#I'm so so so blessed he's BACK

[egg-emperor]

Riders Eggman in motion augisbkgksnfh I'm so fucking happy to see him again 🥰💜

[aunmenosheteroenespanol]

2.12 Chimney Begins - 2.09 Hen Begins - 2.16 Bobby Begins Again - 7.04 Buck, Bothered and Bewildered

Tommy's family arc

[toaster-fire-art]

Hi! I got supper busy! and by busy I mean injured.

I'm fine but hey happy trans visiblity day!

totally unrelated but I have just been laying around distracting myself so now I have decided to once again draw a cast line up. All the martial gods for now, since I got to tweaking up the QYZ and YY one I'd already done and redoing my awfully huge poster thing I started like 4 years ago now. Doing it this way is more fulfilling to me, maybe one day I'll return to it but not now.

[zephyrartz-owo]

Mental Health Tip! Don't skip meals lest you be fighting demons

[hualianschild]

let's talk abt hua cheng and the way his entire *almost* existence relates back to xie lian cuz it's been my current roman empire, his name having the word 'hua' which means 'flower' can be seen as relating to xie lian's god name (the flower crowned martial god), also he's called crimson rain sought flower cuz he was shielding a lone white flower (also represents xie lian) from the blood rain (he can be the said 'flower' in that rain too actually), that red coral pearl on his hair braid ? it belongs to xie lian, that red string tied around his finger, xie lian tied strands of his hair around that finger which represents marriage and ofc the red-string-of-fate soulmate trope, he has xie lian's name tattooed on him in his terrible writing, made an entire city just so his love can come there and rest and build a temple there so he can worship him and remained his only devotee when xl lost everything (that thing abt gods being in existence as long as there is someone to worship them) he gave up on becoming a god cuz then who will be worshipping his god ?? isn't afraid to show his true form to xl which he never did to anyone, destroyed those thirty three gods cuz they ridiculed his gege, took lqq along with him to qi rong's den so he can clear the false accusations even if xl didn't want him to CUZ YOU WILL NAWT BE HATING HIS DIANXIA OVER THINGS HE NEVER DID i mean his entire existence is because xie lian said 'if you can't find any reason to live, make me your reason to live' and oh isn't that level of devotion and love so devastating ?

[iridescentmirrorsgenshin]

Chapter Seven of An Emergency Decision is up now!

Summary: Alhaitham offers to be Kaveh’s emergency contact in exchange for Kaveh acting as his. As to how things pertaining to Kaveh usually transpire, this does not go as planned, and a difficult truth comes to light.

Chapter Summary:

Kaveh shook his head, seemingly shaking away any doubt, and proceeding with a sense of clarity that escaped Alhaitham. “I’m fine. Well enough to be here, at least. Since you’re stable, I should be capable enough of administering basic care, if that’s what you’re concerned about.” It was spoken levelly enough, so, clearly, this was something Kaveh must have had time to rationalise within himself, taking his own presumptions as truth. Therefore, it was too steeped within him to overturn. Logically, Alhaitham knew this, but repercussions seemed hazy and distant from him. And Kaveh was very much solid and present by his side. “I meant, you could catch it yourself. You don’t have to risk anything to be here.” Kaveh rinsed the rag once more, and said nothing, as he sat on the chair. Alhaitham would have believed he hadn’t, in fact, spoken, had it not been for Kaveh’s dipped brow. “I’m going to look after you,” Kaveh said, lowering the towel on his burning forehead. “You’ll recover, and we’ll head back together. Once we’re home, and you’re truly alright, we’re going to talk.” Kaveh making the plans for him was definitive. It was what he needed; Kaveh’s direction. “Alright.”

[kindahoping4forever]

brandon.toews: Something new dropping with Ashton Irwin of 5 Seconds Of Summer next week. Stay tuned 🥁😁

@ drumeoofficial

[deathandnonexistentialdread]

Nakamori's colleagues bullying him is adorable

[revelisms]

Don't you want to be—

(what what what, darling?)

—mirror to some piece of this: moon-slash of his wretchedness, recklessness, fawning fingers pleasure-peaked sharp-tongued wickedness—

(why why why, darling?)

—hair slicked back and smile perfect.

His silks feel like death-robes, his pulpit a coffin, his congregation a stew of want and need. His own needs selfishly curtailed and forgotten. Drowned in skin sticky with sweat and voices biting nothingness in his ear: in his brother's cracked-open wines and the slam of his foot on the gas pedal, fueling life into an engine that screams, a vile communion with the hoarse shattering of his own.

At the cliffside, pomade wind-tussled from his hair, layered instead with salt-grime and smeared tears, he smokes.

His mother's own habit, sourly inherited.

The scent is nostalgic the way celluloid film loses its stain: bitter, half torn, stuffed in the pockets of his mind, nonetheless. The same brand of cheap woody tobacco he smells on her when he's close enough to lay his head on her shoulder.

Not that she offers.

Not that he asks.

The sun is dipping on the horizon: a blood-orange half-moon slurped down by a dead sea.

He ticks his thumb over the paper rolled between his knuckles. Watches the ash flutter like polluted snow to his feet. Through his lungs breathes a soldier's quiver, weighing him down like lead: sighs out black magic, white-eye light, the taste of empty pleasure on his tongue, a throat-trip of rusted ambrosia.

He looks not to the heavens—but to the red-soaked sea, below: to the black gate of Olde, the Beneath, the Beyond: wings of skin, not of feathers, beasts gray and fanged, and violet spellwork unspoken in his hands.

In thirteen months' time, the adopted darling will succeed him. The little copper-haired boy he still sees, sometimes, with both eyes that watery ocean-blue. The child his mother wrapped her arms around, without question. The heir his father, in spirit, will learn to accept—after he's carried out his head on a spit.

Him, the doomed Failure from the start.

Him, the one they've all watched and waited to fall.

He hears reason in the memory of Ghoul's—Omega's—his—otherworldly grumbling: that it is one path of countless.

A curse that this eye can see them, at all.

But he feels sureness in his bones, more than any sureness he's known before.

All their days are numbered.

(and yours?)

The stubbed end of a cigarette rolls between his fingers. Against the points of them: a purple spark. The paper folds upon itself, blackened and writhing: burns and burns in hellfire and ash.

A year, if he's lucky.

A smile twitches on his mouth: paintless and crooked.

And, oh—will he give them a show.

terzo, on premonitions / creator, brother, son

[doctorbrown]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 ⸺ 「 25 / 31 * THE HONEYMOONERS 」

[Date Unknown] 1985A Timeline

Five…six…seven…

Thunder booms, rattling Heaven and Earth with its might. Count the seconds between the flash of lightning and the crack of thunder and it'll tell you how far away the storm is.

Two miles, maybe.

It feels like it's right on top of them.

The ground shakes beneath them, rattling her bones so hard she can feel it in her teeth, and rather than run for cover, she turns to George sitting on the grass beside her, pressed up against a rock, and nestles closer.

“It feels like every time we try and do something, there’s a terrible storm.” Lorraine smiles, but it never reaches her eyes. “Our first dance, our honeymoon—don’t you remember?”

Sighing, Lorraine closes her eyes, losing herself to the grainy film reel of memory rolling behind her eyes. Even soaked to the bone, his clothes clinging awkwardly to him, George was a vision—a dream—and his almost pathetic wet puppy-dog expression made her heart soar. “By the time we got to the hotel, we were soaked. You nearly walked into the door; you couldn’t see anything with your hair in your eyes like that! I had to keep brushing your bangs out of your eyes while you carried our bags.”

George smiles, indulging the trip down memory lane with a gentle squeeze to her hand. He’s cold again, Lorraine thinks distantly—he’s been terribly cold lately, as if the sun has refused to touch him, angry with him for some perceived slight against it—but that doesn’t bother her.

She’ll keep warm enough for both of them. Light that fire in her chest and her stomach and stoke it until he leaches every ounce of warmth through her fingers for himself and his cheeks glow with it.

It’s all for him, anyway.

“That was one of the happiest nights of my life. I can’t believe you thought you ruined it just because of a storm. ‘We must be cursed, Lorraine,’ you told me, and I thought that was one of the most ridiculous things I'd ever heard. Even more ridiculous than when you told me about Darth Vader.”

“But that—”

“Really happened, I know. I believed you.”

“Eventually.”

“Eventually.” Lorraine chokes on the laugh she tries to force out. The first drops of rain pelt her cheeks and she uses her free hand to furiously wipe them away, ignoring the stinging sensation on her skin.

“We should go inside—the storm’s coming. You’ll get soaked.”

Lorraine shakes her head furiously, squeezing George’s hand so tight her nails bite deep into her palms, drawing blood. The wind sighs as it whips her messy hair around her head, knowing there is no changing her mind.

“I don’t care about the rain. I like sitting out here with you. It’ll be just like all the other times, won’t it, George?”

Just like all the other times.

Just like last time.

A second wave of burning rain bites at her cheeks and George lets go of her hand to gently drag his thumb across her cheek. Lorraine chokes back another sob, her shoulders trembling with the effort it takes to keep herself composed.

Her cheeks are still burning. The earth smells like petrichor.

The next crack of thunder shatters her composure, leaving her ears ringing. Lorraine’s shaky fingers fumble at her pocket as she curls her fingers around the crystal clear flame protected within, sloshing around in its container.

George never did get wet when it rained.

[huldrabitch]

To quote Frank "You're gonna be a gay boys dessert this week"

[falderaletcetera]

feeling inordinately soft at the realisation that at the end of the Father Brown cult ep (really not my favourite), when sid and susie say they've heard that mrs mccarthy stole her strawberry scone recipe and mrs m (quite fairly) takes their scones back and has to chase sid off-screen for his, father brown quietly offers his one to susie.

context is that susie is officially hired by them to clean the presbytery and she has a rough time in this ep, and father brown generally takes any and every opportunity to have sweet things (good for him dot png.)

inordinately soft about it

[thatswhatsushesaid]

the fool 🤝 jin guangyao being easily the most dynamic and compelling characters in their respective canons, likely for reasons that were substantially if not entirely unintentional on the part of their respective authors

[nyan-bynary]

Do you ever think about how serious young satoru looks and acts and talks and how even in his teenage years he holds himself like how he thinks an adult would, and then you see him as an adult being silly and filling every awkward silence with his voice and sprawling in exaggerated ways and you realize, this isn't what he's like normally,,, he does it so the kids don't feel like they have to act all serious and grown up, so they can have at least some of their childhood in comfort, so they can feel safe being themselves around him even if it means them calling him an idiot sometimes, he ALLOWS himself to be perceived like that for their sake

[insurged]

the person i will become when all for one gets animated with his face back.....

[universalvibes]

LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOO