#i love him so much T-T

[skyloftian-nutcase]

AH GUYS. I’m listening to the Hero of Time’s theme and just—his life is so sad y’all ok. Say what you will about the Hero of the Wild, but at least he had a community and Zelda and all that jazz when his journey was over. Time just… arjieowajfieowajfieowa

Wild lost his memory, his history, his family. But he gained a new, healing kingdom, and someone who knew him from his past. Time lost his family, his identity, his youth, his innocence, and the only person who did understand what he was going through. And he was left in a world that didn’t know everything he had sacrificed for them, who would never know, and he was just… alone.

HIS LIFE IS SO SAD

[merakiui]

thinking about how protective scaramouche would be of you when he joins your team. he’s so terrified of losing another person he cares deeply for, so if a hilichurl so much as throws a stone at you and you get the tiniest of scrapes from it my man is levitating into the air so fast and summoning the strongest, sharpest, scariest wind blade to cut that unfortunate hilichurl in half. no one hurts his dear friend!!! he won’t allow it! >:(

but scara also tells you that scavenging for ingredients is your job and that you should be grateful he’s such a good cook willing to prepare the best meals for you. as much as he may tease or bully you, the minute you’re in danger (whether severe or not) is the minute he gets serious. he’ll insist that it would just be annoying if he didn’t have anyone around to pester, but the truth is that if he lost you he’d be alone yet again and he can’t imagine a life spent without you by his side.

give him any sort of gift (jewelry, a handwritten letter, a flower crown, etc) and he’s carrying it around forever. he gets embarrassed if you point it out too frequently hehe. he also creates a doll in your image so that he can have a miniature version of you wherever he goes. it’s surprisingly well-made and detailed, with the softest of cloth and precise stitching. you could be standing right next to him and he’ll still have mini (name) in his pocket. he’s just always anxious when you aren’t immediately within his vicinity. :( he has terrible separation anxiety, but he’ll adamantly deny it and tell you your observations are false and troublesome. he sneaks into your room/tent/dwelling to stand guard while you sleep, but you’ll never know of this because he’s always up early to make breakfast for you.

[context-what-context]

[turtleinsoup]

@thedawningofthehour

drawing for profile in quicksilver

[bacchuschucklefuck]

they tried to rebrand as The Criminals but riz is literally the city council's treasurer and also turns out people in their late 20s don't really name their friend groups. so now they're The Intrepid Heroes

[ghostbkg]

🌱🍅 umemiya hajime

[ruporas]

invisible scars (referenced previous talk here)

[ID: A colourless, digital Trigun comic of Vash and Wolfwood talking about Wolfwood's scars. They're both laying in bed and topless. Vash lays on top of Wolfwood, playing with the rosary around his neck. Then, Vash kisses a spot on Wolfwood's chest. Wolfwood asks, "What are you doing?" Vash smiles sadly, "You got shot here. In the last town we visited. You didn't even bother moving."

Vash props himself up over Wolfwood, who frowns slightly. Wolfwood is quiet for a moment before he says, "You remember that, huh?" Vash grabs Wolfwood's left wrist and brings it to his face. "And here." He kisses another spot there. "When you helped free the hostages from that robber..." Wolfwood dismissively says, looking away, "Was a lucky shot." Vash huffs, “Don’t brag. Jeez.”

Half of Wolfwood's expression is shown, eyes returning to Vash who is now sitting up, continuing to say, "And..." Vash goes on and kiss Wolfwood's right palm. "You got cut here, even though that girl was aiming at me." A moment from the past flashes, of Wolfwood grabbing a knife aimed at Vash, his hand bleeding.

At present, Vash moves down and puts another kiss on Wolfwood's right shoulder. "And here, from watching my back." Another memory flashes of Wolfwood and Vash back to back. Vash looks back as Wolfwood grins while holding Punisher, bleeding from multiple gunshots in his shoulder.

"And," Vash combs up Wolfwood's hair to reveal his forehead, "Here." A final memory shows Wolfwood with a regeneration vial in his mouth while getting shot on his temple. The next panel is framed in blood with Vash at the center, eyes wide and stunned in horror. The next panel is a closed up shot of Wolfwood's eye, locked on Vash's face.

Back to present, Vash’s head is bowed down as Wolfwood raises a hand to his nape and says, “Spikey.”

Wolfwood looks serious and frowns as he says, "We talked about this. Those were my decisions. They're not there anymore. Forget about them." Vash looks very sad before he smiles ruefully and says, "I still see them. All the time." He leans down so they touch foreheads. Wolfwood’s sorrowful expression can be seen as Vash says, "You protect so much. I could never forget what you've done to me. And many others..."

In the last image, they're drawn more cartoonishly. Wolfwood sweats and asks, "You don't actually remember every wound, right?" Vash points at a spot on his chest. "Kuroneko left a scratch here 7 times." Wolfwood, startled, says, "Why the hell are you keeping count—" End ID]

Credits for ID here and here

[fluffyartbl0g]

Someone get this man a younger sibling that ISNT like. Twice his height.

[ktsumu]

A CHILDHOOD BEDROOM tw: allusions to divorce/his family dynamic, holiday comfort for the soul

Ushijima’s bedroom is nothing like the one you share. 

His walls are bare, save for a few frames with pictures that are older than the two of you. There’s a bulletin above his desk that’s naked down to the cork, a few tacks littering it at random.

He has his dresser, a small mirror on the wall hanging above it. The room is nearly devoid of colour aside from beige and navy, but the Christmas lights from the house across the street give it some red and green. Not much, but it’s good enough.

You walk along the perimeter of the room, the floors cold, hands tracing over his desk and chair. He watches you from the doorway, the door closing softly behind him as he does. You hear the same floor creak beneath his feet as he crosses to his bed, the frame sighing under his weight.

A print-out picture of him and a redhead (Satori, he’s mentioned) standing side-by-side in school uniforms is framed on said desk, thumbs up on all four of their combined hands. A team in maroon stands tall beside it, and he’s dead center. A three-person family — father, mother, boy — takes up the space beside that, the frame much more sophisticated than the others. He looks about ten.

The clock on his wall tells the time wrong; it hasn’t been reset since he graduated and moved out at eighteen. It looks like it’s a few hours behind, but it’s really telling you time six years back. 

“Your walls are so bare,” you comment, turning back to look at him where he’s sat. He offers an almost unnoticeable, lopsided smile. “Where are all the medals, huh? I’ve heard big things about Ushiwaka the Great, you know.”

You’re joking, but he answers, “In my drawer.”

(You check; it’s full of them.)

Ushijima watches you hold them, looking at all of the engravings before setting them back, the years stretching further back the deeper that you dig. It’s like your chest is swelling with pride over things he won before you knew him. 

“What is it?” he asks, eyes following you as you cross over to his bed, sitting down to face him. His brows furrow, leaning his back against the headboard that looks so comically small; then his lips tug up at the sight of gold around your neck. His teenage pride rests on your chest.

There is something so invasive about a childhood bedroom, about wearing what once was his entire life as he looks at it — a whole life you didn’t have the chance to watch lays itself out in front of you. This childhood doesn’t exist anymore (maybe it never really did) and yet you see it around you all the same. 

(It is invasive, but it is full of love. An empty room that feels so full.)

“Why doesn’t your mother display your medals in the house?” you ask, tilting your head. “Hell, my mom would’ve lined mine up in the window. And your desk is like a trophy factory.”

 “It’s not practical, I suppose.”

“So they just sit in here?”

Ushijima looks at you like he’s in thought. 

He shrugs. “Mostly,” he says, “my father has a few in California. My player portrait is on his office wall. My mother shows her affection in her own way.”

“Can we take some back home?”

“Why? They’re old.”

“I don’t mind,” you say, shrugging. “I’ll display them around the room for a bit, swap ‘em out when you rack some up this season.”

Ushijima just chuckles shortly, shaking his head as he moves down the bed, laying down flat. His feet hang off the end a bit, and the pillows are the same as they always were. “If you wish. You know I never stop you from anything.”

You hum. “God, does it echo in here?”

“Sometimes. It never used to.”

“When did it start?”

He knows when. “I’m not sure.”

You know, too. “That’s okay. Our room at home doesn’t echo, at least.”

“No, you won’t let it.”

“Never.”

Ushijima reaches out a hand, his left, and he twirls the medal you picked in his hand. You wear it still, and it looks like it gleams. His eyes flicker up to yours. 

“I love you,” you tell him. “You and your empty room.”

He sighs a laugh, one you taught him how to make, and he pulls you into his chest by the ribbon around your neck. He breathes, your head rises and falls with his chest, and the room comes alive; breathing with its maker, welcoming him home the best it can. You certainly help.

Ushijima looks at his bedroom walls, his broken clock; the house is not resetting, his parents’ old bed will always be half full and half made, but he thinks this is enough — coming back with you was enough. Now, when he leaves, he will remember a warm bed and leave to sleep in a warmer one. 

“Love?”

“Mm?”

“When we find a home we like enough to live in,” When. Not if, when. “I’d like to paint the walls with you.”

“Ooh, what colour?”

“Not white — or beige.”

You grin, angling your head up to see him. Ushijima is looking up at his clock, six years behind like he just got home from training camp, his boxes packed for the city.

(He meets you two years later.)

“Pick a swatch, baby. Just no neons.”

“Oh. I was thinking of a traffic cone orange.”

“Ha-ha.”

[bafflingplanet]

anybody still fw camp here and there 😭🤫😊🐛

[crybaby-bkg]

I loveee the concept of reincarnation bc it’s just so comforting!!!

oh to be reincarnated lovers with Bakugou where you find each other every life time and leave a memory of the other to find in the next lifetime. You see each other in a new lifetime, drawn to each other, swearing familiarity even though your minds disagree. But it’s something deeper within you that knows each other, misses the others embrace, and you can’t figure out why.

There’s a famous painting of someone who looks suspiciously like you made in the 1600s by some tortured artist, the muse a lover he had lost years before. There’s a statue that looks just like Bakugou from the 1800s, who everyone thought to be created after Apollo, but you beg to differ. There are letters found between two lovers, one gone off to war and the other at home, their exchange of love something poets discuss in contemporary times. Theres even skeletons found embracing each other, with one’s head tucked into the others neck.

And for some reason, every time, these figments of love appeal to you deeper than anyone else around you. They’re so familiar, and you think you might be going crazy when flashes of memories start to plague you.

Sitting in a darkly lit room, a slate of white marble in front of you, a point chisel in hand. There’s a blond man sitting behind the marble, with a sly grin, as your hands raise to start chipping away at its flawless perfection.

Sitting at home, writing away with a quilled pen to a lover you miss. Kissing the edge of the paper and pulling away to find it stained with red from your lips.

Laying in the soft grass, your face hidden in a strong neck as heavy winds start to take over you. Your arms entangled in another’s, tilting your face up to kiss a blond, stubbled jaw.

When Bakugou tells you he remembers the same things, you wonder if you’re both just on a bad trip from a drug you don’t remember taking. But you carve your names in tree trunks and wonder if you’ll find find it again hundreds of years later, if you’ll see him again, if you’ll create another piece of your unyielding love on every crevice of the earth.

[lacebird]

HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN

Photographed by Rick DeMint (@portroids) on March 21, 2024.

[ghouljams]

I am going to keep slutting Ghost out, he deserves it. Respectfully. But also the man cannot dress himself, he has no drip. He's got 20 black t-shirts, he's got jeans and fatigues and that's it. He thinks skull and skeleton motifs are cool. Soap and Gaz get him a skeleton sweatshirt/sweatpants fit as a gag gift and laugh themselves hoarse when he wears them around the base.

I'm not saying he doesn't look so fucking good in a black tee and fatigues, but the man does not have style. Not on purpose. He wears his usual black tee and maybe some black cargo pants, wanders around town in his big army boots and gets stopped by goth kids and tech/streetwear folks. He doesn't know what the fuck they're complimenting him for. He doesn't know why they're talking to him. He tells Gaz about it and Gaz almost chokes on his drink, has to call Soap over to hear this. Ghost doesn't know fashion trends, he doesn't care, he's going to keep doing what he's doing.

[chosetoseethebestinyou]

*RTD writing a grand finale where old companions come back and he teases a David Tennant regeneration but then he just splits in half and one of him gets to live his well deserved happily ever after*

[thisplainsimplefeeling]

“the affection you feel for spock” bones u have me kicking my feet in the air rn

[letsmcfreackingloseit]

And for the holidays I give you memes! Memes everywhere!

I hope that all of you are having a wonderful time, but if not, I at least hope these silly doodles brought you a little joy!

I'm going to keep this short and sweet today, so to round this of: These doodles are based off of the fanfic Apex Polarity, which is written by the lovely @naffeclipse and Eclipse' design is based off of @themeeplord 's fantastic design!

And as a bonus, you will find an alteration and a bunch of Yeti slogans/puns under the cut:

and if you're wondering why I made so many gd yeti puns, it was for michael's mug. You gotta have some fitting and funny slogan for all mugs. Btw If any of you know some good yeti slogans and/or puns, please call me, I've been struggling.

Michael; local cryptid believer, but not cryptid enjoyer

Vanessa; POLAR BEARS

Eclipse; I'm having the best time of my life! :D

Y/n; I'm having A TIME :')