#Water Verse

[krowfaced]

Mandatory art of one of my fav podcasts, with the best grump <3

I know she wouldn’t wear fish hooks, but I was inspired by the description of her nana Glass

[chenziee]

Law gulped heavily, watching as the tiny, oh-so-tiny piece of paper moved weakly across his palm, getting smaller with every second as the edges burned more and more. There was barely anything left. Barely enough to hang onto any hope. “What are you doing?” Law growled, but he could barely hear himself. There was a hum in his ears, a white noise that didn’t mean anything, didn’t serve any purpose but to drive him even more mad. He refused to believe this. The paper had to be lying. There was simply no way, no way that Luffy lost. No way that his life was about to disappear, leaving behind nothing but a few specks of ash.

I (once again) commissioned the incredible @kagamiciel for this gorgeous piece to go with my fic Ash (from the Ashes of Life series) and I couldn't be happier with the result!! I mean, look at it, it's so so so beautiful 😭🤍

[twinkle-art]

going🚗💨eden raids

[blue-mood-blue]

Rio’s request for Miles, before everything went way, way off the rails, was to take care of her little boy when no one else would - treat him kindly and remind him that he belongs

How literally do you think Miles is going to take that

Miles (1610): I just want you to know, if nobody else told you today… I love you

Miles (42): No

Miles (1610): I appreciate you and how talented you are at punching things

Miles (42): No shut up

Miles (1610): And even though you’re not a spidey and were prevented from your fate of becoming a spidey due to circumstances outside of your control in a cosmic mistake that only made your life worse, I want you to know… you belong

Miles (42): Shut up shut up shut up I hate you

[valtsv]

hey girls did you know that um. regret is only possible with hindsight. you can only regret what you can't change. btw.

[cherrywhite]

Okay some of these I had written down before chapter 43 but I finally found the time to sit down and make a bingo sheet for the last few episodes. Ranging from Legitimate Predictions to Things I Want to Happen to You Know What? Sure 🤠

Template if anyone wants to make one of their own:

[hooffuloftootsierolls]

Hold on tight to this time, this place,

‘cause everything you know will be erased

You were born inside your head,

and that is where you’ll be when you are dead

You are just a boy, you are no man,

and nobody you know will understand

You are just a boy, you are no man,

and nobody you know will understand

[vvenuspng]

it splash when u fuck it ‧₊˚❀༉ ‧₊˚.

[tiabwwtws-art]

To become a Katabasian is to shed skin and soul, to drown, and in drowning, be born anew!

[eatnightmares]

faulkner naming himself falconer is like. carpenter being brought up with the belief you’re born either to water or land so what happens if you’re neither. what if you belong nowhere, what if you belong somewhere your siblings can’t follow you. what if you try to join them in the water but you can’t swim and now your wings are too weighed down to fly away.

[wildstar25]

The 3rd Sun of the 3rd Umbral Moon - or in other terms, June 3rd - marks the day a very special cat entered the world. Happy Birthday Arsay!

(Opening images in a new tab is recommended for best quality viewing, thank you!)

[catwyk]

happy sibling rane saturday!!!! figured i oughta balance out the ran(e)goon silliness with something Serious

[hitwiththetmnt]

Hey Multi Mutant Verse Raph and Mikey, along with their cabin mates wanted to ask you something✨

@tmnt-fandom-family-reunion

Water polo sounds fun! For those that will spend more time above the water then under it

@tmnt-fandom-family-reunion

Cabin #7 (7Wonders of the Turtleverse)

[pycth]

“Kiss me in the pouring rain.”

OKAY SO— when I said I was working on something related to the new Lasko audio, that wasn’t totally accurate IT REALLY JUST INSPIRED ME TO MAKE THE SCENE I’VE DESPERATELY NEEDED :,)

My Dear isn’t afraid of storms like perceived in the audio, has a deep fondness for them even, so a kiss in the rain couldn’t be a more perfect moment for these two<3

(Also if anyone’s got any fanfic recs for this, do drop them for me 🙏)

[woodlouseonastring]

i just realised val really did get the last word. her soldier ended the first narrator of this story, and ended the narrative of the lives of the people in the old gods world with it

[wordsinhaled]

more domestic vacation 'verse because it's apparently all i can think about now

-

It has been... good, being here. Quieter. Easier. The clamor of billions of visitors to the Dreaming is muffled, in Hob's flat. The things that dream here are calm things. Thriving things. Old and cherished things.

Loved things.

Here, Morpheus too has felt like something that could perhaps be loved.

In the mornings, after Hob has left for work, Morpheus draws himself soundlessly up from the bed and pads on bare feet to the record rack that stands overfull with vinyls in the corner of Hob's living room. He touches each record there carefully, the faint visions of musicians and composers flitting ephemeral beneath his fingertips. He selects his musical accompaniment for the day by intuition alone.

This morning, he finds a little yellow note stuck to Hob's copy of The Cure's Disintegration:

"You'll like this one. Promise. —H"

Morpheus listens to it five times through in its entirety with a cathartic sort of anguish. Afterwards he perches on the couch wrapped up in the blanket Hob has slept beneath each night these two weeks. The cedar and vanilla notes in Hob's soap still linger in the fabric, like traces of an embrace Hob Gadling has never given him.

He has especially enjoyed sitting on the floor by the window in the warmest patch of sun, holding court with Hob's houseplants. A marble queen pothos hangs there, suspended near the ceiling, its cascading vines of happy heart-shaped leaves long enough to trail down around Morpheus' shoulders. A row of succulents and a purplish-red bromeliad in a brightly enameled pot live lined up on the sill.

Morpheus gathers them all in his awareness, greets their leaves gently with the backs of his knuckles, speaks to them the way he speaks to all growing things. They whisper their daydreams to him in return, telling him tales of jungle and desert, and of the loving voice that sings songs to them each time they are watered.

Morpheus wonders what Hob Gadling sings, what he hums under his breath.

I would be sung to thus, he thinks. But would you sing to me, my friend?

He sits for long hours in the companionable silence. Lulled by the rhythm of verdant stories, he relishes the sun-warmth banking in the soft black cotton of his shirt, and feels some unnamed tension deep within himself begin to unravel.

Morpheus had not expected this from his stay with Hob. This comfort. This easiness between them.

How it has sunk into him and become something he could, in some version of the universe, come to require.

So, when on the eve of his fourteenth day Hob says, "I don't want you to go," Morpheus is surprised to find that the wistful note Hob cannot quite keep out of his voice finds a sympathetic echo in his own thoughts.

"I—" Morpheus begins.

It is rare that he does not find the ending of a sentence already laid out for him. Yet what is its proper conclusion? I also do not wish to go away from you is futile. An impossibility. He has a kingdom. A realm. A responsibility.

"You feel it too," Hob says. "Don't you?"

Morpheus does not need to breathe in the waking world. He does not need a heartbeat. These are paltry mortal necessities; mortal vulnerabilities. And yet he knows, suddenly, the kick of the heart against the ribs and the catch of a gasp in the lungs of his recalcitrant body. It pinions him to the moment.

"Hob," he manages to say. For a brief second, he is unmade and remade again by the hope in Hob Gadling's face.

"Dream. My dearest friend. I've been wrong before." Hob's eyes are wide and earnest. His voice is honey-soft and strong. He is wiser than Morpheus can aspire to be. "If I'm wrong about this, tell me, please."

"You were not wrong before," Morpheus says. "And you are not wrong now."