#and disorienting

[fernfolly]

Oh i should not having taken a nap. I forgot what napping in the evening and waking up alone feels like. Worse than a sunday night.

[ivi-prism]

I receive one single "hey good job :D" from work and I feel euphoric... what am I a dog? >:'v /silly

[frogaroundandfindout]

Bruce gets knocked over the head with a lead pipe and without even looking at eachother dick and Tim start circling around him making tweeting noises

Meanwhile bruce wishes the hit actually knocked him out so he didn’t have to witness his kids acting like this

[random-jot]

It’s a shame Zoro wasn’t in Whole Cake Island purely for the missed gag opportunity of him walking into the Seducing Woods - the woods designed so specifically to disorient and get lost anyone who enters - and walking straight out the other side in 5 minutes

[jazze-bee]

animation practice. he's showing off

[raphaerolo]

Cozywan for cozy season

[echidnana]

seriously wish we could Google stuff going on our head. "who's fronting right now?" "what's going on in the innerworld?"

[mstrchu]

?̵̦̤̙̠̊̒̿͝ ̷͙̫̬͚̪̥̟̄̾̈́?̵̡̩̯͉͔̒̎̎̈̑̐͝ ̸͇̟̽͜?̴̨̹̳̣̙̙͇̈̂̌̀͑̒̑̅ͅ

[dadith]

DRAW THUBDERDRUM

They look so judgemental lmao

[gayvampyr]

ok this isn’t well-rendered but basically when it happens it looks more or less like this

it comes on kind of sporadically/randomly but my vision literally shakes back and forth while i’m completely still. sometimes it’s side to side and sometimes it’s diagonal, but i almost always lose feeling in my legs & spine right before and then i feel dizzy, like when you spin around in an office chair and then can’t coordinate your movements or body to your surroundings. weird!

forgot for a second that oscillopsia is in my brain and not external and i almost tried to record what it looks like to me to show people what i mean

[serpentface]

The pylidaigh, a type of vampiric snow ghost, as imagined in folklore in and around the Highlands.

This is a ghost believed to come into being when a person dies in the snow and their body is not found before their soul (still trapped without its funeral rites) 'freezes' inside of it. The body then reanimates into a pylidaigh's twisted form. It looks like someone who slowly died of starvation, just a thin layer of flesh over bones. Its skin is as white as the snow itself, so pale it can blend seamlessly into a blizzard. Most of its body appears subtly stretched and lanky, save for its exceptionally unsubtle long, skinny arms, which drag on the ground behind it when it walks. After a big meal of blood, its belly swells like the abdomen of a tick.

A pylidaigh can only tread across snow and ice, and so doorways and windows are best kept clear of snowfall during the winter in order to prevent it from reaching inside. It mostly comes out to hunt during blizzards when there is little that can prevent it from catching its victims.

In spite of its fragile appearance, a pylidaigh is supernaturally strong, and can run at great speeds when it wants to. No mortal weapons can pierce its body, nor can any bonds known to craftsmen hold it in place. It is usually said that chains forged like iron but made out of ice can bind a pylidaigh and render it immobile, but this smithing technique remains tragically elusive to the average joe.

This ghost is either cast as a wildly dangerous but tragic figure, or one that is more simply malicious. In either case, it is described as experiencing nothing but bitter cold. It shivers endlessly. It retains distant memories of what it was to be alive, and it is motivated by a futile desperation to experience the feeling of warmth again.

In more sympathetic framings, it is described as using its freaky gibbon arms to capture its victims and pull them into an embrace, rather innocently trying to warm itself against their body. This inevitably fails, and the embrace becomes a bone crushing squeeze. When that too fails to warm the ghost, it rips out the person's throat and drinks their blood until the victim is as cold and drained as the pylidaigh itself.

In other cases, this more pitiable narrative of a ghost seeking warmth with no comprehension of its actions is discarded in favor of making it purely monstrous. Here it is a type of vampire with an insatiable thirst, practically a physical manifestation of the worst of winter itself. Some tales acknowledge both variants, suggesting a pylidaigh's violent attempts to warm itself may be initially devoid of malice, but turns into an act of furious jealousy of the warmth of the living after years of suffering.

The only (more or less) surefire method to permanently kill a roaming pylidaigh involves trapping it with fire. They are attracted to any source of heat, and will attempt to warm themselves with the flames (if not tempted away by a juicy living human body). The fire itself cannot kill them (as the sheer cold of their body is more powerful even than flame) but they can be trapped if kept near the fire long enough for the snow it depends upon to melt. This does not kill the pylidaigh either. The monster will remain in stuck in place (and potentially become a threat again if it snows more) for the duration of the winter. Only when the spring comes and all the snow melts does it revert into a normal human carcass (though mysteriously invulnerable to decay), at which point it can be cremated.

Pylidaigh in the wilds also revert to a human corpse during the snowless seasons, but will roam again each following winter unless it is burnt in the interim. It is of critical importance that any human corpse found in high mountain pasture is cremated- not only out of respect for the poor soul trapped as an earthbound ghost, but to prevent the threat of the possible dormant pylidaigh emerging next winter.

[mollysunder]

I wish Silco was still alive to be visibly awed and simultaneously uncomfortable at his daughter's stan community. Some of them appear to be wearing his colors, like the one on center-right.

Give him a month and he'll have it restructured for real estate fraud and arms-dealing.

[peace-hunter]

Wouldn't it be funny if the primes can speak through the matrix in Optimus but only a few words. It would spook everyone and the high guards guilt increasing.

Basically this.

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSj4YXJjp/

they can yeah! it's a weird feeling and it can be more than a bit invasive if they do it without warning, but sometimes a point needs to be made y'know?

eventually OP gets used enough to it that he's only mildly annoyed at being interrupted mid-sentence

everyone else still finds it a little freaky whenever he gets possessed in the middle of a conversation tho. no matter how useful it can be sometimes (´～｀)

haunted au

[glitchgh0sty]

No real context,, just messing around with the Decepticon Prowl design 😌🫶

Imagining that he might be able to integrate himself into the databases and tech almost like an extension of his conscience or body,,

Hol up,, what if he was able to move it as well!? As in, maybe the advancements Shockwave gave Prowl allow him to connect to any database, and just, move it around?? From security cameras, to artillery,, he could fight from a distance! Quietly, but effectively? All sharpshooter like!? 🤨,

Imma just let that thought rotate around for a bit,, don’t mind me, 🙌TuŤ

The nonexistent context ✨

[commanderofthegrey]

at a certain point not bringing up fiona clearly being under blood magic throughout in hushed whispers nearly loops around to being funny.

[melodead]

nagi seishiro is a simple boy. he wants to win games. he dislikes preparing crabs. his first friend was a cactus. he’s in love with his second, not that you know.

you had pulled him into your orbit forever ago with eyes as bright as the sun and a love to match. from there, the rest was inevitable. inevitably, the sun rises in the east. inevitably, the universe will burn up in its brilliance. inevitably, you take his hand, and he won’t resist. through tokyo, through hakuho, through blue lock and beyond—that hasn’t changed.

nagi peeks up at you. the setting sun paints you golden like it wants to hold you too. he understands. it’s a fact of life that you were made to love—to be loved—and the world follows along to your whims because you hold it in your heart.

you melt into the couch despite the hundred-and-ninety-something centimeter soccer player in your lap. one hand runs carefully through his hair as the other holds your phone to the side. this is easy, he thinks, mind muddled by rest.

“can i get up now?”

“no,” nagi refuses, still watching you drowsily. “‘m still tired.”

“i can’t feel my legs, wonderboy. you know, a good friend wouldn’t interfere with my circulation.”

he hums, noncommittal. hypocrite. his heartbeat is faster than usual, but he’s not complaining about it, is he? for some reason though, the title of good friend sinks into his mind, trickles down into a scene from hours ago, and sets a question alight. what a hassle, he thinks to himself, but the ego that blue lock taught him demands an answer.

“hey,” nagi starts, “did you mean what you said earlier?

“mm? you’ll have to be more specific than that.”

nagi is silent, but his arms tighten just enough for you to notice.

“‘shiro?” you put your phone down. your hand buries itself in his hair as the other pinches his cheek—and you can’t help but wonder what he did in a past life to be blessed with such unbelievable genes. he leans into it, snowy lashes fluttering against his cheeks and casting shadows over unbearably soft eyes.

(nagi seishiro is an incredibly easy person to fall in love with and an unbelievably difficult one to be in love with, especially for you: the fool that has resolved to never tell him. sure, maybe you’re a masochist. sue you. you deserve a doctorate in compartmentalizing your crush.)

you tilt your head at him as your own gaze scans his face for anything that could give you a clue. the shapeless, white blob of a boy reminds you of that character he’s so fond of. “are you…”—you blink twice—“…pouting?”

“no.”

“you are!”

“m’not.”

a breathless little laugh escapes you, a wonderful thing that steals the air from his lungs. it’s unfair how easily it happens. he guesses it’s inevitable when his heart lies solely in the palm of your hand.

“i can’t give you an answer if i don’t understand the question,” you chide, rubbing circles into his face, but he can see you already running through the possibilities in your head. “tell me, please?”

nagi is a boy of few words, but a decade of friendship has trained you well. as such, when he suddenly decides to press the full force of his weight onto you, mumbling, you know you’ve struck gold (and possibly bruised ribs).

and then you pause. “reo…?”

nagi knits his brows together just the slightest, averting his eyes. “earlier, you said he’d be…”

your memory completes the confession for him. your jaw drops. “was it the boyfriend comment? seriously?” he won’t look at you, but there’s no hint of dishonesty to be found.

“i’m not repeating it.”

it’s over for you. “aww,” you coo. “are you jealous, ‘shiro?”

nagi is a simple boy. maybe it’s the way the light surrounds you, reminiscent of the day you first met. maybe it’s the lingering sleep clouding his system. maybe it’s his patience finally running out after the inordinate amount of time he’s spent chasing the sun in your eyes. he wants few things in life. one of those things just happens to be you.

whatever it is, it pushes nagi to admit, “yeah.”

you pause and laugh nervously, movements faltering for just a moment. “i think you’d probably be a decent boyfriend too, if it makes you feel better.”

“then we should try it.”

we. he’s always spoken like that—in terms of we. it’s always made your heart unbearably fond. “hmmm…well, reo probably knows someone.”

he huffs, and before you know it, nagi sits up and rests his head on top of yours. “that’s not fair. why do you keep talking about reo? you’re with me,” he whines, sneaking his long arms loosely around your waist.

“what’s wrong with talking about reo?” you retort. “you bring him up more than i do, and that’s saying something considering how much you talk. that’s not a lot, by the way.”

“so?”

you tug lightly at his hair. “so what, i can’t talk about reo but you can? that’s what we should be talking about if we’re talking about unfairness. anyways, if you’re suddenly so concerned about being single, i don’t think you’d have a hard time finding a date. long term? you’ll have to put work into it, obviously, but if you want someone—“

“i want you,” nagi interrupts.

you pinch him again. “i know i’m your favorite, but i’m really one of a kind. you’re not finding someone like me that easily.”

“but i don’t want someone like you.”

“then you’re being really unclear with what you want, seishiro.”

(oh, you’ll be the death of him.)

nagi sighs and meets you eye to eye.

“i want you,” nagi repeats, more awake than he has ever been, “and i want to be your boyfriend. that’s clear, right?”

…huh?

the world stops. your head spins and heat rushes up your neck. you must be feverish, or sick, or—or something. delusional, maybe? imagining, if you’re being nice, and you happen to be very good at imagining. you also happen to be very good at deflecting. (it was a required course to earn your imaginary doctorate.)

a nervous laugh, a little too high. your face burns. “you’re supposed to date people you like, seishiro.” your voice shakes.

“i like you a lot though.”

you try to say something—anything—normal, but your heart fails on you instead. your voice is stuck in your throat like a stone, and you can’t seem to dislodge it no matter how much you tell yourself to. oh, how does anybody ever do this?

nagi sees you, much more than he lets on. he has always seen you before. he sees you now. it must be why he says, quietly, “you don’t have to say yes. i’m okay with how we are now. we can pretend this never happened if you want, and everything can stay how it is.”

like dust. you see dust in the hazy daylight pouring in. you see it in old memories stored inside picture frames. most of all, you see it in the endless gray of his eyes—so, so close—threatening to drown you in your entirety and then some. embarrassingly, you know you’d jump in headfirst. haven’t you already? you’ve spent nearly a decade doing this, after all. but nearly a decade of this, and you have never once thought that he may feel the same. you wouldn’t have ever guessed.

many think that the eyes are the windows to the soul. you know that they are. you had seen as much in your youth and exponentially more in your time at blue lock. hunger. despair. hope. people can conceal and perform as much as they want, but the eyes will always betray the truth.

that's why you can’t deny it when he tells you his.

nagi hums, fingers playing with your sleeves. “your call.”

it’s such a nagi seishiro answer that you can’t help but laugh—and just like that, the stone is dislodged. “okay,” you affirm, out of breath and on the top of the world, “okay, yeah. we can—this—“ his hand squeezes yours. your chest stutters, but you don’t feel like dying. you take a breath, and then—the world begins to spin again.

(nagi seishiro is a simple boy. he wants to win games, so he does. he dislikes preparing crabs, but he’ll do it if you ask him to. his first friend is still a cactus. he’s in love with his second, and now you finally know.)