#cant stop thinking about this lately

[napping-sapphic]

i’m so tired….i want someone to lay next to me so i can cling onto them like a koala

[valkaryah]

To be completely honest I still prefer the original manga Farcille reunion over the anime scene. I think Trigger did a good job adapting this page, but no one draws Marcille bawling her eyes out as well as Ryoko Kui, it just gets to me. Just look at her face... She missed Falin so much! She almost looks like a child crying..

[inkskinned]

i keep thinking about hobbies and how i often spill over myself to pick up new ones. i have adhd, i end up trying something for like a month and then just getting far enough in it that i move on, satisfied.

and that should be fine; but it's never fine.

i am a pretty decent artist; but i can't just make art for my dnd campaign, i should be selling dnd maps and character designs and scene setting pieces. i can't just make my friends matching earrings, i need to get an etsy and ship them internationally and take bulk orders. i make pretty good props and decorations and use them to throw my friends parties - but i should be running a party planning business and start taking paying clients and networking and putting my skills to actual use.

for some reason, i never figured out the specifics of pottery. it was a fun class and i enjoyed myself - and still, i'm embarrassed, years later, that i put in all that useless effort. everything i make has to be stunning. stellar. i should have applied myself more. maybe i'm too lazy. maybe i'm broken and selfish and needy. actually creative people would have kept going; they would be bettering themselves at every possible opportunity.

we find ourselves in this trap, even accidentally: we need to commodify our time, because it is a commodity. if we spend our efforts and our time not earning, isn't that the same thing as burning free money? and god forbid you ever take up a hobby that ends up being more expensive than you thought. you sit in your car and you look at the receipt and in your head you hear a conversation that isn't even happening - your mom or your friend or your partner all saying oh great. not this shit again. it's always something with you, and it never actually means anything.

i have realized this horrible thing, recently - i'll get excited to start a project, pick up a new hobby. and then i just... stop myself. i start thinking about the amount of time it will take, and how it'll look in my monthly budget. what if i can't even produce a good enough final product. sure, it's exciting to think about how i could make my friend her own custom dice. but i'm just polluting the earth if i don't get it right. better not bother. better not try.

restless, i get caught in the negative space. the feeling that oh god, i want to create. and that horrible sense - yeah, but i don't have the time to just put to waste.

[skunkes]

[buff-muffin]

Maybe it was a good thing Sabo went with the revolutionary army when he was like ten. because I have a feeling if he stayed on Dawn he would of caused an entire uprising in Goa by the time his 17th birthday rolled around. Au where Sabo lives but kept fucking with the Goa Government enough that it caught the Rev's attention, only to find out it wasn't an organisation but rather the worlds most feral white boy. Out there with the strangest tactics to fuck with the nobles. All while living in the woods and fighting bears for fun with two brothers who are the children of criminals.

I think Dragon would have fun with that.

[dawn-moths]

Tomura x Reader

word count: 800+

(You try and convince Tomura to take a break from his games and come to bed at a reasonable time for once.)

disclaimer/content warning: no warnings apply! sfw, soft tomura, maybe quirkless au?? i don’t really know, i just love and miss him a lot and wanna take care of him.

***

It’s late— nearly two AM— and the glow of the moon trying to creep in through the gaps of the curtains competes with the glow emanating from the trio of computer screens currently in use in the other corner of the room.

“Tomu…” you murmur, half a groan and half a whine, as you turn over beneath the covers. “Come to bed…”

It’s so warm here, your body heat seeping through the sheets, the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing— one of his shirts, the soft black cotton displaying the fading decal of some game he used to like— clinging to your drowsy form like a veil of comfort and familiarity.

If you buried your nose in the collar, it still smelled faintly like him, despite you basically having claimed it for your own a few weeks back.

From across the room, Tomura sits before his three monitor display, the soft light from the screens shifting the colors cast across his face in a fast-paced rainbow, reds and blues and greens illuminating the pale waves of his hair.

It’s almost to his shoulders again. You’ll have to convince him to let you give it a trim soon.

“Tomuraaaaaa…” you whine a little louder, drawing his attention that time as he shifts his headset so only one ear is covered.

“Ok, just one more round,” he replies, something almost apologetic in his tone, no more irked grumbling or sarcastic attitude present like he used to respond to such a request in the past.

You basically had to drag him away from the computer, once upon a time. If you didn’t, he’d be playing right up until the sun was about to rise.

You rolled over onto your other side, facing away from the glow of the screens, letting your eyes fall closed once more, the constant mashing of buttons clicking softly to fill the otherwise silent room.

Whatever game he’s decided to log into tonight, the rounds are long. After ten minutes he’s still playing, one or two curses hissed out under his breath when his character takes a hit or someone else on his team messes up.

You turn again, squinting your eyes as they adjust to the light. Once the room becomes clear, you can see just how focused Tomura is. Like he’s locked in. Like he’s entranced. The way his fingers fly across every button and joystick of the controller like its second nature to him.

But it’s been nearly twenty minutes.

Enough is enough.

You sigh and rise from the warm comfort of the bed, padding over with bare feet to where he sits in his big gaming chair— a birthday present you’d surprised him with last year. He glances over at you for a split second, trying to conceal the slight guilt that pangs inside him.

“Make room…” you say, and he obliges, pushing back a bit from the desk so you can curl up against him, sharing your sated warmth with him in hopes of coaxing him to bed.

“Swear I’m almost done,” he says, shifting a bit to allow you to get comfortable, pressing your chest to his, legs straddling his waist, arms draped loosely around him as your head rests against his shoulder.

You can just barely hear the up-beat battle music muffled through his headset, the looping audio somehow making you even more tired despite the high-energy pulse of it.

Before long, you feel yourself dozing off again, that heavy, floating feeling of the moments right before you sink into sleep dripping through you like thick syrup, honey sweet.

Not two minutes after your body had gone slack and heavy against his own, the round ends and Tomura logs out of the game, one hand carefully pressed against your back to hold you in place as he leans slightly forward to place his controller on the desk. He puts his computer to sleep, the screens fading to black.

And now, it seems, it’s time for him to put you to sleep too.

You’re passed out, completely dead to the world, breathing slow and shallow, head beginning to loll as he carefully shifts to splay his big palms under your thighs, carefully lifting you as he stands, carrying you to the bed and placing you back among the rumpled sheets.

Once you’re all tucked in again, Tomura slips out of his jeans and puts on a fresh t-shirt— a habit you worked hard to instill in him, something about not sleeping in your day clothes or wearing your sleep clothes during the day— and then joins you under the covers, snuggling up next to you and gently cradling you in his arms.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead before allowing his own eyes to fall shut, hoping to meet you somewhere in your dreams.

[balleater]

i personally think character permadeath is one of the most interesting things that can happen in a dnd narrative, and the fact it was something actively chosen to be done by sam for such an insanely clutch move. i will never get over this. i am so excited for what comes next.

[omodance]

Thinking about someone having to pee while having to walk home in the rain 🥵 The pitter patter of the rain, the piss-sounding streams flowing from gutters on buildings they pass. Each step they take a wet squish that makes them clench their bladder muscles to keep everything inside… maybe it’s cold, and they forgot their jacket. Shivering and soaked to the bone, their only choice to stay warm is to stop by the convenience store on their route for a hot coffee. It helps warm them, sure. But it’s rushing to their bladder too fast, way too fast. They consider running to get home faster, but the first leak into their underwear nips that idea in the head. They can’t go faster. In fact each step they take gets slower and slower as their urethra struggles to hold back the flood from their rock hard bladder. Their underwear is soaked at this point from tiny leaks at every step with too long of a stride - but lo and behold! They can see their house, relief is so so close! All they have to do is make it to the door, unlock it, and run to the bathroom…. Except they trip on the first step up onto the porch. The sudden unexpected impact on their poor overfull bladder does them in, and a dark patch grows on the front of their jeans as they lay their sobbing in relief and embarrassment

[lattescribble]

" Is that so…? Continuing with the treatment…huh… how can you be ‘saved’ just with it… "

" ‘Saved’…??? Are you worrying about me? Somehow, you’re getting kinder now, Futa-kun. Just by thinking in that way, Mahiru would already be ‘saved’. "

[wycross]

i cant stop thinking about yuuta now. like sure i liked him well enough but after this chapter he has my entire heart. and he is so so so tragic. (of course he is everyone here is)

its this that i keep going back to in my head. it encapsulates what i think is yuuta's grief.

right before this, of course, we've seen him screaming about how nobody ever cared about demanding gojo to be a monster. he cares for gojo so deeply, of course, because gojo saved him, gojo is practically his dad, and he actually sees gojo.

hes a special grade, one of few, and out of the special grades, i think hes the only one with realistic potential to surpass gojo. he has the potential to be gojos peer, so gojo doesnt have to be alone. hes the only one strong enough to save gojo, in a way, to actually take up his burden and allow gojo to be human in a way he hasnt been since geto.

but yuuta is simply too late. hes too young, too unpolished, too late. gojo's already been a monster for a decade, with no other choice and with nobody to stand by his side. yuuta cant save him now.

thats what i think really crystallized for me in this panel. yuuta is telling gojo about his plan, the plan that was so controversial with everyone else because of yuuta's humanity being on the line, the plan that only he could ever pull off. and gojo shrugs it off, not shocked in the least, and just tells yuuta that he's got to keep working because he's not good enough yet.

the talk about yuuta's heritage is so important to this too. "you might've been born even more blessed than me". does that ring any bells, maybe? "i alone am the honored one?"

gojo is acknowledging that yuuta could've been at his side, could've been strong enough to save satoru, for him to not be alone in this curse of a blessing of strength anymore. but hes just. too. late.

[crypticsketchpad]

they got me guys. ive been infected by this little freak i cant stop thinking about her. rare wubbox lookin ass /pos

bonus process shots, i dont use ms paint often but i like how this turned out

[gwinwe]

oh gus we're really in it now (btw this is available as a print!)

[rosze-v]

When Mikey loves you, you wouldn't really hear much words of affirmations.

But you could see it when he would split half of his taiyaki for you, feeding you with his hand and wiping off the remnants on your lips with his soft, gentle thumb.

You would see it when he would ask Draken for a helmet, made for you. So when the both of you go out on your weekly, night ride, he would sit you up on your special seat, while he strap the helmet onto you, making sure your hair looks fine because "I spend so much time making my hair looks good!",you said, and he remembered of course. He didn't ride fast, but enough to have you embracing his chest as he subconsciously held onto your hand, giving it a little squeeze.

You would see his love when he would take out an album of him and his little family. He would then explain what happened in those pictures. Like the time where he tried to cook some Melon Bread but ended up having flour all over him, or pictures of his brother, as his lips smiled, soft with a tinge of sadness. He'll also show you the early pictures of Toman, and he would tell you glorious stories of his mates, and you could see the proud look on his face. Mikey shares his memories when he loves.

You would see it the most when he's at his lowest. Yes, Draken had been the closest to his heart but when you came? There were indeed no words when you heard the engine of his motor at night, but when you would open the door to your house, and the immediate hug from him, that was the rawest he had ever been. The shakiness of his shoulders, the silent sobs as you fell down on your knees with him in yours arms, cradling the broken pieces of him. You would stroke his hair, soothing him and he would tighten his hold, as he slowly speaks of what's bothering him.

Mikey doesn't really show his love through words but you never failed to see his love. It's true, it's pure and it's beautiful. It's intimate and raw and you would never trade it for anything. Mikey loves, and he loves hard, and no one loves more than a person who shows instead of uttering mindless words.

[willczek-art]

are you okay, little lawyer??

[eternallovers65]

The wrestling world is held together by three very powerful entities and they are

Ambrollins (the father)

Zowens (the son)

Golden Lovers (the Holy Spirit)

[comtessacrow]

lawlight walked so hannigram could run