shineyma

[shineyma]

Archeosky was having fun with this

[shineyma]

supervillain whose go-to evil plan of Kidnapping The Hero's Romantic Interest is foiled after the hero goes through a bad breakup and shows no interest in dating. hence the villain finds themself in the unusual position of playing secret scheming matchmaker to their own archnemesis...

[shineyma]

[shineyma]

got chased by a skeleton but when they caught me they just gave me a kiss and hug. turns out it was an xoskeleton.

[shineyma]

Shibuya Time Loop Wednesday #1—and another case where there won't be another entry unless something prevents me from writing the whole week. I finished the fic yesterday, and it's 9.5k—well behaved by my admittedly skewed standards.

The premise is this: Shibuya time-loop aftermath in which Yuuji’s the one who loops, but the story’s from Gojou’s PoV. He’s rescued from the Prison Realm by an uncanny version of his student who doesn’t seem rooted in reality.

“We have company,” Satoru says mildly. “I did say you missed one.”

Yuuji abandons the nest of Satoru’s throat to peer hazily up at him. His expression holds neither confusion nor comprehension, only soul-deep exhaustion. Despite that, he turns his head toward the Death Painting without really loosening his grip on Satoru.

“That’s my brother,” Yuuji mumbles.

Satoru blinks very slowly, a gesture that’s wasted on the boy still staring at the Death Painting with those tired, tired eyes. “Yuuji, that’s a curse.”

“Half,” Yuuji says. “Or…a third? A third. Two-thirds human.”

“You’re an only child.”

Yuuji makes a noncommittal noise. “Thought so too. Didn’t believe him first. But I dream, sometimes.”

Satoru takes Yuuji’s face between both of his hands and turns it toward him. Yuuji comes easily, blinking up at Satoru with those big, brown eyes.

Brown, not red. The rings are also gone.

Well, color-changing eyes are the far from the weirdest part of this night.

“Yuuji,” Satoru says slowly and clearly, “you’re not making any sense.”

Yuuji nods, perfectly placid. “I know. But don’t kill him, sensei. Please? I know it doesn’t matter, but I don’t want him to die. He saved me so many times. Killed me too, but he always screamed after.”

Satoru once again finds himself in the unusual and unpleasant position of having no fucking clue what’s going on.

He chooses to first address the least baffling part of Yuuji’s words.

“You don’t want the curse—sorry, the one-third curse—to die.” Satoru stares down at Yuuji, only to find himself the recipient of an expression that manages to radiate a veteran’s exhaustion and a child’s earnestness at the same time. He sighs, loud and theatrical and a little wasted on this boy. “I indulge you too much.”

Yuuji’s arms tighten around Satoru when he steps back, but they loosen the next moment, letting Satoru walk toward the Death Painting, whose eyes are now moving under scrunched-up lids, and the position puts Yuuji at his back, but Satoru doesn’t need a direct line of sight to see how Yuuji stands there hugging empty air for several seconds, his expression so forlorn that a phantom ache starts gnawing on Satoru’s ribs.

Knocking out the Death Painting is sufficient distraction from a memory Satoru has no desire to revisit, especially with the sound of Suguru’s voice, perfectly preserved and brutally butchered, still so fresh in his mind.

When he turns around, Yuuji is holding the cursed object that trapped Satoru.

Now that he’s less distracted by his dead best friend and his changed favorite student, Satoru deduces that it’s probably the Prison Realm. A special-grade cursed object, once infamous and later lost.

But cursed objects that neutralize cursed techniques have a way of turning up around Satoru.

He’s frankly more concerned about the way Yuuji’s looking at the thing. If he looked forlorn staring after Satoru, now it’s longing that’s plastered all over his features—the kind of longing that adds years to even a face so youthful.

“Yuuji,” Satoru calls quietly.

Yuuji looks up, drawing the inert cube closer to his chest the same moment, till he’s damn near cradling it.

Satoru walks toward him, and he’s usually be pleased by the way Yuuji drinks him in with unfettered—and likely unconscious—hunger, but right now, there’s a raw desperation underlying it that just makes the whole affair vaguely unnerving.

“You should probably put that down,” Satoru tells him. “It’s dangerous even for the likes of us.”

Yuuji stares down at the Prison Realm. “It’s not so bad.”

“Huh?”

“It’s not so bad in there,” Yuuji clarifies, once again birthing more questions than he answers. “Everything’s quiet, and you can sleep for a long time. I always woke back up, outside. And the dreams were bad. That’s not its fault though.”

“Yuuji, you—”

“But I’m glad I saved you, sensei.” Yuuji reaches out, and Satoru finds himself holding very, very still as that bloody hand cradles his cheek as tenderly as it held that damned box. “I always want to save you.”

Satoru grabs Yuuji’s wrist. “Answers. Now.”

Yuuji frowns a little, like he’s confused. Then realization flickers in his eyes. They look no less dead for it.

“Will you believe me?” he asks, blinking slowly. “You usually do. But sometimes, you don’t. I think that’s when you’re really angry, sensei.”

There’s a quiet, cold curl of horror in Satoru’s stomach. “Yuuji…”

“You never hurt me!” Yuuji rushes to say, his eyes briefly burning to life. “You don’t do that. It’s just—” His eyes flit to the large blood splatter beside them—the remains of Suguru’s possessed body, untouched and untaken by Yuuji’s domain. “I’ve tried to save him too, sensei. For you. But I’m not really good at saving things anymore.”

“That’s quite alright,” Satoru hears himself say. “Nothing left there to save.”

A vaguely wounded expression is turned on him. “You always say that too.”

Satoru grips Yuuji’s hand tighter, but there’s no flinch or even a twitch in response, only placid eyes and a fluttering pulse. With sudden, damning certainty, he knows that he could wrap his hand around Yuuji’s throat and earn himself the same non-reaction.

You don’t hurt me—as if it’s a universal truth.

“Yuuji,” Satoru asks, “how many times has it been?”

It’s not quite surprise that breaks out across Yuuji’s face, but it’s a close cousin, generously laced with pleasure and fondness and something rawer and deeper that Satoru’s better off not knowing.

“You’re so smart, Gojou-sensei,” Yuuji says with a sincerity that forestalls any thought of condescension. His thumb strokes Satoru’s cheek, their skin sticky with blood. “It’s why I still come to you sometimes, even though I know it won’t change anything.”

Satoru takes another step forward, till they’re almost as close as they were during the hug. “How many times, Yuuji?”

Yuuji looks down, shrugging. “Stopped counting.”

“But you used to.”

“Yeah,” Yuuji breathes. “I used to.”

“When did you stop?”

For a long moment, Yuuji just stares at Satoru—no, through him.

What’s he seeing? Who’s he seeing?

The last Satoru?

The first?

“Three hundred and sixty-five days,” Yuuji says quietly.

Satoru would close his eyes if it’d offer him any solace.

A year.

Yuuji has lived this day over and over and over for at least a year.

“You’ve saved me before.”

Yuuji nods. “Not the first time. They took you away. And then I woke up, and it was still October 31st. Thought it was a bad dream at first, sensei. But I figured it out pretty fast! It’s just like that movie we watched.”

They’ve watched a lot of movies together, but—

“We haven’t watched anything with time loops, Yuuji,” Satoru corrects, not ungently. “Not together.”

“No, we did, I remember—” Yuuji’s frowns smoothens out, a rueful smile taking its place. “Right. That wasn’t you. Sorry.”

“No problem.” Satoru ruffles his hair; all the dried blood makes it a little difficult. “Any version of me is still your brilliant teacher, hm?”

Yuuji nods—and tips forward.

This time, Satoru has his hands free to catch him.

“Gojou-sensei,” Yuuji mumbles, “I’m so tired.”

“I know,” Satoru says, closing his eyes. “I know, kid.”

[shineyma]

When it was discovered that Zalim (ironically meaning, cruel) was in the company of two very young cubs, those at Ranthambore feared the worst: that, as an adult male, he would kill them. Instead, he surprised naturalists with his “motherly” behavior when he took in his twin daughters following the death of their mother.

At this time, science stated that tigers were only as social as mothers and cubs could go and that tiger fathers rarely interacted with their offspring. Zalim changed that when he was witnessed, month after month, caring for his daughters and teaching them how to hunt. Their relationship eventually ceased when the two girls were shifted to Sariska Tiger Reserve and Zalim went on to father another litter with the then-dominant tigress Sundari, the so-called Lady of the Lakes. When she too mysteriously disappeared, Zalim unsurprisingly took care of their cubs as well.

Ranthambore National Park, India Photograph taken via camera trap

[shineyma]

Most hoard images from Wikipedia.

Found with the rest of the hoard, the handaxe pictured above was probably found either while digging his own hole for the treasure or maybe earlier in a precious bout of hoarding by some Romano-Briton who thought it was cool enough to bury along with all of his coins and Juliane's bracelet, because cool rock. This was absolutely the correct move.

Article here from Smithsonian Magazine.

[shineyma]

rip magneto you would have loved killing elon musk

[shineyma]

[shineyma]

✨ Please reblog the polls to make them reach out to as many people as possible, but KEEP IT SPOILER-FREE to make people listen to the music with an open mind 💖

✨ Artists and titles will be revealed with the full song after the poll's conclusion, check the original post for an update!

⚠️➡️ Yes, spoilers includes posting the lyrics. Please don't spoil. There are other ways to have fun with the post if you reblog it, maybe be sneaky/witty about it with obscure references. Have fun while following the rules! 😄💖 Fandom blogs/communities are welcome to reblog, but please keep that as far as it goes with spoilers!

[shineyma]

[shineyma]

No words exist to cover how badly I want to see this whole thing now

[shineyma]

LMFAO

[shineyma]

which 3 US presidents do you think would be the best omegas and which 3 bisexual pop stars would be their best matched alphas

1) John Adams

John Adams was a tireless advocate for the revolution (i.e. topping from the bottom) and he once described himself as "obnoxious, suspected, and unpopular" - "he was known for his bluntness, impatience, and tendency to be easily frustrated with those who disagreed with him." As a brat in Congress, his personality was repulsive, but everyone listened to him and they all still wanted him. They wanted him so bad they made him president. Kind of makes you think.

His match:

Adams needs someone with a strong personality to challenge his - someone who's not afraid to repel the mainstream in order to realize their vision. Gaga has it, and he needs it. "Bad Romance" in many way encompasses Adams' struggles through the 1776 Continental Congress. They could teach each other much.

2) Theodore Roosevelt

A man dedicated to the preservation of natural parks and ecological wonders - and for what? To run through the trees under the full moon as his pheromones wafted through the air? We know.

His match:

Grimes once described herself as becoming "way less gay" after she became pregnant, which is 1) weird, and 2) the reason I'm sticking her with Teddy. I don't think that he could fix her completely, but she seems the type to maintain no moral compass of her own, simply adopting the political ideology of whomever she's with, so maybe there's hope. Maybe Grimes could introduce Teddy to shrooms, and Teddy could take her out on trips in the forest. And then we can find out if Grimes getting a man pregnant makes her more or less gay.

3) Richard Nixon

Best known for his one legendary debate with the handsome JFK, wherein he became a stuttering, sweating mess, unable to focus or say what he meant. Interesting!

His match:

Bisexual icon Taylor Swift is also struggling to appease both sides of the political aisle. They could share their woes and their love of good ol' fashioned Americana, and then Taylor could tie him to the wall and make him bark like a dog. The pregnancy would be difficult on both of them with Taylor's extremely busy schedule, and Nixon would regrettably terminate it in the second trimester, causing a rift in the relationship that would never be mended. The resulting laments that Taylor composed about Nixon's abortion would of course be dissected and attributed to a secret relationship with a woman - Nixon's wife.

I welcome critical analysis.

[shineyma]

Mobile Suit Gundam Wing 30th Anniversary Video -Operation 30th-

[shineyma]

kakaashi my beloved