#oh oh oh to clarify this:

[yellowocaballero]

I feel like I'm always discovering awesome aus on your blog lmao

There are so many other extremely cool bloggers who have like 10 different AUs that they post about and draw fanart for and I am both jealous and not one of those people. Sometimes I can just spend hours on their blog scrolling through their AUs, it's fun. Most of the time they're like a list of headcanons and worldbuilding and it's fun to mess around there.

I'm not quite like that, since I'm not a very creative person and when I have a good story idea 85% of the time I just write it. If I have a really robust series of headcanons for an AU I've written then I tend to just write another story. Also people send me asks where I can give more detail on my AUs! My stuff is always the tip of the iceberg in terms of what's fucking going on there, so I love the excuse to talk about it.

But there are some stories that I know are awesome ideas but will just never get written, which includes the Green Lantern story (I'm guessing that's what you're referring to?). I didn't really present it as a list of HCs, because my mind doesn't work that way, but just the summary of a story that won't be written. Thing is that I know for a fact it's a story with a lot of potential, but - and I really normally don't think like this - the audience would be so incredibly niche and the story would have to be so long that the ROI would be low. I write tons of stories that I never post, but those are usually because I have demons and my brain goes crazy if I don't write it. There's limited hours in the day.

All of my AUs and a few meta/HC tumblr posts are on the masterlist on my blog, so browse to your heart's content :)

[oobbbear]

I want to post this here too because I’ve seen it happen a few times

Please understand that there are cultural differences and language differences, if you see this happening let the person clarify what they meant, that person might just not be familiar with words the western side of the internet use

[buppkizz]

drew this for engie's "bday" 🎂👷 (meet the engineer release date on 9/11 lol)

[ladybugboots]

I will draw a Pokemon of your choosing for proof of e-Sim donation! (any e-Sims bought AFTER Jan 22nd). The higher the donation, the more effort it'll have.

Please refer to the instructions on https://gazaesims.com/ for how to buy and send an e-SIM for Gaza! Take a screenshot confirmation that you've sent the QR code to the correct email (gazaesims@gmail.com); please include date/time of purchase and amount spent or GB amount!

Then, send that screenshot to ladybugbootsart@gmail.com, along with a Pokemon you want me to draw!

Please do not use my art for hateful agendas, NFTs, AI training, or monetary profit (like selling it). Thanks!

From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free!

05.31.2024 EDIT: Not taking any more atm, but check out for open slots here: https://creativesforpalestine.carrd.co/ !!!

[mary-kasexual]

whatever. go, my dandlers...

FINALLY SOME ART FOR AN AU IVE BEEN WORKING ON!!!!! YIPEEEEEE!!!!!!!! So tl;dr Twisted Modes like an alternate game mode designed to be a form of 'hard mode', where the play styles for each toon have been muddied or completely changed to offer a completely different experience for players. The premise is that the toons are like a remnant of previous games, its based upon the clone theory so each individual toon has their own story and lore separate from the others (though there are exceptions for a few characters!). Also the AU is written in a way that's meant to semi-emulate the game itself which is why the stats and alternate abilities are listed, expect more gameplay aspects to be given in the future bc i love coming up with gameplay mechanics 😈

The chars here aren't all of the ones planned btw I wanna make another sheet when I can, feel free to ask questions tho ill be happy to answer ^^ pleasepleasepleasepleaseplea

[tragic-vaudeville]

realest ao3 note i've ever seen

[leo-artista]

Toxic yaoi minecraft version

[aj-artjunkyard]

I’m all for Unreliable Narrator Apollo™ straight up misremembering myths instead of admitting to myself that Rick got a few things wrong

Lester!Apollo: demigods can be so weird and unpredictable! When that Clytemnestra girl murdered her husband simply because he made one tiny little human sacrifice to me… yikes, am I right?

The same Apollo 2,000 years before, sending a 3rd volley of plague arrows straight into the Greek camp: Agamemnon when I get you. When I get you Agamemnon. Agamemnon when I get you

[always-a-king-or-queen]

The ache will go away, eventually. 

That was what the Professor told them, the day they got back. When they tumbled from the wardrobe in a heap of tangled limbs, and found that the world had been torn from under their feet with all the kindness of a serpent. 

They picked themselves off of the floorboards with smiles plastered on child faces, and sat with the Professor in his study drinking cup after cup of tea. 

But the smiles were fake. The tea was like ash on their tongues. And when they went to bed that night, none of them could sleep in beds that were too foreign, in bodies that had not been their own for years. Instead they grouped into one room and sat on the floor and whispered, late into the night. 

When morning came, Mrs. Macready discovered the four of them asleep in Peter and Edmund’s bedroom, tangled in a heap of pillows and blankets with their arms looped across one another. They woke a few moments after her entry and seemed confused, lost even, staring around the room with pale faces, eyes raking over each framed painting on the wall and across every bit of furniture as if it was foreign to them. “Come to breakfast,” Mrs. Macready said as she turned to go, but inside she wondered. 

For the children’s faces had held the same sadness that she saw sometimes in the Professor’s. A yearning, a shock, a numbness, as if their very hearts had been ripped from their chests.

At breakfast Lucy sat huddled between her brothers, wrapped in a shawl that was much too big for her as she warmed her hands around a mug of hot chocolate. Edmund fidgeted in his seat and kept reaching up to his hair as if to feel for something that was no longer there. Susan pushed her food idly around on her plate with her fork and hummed a strange melody under her breath. And Peter folded his hands beneath his chin and stared at the wall with eyes that seemed much too old for his face. 

It chilled Mrs. Macready to see their silence, their strangeness, when only yesterday they had been running all over the house, pounding through the halls, shouting and laughing in the bedrooms. It was as if something, something terrible and mysterious and lengthy, had occurred yesterday, but surely that could not be. 

She remarked upon it to the Professor, but he only smiled sadly at her and shook his head. “They’ll be all right,” he said, but she wasn’t so sure. 

They seemed so lost. 

Lucy disappeared into one of the rooms later that day, a room that Mrs. Macready knew was bare save for an old wardrobe of the professor’s. She couldn’t imagine what the child would want to go in there for, but children were strange and perhaps she was just playing some game. When Lucy came out again a few minutes later, sobbing and stumbling back down the hall with her hair askew, Mrs. Macready tried to console her, but Lucy found no comfort in her arms. “It wasn’t there,” she kept saying, inconsolable, and wouldn’t stop crying until her siblings came and gathered her in their arms and said in soothing voices, “Perhaps we’ll go back someday, Lu.” 

Go back where, Mrs. Macready wondered? She stepped into the room Lucy had been in later on in the evening and looked around, but there was nothing but dust and an empty space where coats used to hang in the wardrobe. The children must have taken them recently and forgotten to return them, not that it really mattered. They were so old and musty and the Professor had probably forgotten them long ago. But what could have made the child cry so? Try as she might, Mrs. Macready could find no answer, and she left the room dissatisfied and covered in dust. 

Lucy and Edmund and Peter and Susan took tea in the Professor’s room again that night, and the next, and the next, and the next. They slept in Peter and Edmund’s room, then Susan and Lucy’s, then Peter and Edmund’s again and so on, swapping every night till Mrs. Macready wondered how they could possibly get any sleep. The floor couldn’t be comfortable, but it was where she found them, morning after morning. 

Each morning they looked sadder than before, and breakfast was silent. Each afternoon Lucy went into the room with the wardrobe, carrying a little lion figurine Edmund had carved her, and came out crying a little while later. And then one day she didn’t, and went wandering in the woods and fields around the Professor’s house instead. She came back with grassy fingers and a scratch on one cheek and a crown of flowers on her head, but she seemed content. Happy, even. Mrs. Macready heard her singing to herself in a language she’d never heard before as Lucy skipped past her in the hall, leaving flower petals on the floor in her wake. Mrs. Macready couldn’t bring herself to tell the child to pick them up, and instead just left them where they were. 

More days and nights went by. One day it was Peter who went into the room with the wardrobe, bringing with him an old cloak of the Professor’s, and he was gone for quite a while. Thirty or forty minutes, Mrs. Macready would guess. When he came out, his shoulders were straighter and his chin lifted higher, but tears were dried upon his cheeks and his eyes were frightening. Noble and fierce, like the eyes of a king. The cloak still hung about his shoulders and made him seem almost like an adult. 

Peter never went into the wardrobe room again, but Susan did, a few weeks later. She took a dried flower crown inside with her and sat in there at least an hour, and when she came out her hair was so elaborately braided that Mrs. Macready wondered where on earth she had learned it. The flower crown was perched atop her head as she went back down the hall, and she walked so gracefully that she seemed to be floating on the air itself. In spite of her red eyes, she smiled, and seemed content to wander the mansion afterwards, reading or sketching or making delicate jewelry out of little pebbles and dried flowers Lucy brought her from the woods. 

More weeks went by. The children still took tea in the Professor’s study on occasion, but not as often as before. Lucy now went on her daily walks outdoors, and sometimes Peter or Susan, or both of them at once, accompanied her. Edmund stayed upstairs for the most part, reading or writing, keeping quiet and looking paler and sadder by the day. 

Finally he, too, went into the wardrobe room. 

He stayed for hours, hours upon hours. He took nothing in save for a wooden sword he had carved from a stick Lucy brought him from outside, and he didn’t come out again. The shadows lengthened across the hall and the sun sank lower in the sky and finally Mrs. Macready made herself speak quietly to Peter as the boy came out of the Professor’s study. “Your brother has been gone for hours,” she told him crisply, but she was privately alarmed, because Peter’s face shifted into panic and he disappeared upstairs without a word. 

Mrs. Macready followed him silently after around thirty minutes and pressed an ear to the door of the wardrobe room. Voices drifted from beyond. Edmund’s and Peter’s, yes, but she could also hear the soft tones of Lucy and Susan. 

“Why did he send us back?” Edmund was saying. It sounded as if he had been crying.  

Mrs. Macready couldn’t catch the answer, but when the siblings trickled out of the room an hour later, Edmund’s wooden sword was missing, and the flower crown Susan had been wearing lately was gone, and Peter no longer had his old cloak, and Lucy wasn’t carrying her lion figurine, and the four of them had clasped hands and sad, but smiling, faces. 

Mrs. Macready slipped into the room once they were gone and opened the wardrobe, and there at the bottom were the sword and the crown and the cloak and the lion. An offering of sorts, almost, or perhaps just items left there for future use, for whenever they next went into the wardrobe room.  

But they never did, and one day they were gone for good, off home, and the mansion was silent again. And it had been a long time since that morning that Mrs. Macready had found them all piled together in one bedroom, but ever since then they hadn’t quite been children, and she wanted to know why.

She climbed the steps again to the floor of the house where the old wardrobe was, and then went into the room and crossed the floor to the opposite wall. 

When she pulled the wardrobe door open, the four items the Pevensie children had left inside of it were missing. 

And just for a moment, it seemed to her that a cool gust of air brushed her face, coming from the darkness beyond where the missing coats used to hang.

[samarecharm]

Ryuji having the worst bi crisis of his fucking life bc his mom just had to fucking ask “oh, whats this young ladys name?” when he showed her a picture of Akira petting Morgana. Like okay yeah Akira is like objectively pretty, hes like the Classic Delicate Pretty Boy just like Yusuke which is like whatever; straight dudes have eyes, and they know what women like to see. But now hes like. Seeing things he likes in girls IN Akira now and he cant make it Stop like its genuinely keeping him up at night 😭

Pretty boy used to be A Face that would come up in his mind when he thought of the term. There was no specifics in mind, just like. Pretty Boy. Pretty boy! You say that and theres like a Face Template that shows up in ur minds eye and hed just attribute that to any dude who was like Vaguely Pretty. But now its Akira 😭 and he finds himself cataloging things that Akira does that he KNOWS he finds cute when girls do it. The hairtuck behind the ears. The headtilt when he mishears a question. The Actually Pretty Doe Eyes. The breathy, nearly inaudible chuckle he does in place of a Real laugh (thats made better by the fact that its so hard to get him to laugh in the first place). He likes cute snacks. He blushes easily. Ryuji is sitting here like ‘theres no fucking way man. Like theres just no way. That shit makes NO sense (a lie)’ lying in bed in the middle of the night looking like this vvvv w his phone in his hands (looking at pictures of akira)

It drives him insane bc like he did Not see any of these things as like inherently girly or whatever. Like thats just akira thats just his bro! And he does OTHER weird shit that cancels all that shit out. Hes like a messy engineer/tinkerer, he rolls out of bed and whatever situation his hair is is everyones problem. He wears that AWFUL gym uniform and doesnt tweak it AT ALL?? He likes baseball?? hes got a whole binder of trading cards that he will show off if u show any moment of weakness. Like hes just Some Dude but also manages to be Some Girl at the same time and Ryuji is like thats not fair. Life sucked ass but at least it made sense before Akira stumbled into it 😭

[lycorim]

I made this instead of doing actual stats homework you're welcome

[citruslllad]

friends who beat the shit out of cops together

[reiningsoral]

all those kids who told people in school that they were a wolf in a human body are therians now

[myfairkatiecat]

Everyone is entitled to love or hate a character, but if you’re loving or hating a character for the wrong reasons I’m gonna side eye you. They are the person they are, love or hate them for it but at least get them right smh

[royall-ass]

theyre in love trust

[sparrowchute]

Happy pride month!!!! I provide nothing but doodles im sorry in advance

(I use she/her for both Hofnarr and Gonne, pls be respectful of that in tags/reblogs!!)