommy Coolatta pipeline