#yk what?

[nyaskitten]

I still wonder from time to time, what'd Morro do to get sent to the Cursed Realm upon death? Did he cross someone who cursed his eternal soul? Did he murder people? What did this 13 year old boy do to wind up in hell!

[a-very-sparkly-nerd]

I know in the grand scheme of things that this is by no means a lot, but it doesn't stop me from being FLOORED by the reception of my Rayllum Month stuff?!?! Like these PROPORTIONS are NUTS to me and I'm just over here in my bedroom sobbing my eyes out that my stuff (apparently) resonates with people the way I really want it to.

(^ the proportions in question)

Like, out of 895 people, and SO FAST (6 days, as of my posting this), 15 subscribed and I've got 79 kudos?! And 16 bookmarks?! AND 17 PEOPLE CARED ENOUGH TO COMMENT WHAT THE HECK?!?!?! I'm an emotional mess you guys and ik it's not a lot but it means EVERYTHING to me that people like my writing and I just CAN'T-

[zeherili-ankhein]

I so so so want an next generation hashira AU of demon slayers with all the ships sailing like.... Is it to much to ask?

[chiangyorange]

what if i like the gods as seperate entities from the champions huh. what then. what if i said i didnt care for the champs because i think its more interesting the fact that the gods are a constant thing entity every universe. do they think about how existentially horrifying that is. do they think its reassuring that they never truly die or do they dread dying because they form back into the conglomerate, never to be individual again.

and what about the gods of order balance chaos that arent ianites and mianites. do they join the masses too or are they left alone to have an afterlife in solitude.

do you ever think about how the main three have different parents? do you think about the implication that hey if this wasnt a funny block game the gods would look different from universe to universe???? didnt think so.

[gravyhoney]

Fuuuuuuuucccckkkkkk I haven’t drawn in soooooo long guys.

Please only give me ONE CHARACTER EACH

I will ignore you if your request has more than one

I’m also doing other fandoms not just Ninjago so

Check the tags

[apricusapollo]

and what if i say that codywan is literally war of hearts by ruelle

[lostlosersclub]

tbh ive only really recently started attempting to stop pushing down the fact that im aspec. ive known that im on the aromantic spectrum before i figured out anything else. that was literally the first thing i knew. but idk im not fully aro so a lot of the time when i would try to talk about it, i would feel guilty because like. i still feel romantic attraction. but ive known that i feel it differently for a long time. i never really feel any romantic attraction unless somebody else feels that way about me. i think i should actually stop pushing this down

[genderfluidcrowley]

Obsessed with “the right person, but too late”.

It’s not even the wrong time, it’s just that they quietly walked alongside each other for all that right time, and when the confessions finally were made, they were too late.

[livefinn]

bonus round: ahem, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[thatstonedwriter]

Don't mind me, just thinking about if Blitzø had a kind/compassionate partner, how he might call them "angel"

[bitch-with-some-4000-names]

bread

[gayest-classiclit]

ROUND 2 SIDE B: LOSERS BRACKET

propaganda: marya | andrei

[anabsoluteagathokakological]

considering the fact that I am an introvert with the emotional intelligence of a broccoli, who mostly likes doing things alone, the friends I did make, are probably the best people in the world.

[luna-moth-0]

Some months ago I did an entire presentation about the book Red Dragon for my french class (french is my first language btw) and like instead of ending up with just a powerpoint I ended up with multiple analysis and a full notebook about the parallel between Francis and Will and Hannibal's role in it .

Obv I kept all of those analysis and now I'm looking back at them and realising:

I might be a little too obsessed with Hannibal Lecter.

[goldendiie]

here’s a lil oneshot that i started and then never finished. fuck it we ball.

January 1967. Chicago

“Is this seat taken?”

Quite honestly, Sarge had wanted to say yes. He was content to sit and stare out the train window for his entire cross-country ride to California; and he’d picked up a rather riveting novel about the Second World War at the newsstand, and he was more than happy to read it in silence.

He didn’t look up from his book as he replied, “No, go ahead.”

The stranger muttered a quick, “Thanks,” before dropping into the seat next to him.

And then, it was blissful silence once again. Sarge stole a glance out the window, and briefly watched travelers hustle around on the terminal. He turned back to his book once more, “Yossarian had everything he wanted in the hospital. The food was—”

“Where are you headed?” The stranger asked. His voice was slow and somewhat raspy, as though he’d smoked too many cigarettes that morning.

Sarge’s reply was short, “California.”

“Really?” The stranger replied, as though he were feigning interest, “Me too. Where at?”

Sarge briefly wished that he could turn back time and refuse to let the man take the seat next to his. He replied, equally short, “San Francisco.”

“Small world,” The stranger said, laughing. “No offense, but you don’t really seem like someone who would dig the scene out there.”

Sarge stared rather pointedly at his book, irritated. “I’m being shipped out next week.”

The stranger replied, “Man, I’m sorry to hear that. It’s all sorts of fucked up, right?”

Sarge huffed and closed his book, deciding that he wouldn’t get much use out of it if he was making conversation with his seatmate. “It’s my second tour,” he replied, putting it away in his bag, “I’ve been stationed at the army base in Joliet for the last two years, and they’re sending me back overseas as an officer.”

“No shit?”

When Sarge finally got a look at him, he wasn’t exactly surprised at what he found: the stranger (he couldn’t have been any older than eighteen) looked as though he were fulfilling his pilgrimage to Haight-Ashbury. He wore a string of beads around his neck, though they mostly blended in with the fabric of his fair isle sweater; his brown hair was tousled, as though he’d been running to catch the train before it departed from Union Station.

“No shit,” Sarge echoed.

“Well, I’m not one to judge,” the stranger replied, raising two ring-adorned hands in defense, “To each his own, and all that.”

“I wouldn’t care if you did,” Sarge said pointedly.

“Huh. Okay,” The stranger flashed him a grin, and leant forward slightly. “I think I’ll keep that in mind, soldier.”

Sarge did not have any intention of speaking to this man after they parted ways at San Francisco Station in three days’ time. He wasn’t one to bother with all of that hippie stuff, and he didn’t really care what the stranger thought of him either way. Regardless, he replied, “You do that.”

The stranger blinked at him; his brown eyes caught the dull fluorescent lighting of the train cabin in such a way that they turned briefly orange. A grin split across his freckled face, and he said: “I’m Fillmore, by the way.”

He offered one hand to shake. It hung in the air for a moment as Sarge considered it; he finally took it after a moment, shaking it firmly.

“Sarge,” he said.

“Pleasure,” Fillmore said, still grinning as their hands fell to their laps.

“Pleasure,” Sarge echoed, flatly.

Disinterested in continuing their conversation, Sarge turned his attention to looking out the window. The train had not moved from its spot, but the platform had cleared considerably since he last checked; if he had to guess, they would be leaving soon.

“So!” Fillmore said, tone obviously implying that he was trying to make small talk. “Sarge isn’t your real name, is it?”

Exasperated, Sarge replied, “It’s not.”

“Oh, that’s good. That would’ve been really unfortunate, man,” Fillmore grinned again, nodding. “My guess is that it’s all anyone calls you anymore, so you’ve taken to introducing yourself with it.”

“I guess so.”

“What’s your real name, then?”

Irritated, Sarge ignored the question, “Well, hold on— I’m just supposed to assume that Fillmore is your real name?”

Fillmore blinked at him, briefly taken aback, but his grin did not falter. “It is, actually. I think I just got lucky with the times,” he said, “But, really, I’m named after the president. My parents were really into politics, you see.”

“Oh.”

“So, I showed you mine, and now you show me yours,” Fillmore said, laughing at himself, “You do have a name, don’t you?”

“It’s Willie,” Sarge replied flatly.

“Willie?” Fillmore echoed.

“My mother was expecting me to be a girl, and they were going to name me after my great-grandmother,” Sarge explained, bashful, “Obviously, I was born a boy, but they kept the name anyways.”

The train shifted slightly, and they began to move out of the station. Next to him, Fillmore seemed to be turning it over in his mind.

“I sort of like it,” Fillmore said, “I don’t know you all that well, but it seems suiting.”

“Should I be offended?”

“If you want to be.”

[babyyfaceddemon]

Took a shower and ate a bowl of noodles with some veggies and now i feel like a new person ngl