#it's mostly gen

[froody]

if you feel comfortable, list what generation you’re a part of and what writing system you use in the tags

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

Emotional scene from Muppets Star Trek.

[switchbladefightz]

lisa frankenstein is the most "target audience" movie ever. it's me i'm the target audience

[assiraphales]

I keep seeing “zoro lost his smile” tik toks and I love the comments bc a battalion of dudebros are like “he lost it after taking luffy’s pain and knowing what his captain went through when they were separated” but most importantly “luffy makes him smile”

[hott-brownn-sugarr]

The pack boys as dads:

school dance edition!! 😋

picture david and milo���s faces when the kids come within 50 feet of them in the car 😁

[sleepytortoises]

Some Gojo related doodles :)

[t1oui]

i don't think the hp next gen fandom talks enough about how percy's kids would be treated differently just because they're his.

like, the kids don't know why. neither do their cousins. they're just used to weird looks from their aunt and uncles and grandparents. they're used to fewer photos of their father and more jokes thrown in his direction. they're used to traits they share with percy being seen as a negative.

and maybe it's subtle. maybe their presents at christmas and birthdays aren't as personalized as the presents their cousins get, and maybe they don't notice at first because their parents always try to give them presents they'll definitely love. maybe at family get-togethers, every cousin has one of their favorite sweets made but percy's kids were never asked. but they don't notice this, either, because percy makes a big deal of them baking their favorites together when they get home.

no matter the way you look at it, with percy and audrey or percy and oliver, with percy in gryffindor or slytherin, his kids would've been treated differently by their family.

[orbitsuns]

[zrllosyn-art]

Kikoru and Narumi Sibling banter hours FT. @izfaish who contributed!! many ideas!!!

(thank u for contributing ur doodles n ideas buddy!!!)

[cock-holliday]

The REAL generational divide is over whether you think inline or roller skates are harder to learn

[aspiringjester]

Personally I think there should be more fics/art/etc about an au where Sanji took on Luffy's pain at thriller bark bc of the angst potential

BEFORE ALL THE ZORO FANBOYS FIND ME I agree Sanji would not have handled it nearly as well but that's the delicious part like I don't even think he'd have a "nothing happened" thing bc he'd just be UNCONSCIOUS

ALSO Sanji having such a low opinion of himself and seeing it as just the Right Answer for him to sacrifice himself is >>>> (in the worst/best way)

Sanji on the brink of death and wrestling with all his previous brushes with it

Sanji in the infirmary for weeks on end unconscious and towing the line between life and death

Sanji who doesn't understand why everyone's upset with him once he wakes up

Sanji who starts to see that he's worth caring about and he needs to put himself any level other than dead(heh) last

ZORO who doesn't understand why the idiot cook knocked him out to take the thing that would probably kill him and doesn't know what that funny feeling in his chest is about it (newsflash dummy it's called caring about someone)

Idk I just think as a scenario it's rich for potential and I don't see it enough imo

[front-facing-pokemon]

[evevoli]

sitting here full on weeping on a friday afternoon because oh my god it's just all about grief in the owl house isn't it. all of it. it's all about the love that's left behind and who we choose to become with it.

i just. god. jesus fucking christ it's about how the world quite literally starts and would end in the loss of a father; it's about how the world was created by the titan leaving his son behind. it's about how the world nearly ended by caleb dying before meeting the child he was expecting. it's about how the world was saved by the last gift luz's father left her. it's about how we have the choice to move forward in spite of the loss or stay trapped behind, to accept and open your heart to new love or to deny and twist their memory into something grotesque. it's about how nothing within the plot of the owl house would even exist had three men not died, had three fathers not been forced to leave their children behind. are you listening look me in the eyes.

i'm a wreck in here like. in the end isn't it all about love. isn't it all about loss. in the end aren't they one in the same. i need to lie down

[theloveinc]

sukuna ryomen x reader - part of this!au , the king of curses watches you get ready for a lunch date with friends.

(warning: this is a piece about body image, which mentions reader having insecurities about trying on clothing and gaining weight. that being said, this isn't so much an angst fic as it about a relationship dynamic. fem reader who is called a woman/girl, adult themes, etc. 1.3k words!)

thank u to @notvil + @saetyrn9 for sukuna pet names! <3

Most of the time, the King of Curses, Sukuna Ryomen, looks like a man. Thick set yet lean, baby-soft skin tattooed in deep, chocolate browns, and pink hair the color of April’s most delicate of cherry blossom petals, he fits into an entirely new category of handsome; one that would make your mother cry to see you standing against, but one that’d have anyone leaving another man at the altar for.

Some of the time, however, he looks like a monster.

Large and autocratic, he takes up space in your home the way a centerpiece of freshly slain taxidermy would, almost wooden, looming, like that of a thousand-year-old tree with roots more ancient than a Japanese cedar tree and a trunk just as strong.

Though normally, this form disturbs you enough to keep you from straying too far from his usual behests (most often, pulling out your bare breasts to present to him or finger feeding him food off of your plate, despite how many times he’s told you he needs no sustenance of the kind), not even all four of his arms or all four of his eyes can tear yours away from the mirror in front of you and the sides of your hips it presents as rather… surprisingly…voluptuous.

Really, you can only hope it’s the water damage behind the old silver that’s causing your belly to appear slightly more distended than the last time you last remember inspecting yourself to such an intense degree, and not the fact it’s been a few years since you stopped consistently working on your feet.

(You still sometimes pick up night shifts at the diner, during weeks when money is tight after paying rent and you’re craving something nice after weeks of rice with an occasional egg on top, but they’ve started stationing you at the register, where the only things you’re moving are credit cards through the slider and the thumb on your right hand as you play sudoku on your phone.)

The dress you’re wearing is old, and if the out-of-style pattern of its skirt didn’t make that obvious enough, the way the elastic is permanently stretched and no longer cinches around your waist makes it perfectly clear. You don’t feel… unattractive in it, not exactly… but it makes you look like some sort of old maid, you think, your ass resting just a little too full for your comfort and the frills around your bust too tacky for your liking, and not like someone who should be hanging out with a bunch of 20-something year-olds now years out of undergraduate.

Most of your friends dress in stylish ensembles they’ve collected and created over the many years you’ve known them… and while you wish you could emulate the causality they display in their effortlessly chic everyday wear, you’re still stuck living halfway out of your mother’s closet because clothing shopping is a luxury you have obviously not prioritized affording.

It’s partially why you’ve managed to push it too close to the wire to change outfits (really, you tried on two other things and felt strangely the same in them, one blouse an ugly, stained mustard and the other even more motherly looking, flaring widely over the lower bit of your belly as if that part of you needed hiding), as by now, you’ve learned there’s not enough time in the world to make you feel as confident as you do in your favorite pajamas, in your own home, entertaining only yourself.

And sometimes, Ryomen, when he feels like playing nice.

Because really, it’s hard to care about who the outside of you pleases when most of the time, your outfits (ugly or motherly or not) have no bearing on said, six-foot, seven-foot, something curse who fucks you upside down and backwards near daily every spare moment you’re able to offer yourself to him naked, and who currently stares at you like the piece of meat you really are as you stare at yourself.

Clearly, he is bored watching you, as when he’d tried picking at the clasped band of your bra, as much interest in the old lace as taking it off you accounts for, you’d succeeded in swatting at him enough times to have him slinking off to drape himself dramatically over your bed sheets again.

“Foolish woman,” he complains. “Never have you bothered wearing fancy clothing around me.”  

“It’s not about the clothing. It’s about how it’s literally been 35 pounds since I’ve last seen these friends.”

Sukuna rolls half of his four eyes, the two that don’t sit vertically or flatly on his face where they would if he looked human.

“Pounds of flesh?” he says dryly, which you ignore in favor of pulling off the frilly shirt you're currently wearing and replacing it with something much more simple you initially thought might come off as too casual, but now seems like the best option in terms of comfort.

“Of…fat,” you twist in the mirror to briefly glance back at where he sprawls, pinching the dips on your hips as though it’s obvious what you’re talking about, “that I can’t exactly hide.”

“Hide?” he repeats incredulously, his big face morphing into something much more pointed and annoyed as his words darken into a chuckle that seems to echo and vibrate between the walls. “Good women walk bare, you know.”

What you know is that Sukuna is taunting you, and that his kind of woman, the traditional, acquiescent kind, hasn’t existed for thousands upon thousands of years. It’s something he must have been forced to come to terms with since having woken up in a decade that is entirely not his, where most women (you included, as well as all the other ones you’re sure he’s encountered here) dress in business casual suits and spend their time working for the man (rather than serving one) because it’s the only way outside of finding a husband they’ll be set up to survive.

Still, Sukuna has made a few attempts at pushing the expectation of that ancient naturality on you, despite knowing you don’t have the kind of time or patience or even employment that level of… maintenance (or lack thereof, given that what he likes is when you’re completely unshaven and greased up for his pleasure) …requires to indulge him, the literal cost of it all notwithstanding.

“Good women don’t binge themselves on the latte machine at work and order lunch takeout just because someone else is picking it up.” 

The man, the king, as he sometimes demands to be called, seems to ponder for a moment, eyes not on you but on the pale, stained bed sheets he pinches between two of his long nails as he considers your response. You’re not yet sure if he really cares, but no sooner is he shooting you a nasty pair of eyes you try to ignore as you stick a hand down the back of your ass to rearrange the seamless panties beneath your leggings.

“Who, sweet girl,” he says, voice wet with a surprisingly bitter edge, “is picking it up?”

You stare at him from out of the corner of the mirror, at the way his eyebrows have narrowed, his mouth has puckered downward, and his eyes haven’t stray from your body since you mentioned it’s shape. Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes.

“Nobody, actually. Starting tomorrow, I’m officially bringing in lunch from home for the rest of the month.” Letting your pants slap back down once your hand emerges from the waistband, you decide it’s finally time to suck it up and take your leave. Your friends have never been judgmental people no matter how much you’d like to impress them regardless, and you doubt one bad outfit is going to ruin the rest of your week, much less however long the friendships may last. “I’ll be good, and then you can stop nagging.”

“I am not nagging, poppet.” Sukuna scoffs, clearly offended as he shifts to roll over and face away from where, in a few minutes, you’ll no longer be, having already started preparing to grab your purse. “I’m saying good women need only care about pleasing their own men.”

“Their own, huh?” you ask, to which Sukuna humphs, though still lets you lean over your bed to give him one brief kiss on the shoulder before you leave. “I’ll have to remember that.”

[gloomlet]

Just started playing the Monster High Legacy by @simmingsamantha! Here's my heir Frankie Florence~