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#at least he rested
prideprejudce · 9 months
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please tell me it’s not true that the one billionaire passenger coerced his terrified 19 year old son into going in that underwater coffin because it was father’s day weekend
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ursamajori · 1 year
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god i love being SOOO obnoxious about my ocs everyone should be 50% more obnoxious about their ocs right neow
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puppetmaster13u · 7 days
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Prompt 261
“So is no one going to talk about the eldritch space child or…” 
“I mean, do you want to get between a child and Batman? I think the only one who could even get close right now is Superman…” 
“No you’re right, I think- oh my god the eldritch space child is playing with batman’s bat-ears and he’s not doing anything about it what the fuck I thought only Robins could get away with that-” 
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tanglepelt · 6 months
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Dc x dp idea 123
Danny is haunting the watchtower. No regrets. He was just so fed up with the lack of action.
Seriously they had a whole bs site claiming they were pro meta and basic rights. Like it had links on where to “report” breaches. All utter bs.
Nothing about the anti ecto acts. He personally called in and reported it many times. And nothing happened. As the king. He had a duty to his ppl. Now he didn’t want to hurt anyone or declare war.
But he will absolutely in the middle of their meeting change the screens of the computer to the site to report breaches. Mayhaps add bloody green text seemingly dripping in all cap LIARS and maybe YOU IgNORED US.
Was it a tad much to leave a stabbed article about the anti ecto acts in the middle of the meeting room ozzing ectoplasm. Or maybe the whispering in the ears of anyone who slept here.
He certainly didn’t think so.
So now the screens occasionally flickered the failed experiments of the GIW. Sure no one’s been killed yet. But the justice league didn’t know that. Danny is great at breaking them out.
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wispscribbles · 4 months
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I want to eat your art and writing thank you so much
Haha well I'm always happy to keep you all fed. Here, have some old sketches <33
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hejee · 2 months
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i really just wanna draw them shirtless
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viveela · 18 days
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I am finally done with my redesign line up
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northlight14 · 8 months
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Phoenix: do you remember the day you got your lunch money stolen in kindergarten?
Edgeworth, who came into school wearing a bow tie every day, was always reading, went around quoting different law terms saying he was going to grow up to be “just like father”, and canonically cried when he couldn’t do origami: which time?
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satoruhour · 6 months
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a/n: jjk 236 spoilers, mentions of suicide from reader’s side, no comfort, cry. around 1.4k. tagging @jabamin @hyomagiri @saiki-enthusiast @arminsumi @shotorus @satohruu so yall can suffer w me
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the first signs of grief manifests in you when there’s a bright light that signifies gojo’s disperse of cursed energy, the familiar hollow purple that obliterates half the buildings around the two strongest sorcerers — one from the heian and the other one from our times. surely, your lover wouldn’t do something as foolish as involving himself with the blast, but gojo satoru is always one to take risks.
when he took up the job of taking care of megumi and tsumiki at just eighteen years old and providing all the things they needed to fluorish. gojo is risky as he convinces a kid with a terrifying curse to make some friends and learn about cursed energy. he sometimes puts himself in danger when he takes up more missions he can shoulder just to show the higher-ups that he can kill them any time.
gojo satoru has the world of jujutsu in his hands; how his birth had changed the trajectory of the society, altered the balance of the world and now—
“satoru!” you call out once the smoke clears and he’s still there, intact, smiling a sick smile like the many times you’ve seen him done at megumi and after burning french toast. you brief a sigh of relief and the pounding of your heart calms down momentarily before sukuna emerges and he’s missing a hand and a leg and your heart pulls lower and lower seeing the kid you raised be such a ragdoll for sukuna’s entertainment. but there was always the hope to isolate the king of curses’ soul and save megumi somehow. shoko and you had discussed it, you know it to be true, it has to be true, until there’s a sharp noise that cuts through your ear drums.
it’s high-pitched, like a flash of light that shines in your eyes too abruptly and you have to cover them. but it blinds you as much as it deafens; an attack from god knows which end and you swear you hear the reaper’s scythe.
gojo thinks you look beautiful like this; hand on your cheek and head in your hand as you watch him and the melodic sounds of the knife hitting the cutting board. you’re so concerned about him cutting his hand again that you’ve dragged your chair all the way into the kitchen to watch him closely, which was counterintuitive; the whole reason why he had bled in the first place was because he was looking at you so much.
he admires the way you curl into yourself on the beanbag in the apartment, a book on your lap on how to get to know your teenager better, hair falling over your eyes and the reading lamp not even helping that much in illuminating the words. gojo skims over your features and the way your chest breathes slowly, like everything good in the world. he hopes he’s able to get that with you in this life, for as long as he lives.
you feel it before you see it in the screens that the fight is broadcasted from — something is missing. a light has switched off, satoru has stolen the blanket at night and left you freezing again, seeing your favourite snack missing from the fridge. and you run. past the students you’ve raised, past the bright blinding screens and into the battlefield, past the debris and each crunch of cement under your feet brings a fresh bout of tears to your eyes. the tokyo winter is cool, snow starting to slowly fall upon you and the saltiness on your face seem to crystallise and harden and you’re not even sure any more. there’s a tingling feeling in your feet, in your finger tips and a pull of your heart. you know where gojo is before you see him.
“s— satoru…” you mumble, eyes welling up with more tears when his bottom half stays standing, baggy pants stained with red, red and more red and you’ve never hated a colour like you do now. you hate it, you hate it, you hate it even when he’s proposed to you with a red velvet box and gotten you valentine’s day chocolates in that same darker red and there is just too much blood.
and then it’s like the hierarchy of grief doesn’t matter any more. all those articles you’ve read preparing yourself after gojo’s fated meeting with death at sixteen, and then after shibuya — you think you can’t handle any more of the collecting and patching up and crying and headaches and holding a finger up to your chest and hoping you’d kill yourself with your own technique. the only time you’d accept the absence of the bright blue on his face is when he was sleeping and his chest moved with even breaths, not like this.
not like this. 
“satoru—” your voice cracks and you cannot even see. tears and tears and mucus and the fresh crunch of snow under your feet as you step closer to his severed body.
“baby…” he mumbles, barely above a whisper, hand twitching and reaching out in the direction of your voice because this is infinitely worse than getting stabbed in the neck by toji fushiguro, perhaps a little worse than seeing your best friend of your high school life get manipulated by a cursed user. satoru wants to demote all of that and say that seeing you stumble to your knees in front of him while you hyperventilate and sob hurts the most. 
“d-don’t move, ’toru, we— we’re going to get you b-back, okay?” you’re playing with god now. “shoko!” the doctor stifles a sob at your cry, broken up by the feedback of the sound system. she knows you’re trying to defy god.
“i don’t think—” the light is slowly dying. the world’s light, the student’s light, your dawn and dusk. “m-my love, everything is…”
“satoru, please, you need to—!” they say the last sense to go is touch and hearing. you crouch to his face to see him react to your warmth, eyes moving an inch to where he thinks you were and puts all of his cursed energy into one hand just so he could hold your cheek. you, warm as always as the sun and everything good in the world, a new rush of warmth overtaking his hand when your tears flow over his battered, tired hands, the same hands that has drawn over his love time and time again over your body and you are a canvas made of gojo satoru’s endless, unconditional ardour.
“i-i’m…” it fades out, his voice box is almost gone and you wail again and the snow from below wets your knees. his name is all that leaves your lips and you think if you can’t play god, you can only beg, even if your religion is solely gojo satoru.
“no, no, no no nono, satoru, c’mon, baby, stop it!” you scream in his face, words all mushed together when you feel the breath of life leave his chest, the blues die out in his eyes, “i love you, i love you, darling, i love you—” your lover barely manages to muster a small smile and you scramble all over his chest, clutching at the tattered black t-shirt and his hand that is starting to go cold and he has the energy to mutter out a stupid remark like gojo satoru always does.
“i’m sorry i got y-your favourite outfit stained with red, princess…” satoru whispers and that breaks the dam fully. you sob and groan and cry and wail until your voice is hoarse and you cannot speak any more and gojo wants nothing but to full heal himself again just so he could stop your crying. perhaps hold your face in his hands and kiss your forehead and nose and lips and embrace you until you couldn’t breathe. perhaps even to tell you he loved you more than anything and everything; more than poems and that foolish line he just had to say at the end and kikufuku and waking up next to you.
but in what world will gojo satoru ever get repose and a normal life? you hope for every other universe to have him be a preschool teacher, or maybe a florist, or even a superstar. but not in this one, no.
the hand that caressed your cheek is replenished again with cursed energy.
satoru gives you three squeezes.
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elahogn · 9 months
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why not just find your friends and leave?....
as broken and hurt as they are, i’m glad Ashton is there to ground the team
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tinynerdycthulu · 2 months
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tbh i dunno why so many sj apologists are anti-yqy. because like????? he is your mascot. he was the originator. the head honcho of excusing sj's levels of unmitigated villainy. look into my eyes and tell me that qi ge wouldn't blush and kick his feet if he saw xiao jiu commit murder. actually we don't NEED to imagine bc jiumei did just that and yue qi just grabbed his hand and ran, no thoughts head empty. arson? child abuse?? yue qi doesn't care. whatever makes xiao jiu happy <3
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cyrwrites · 3 months
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There's Irony In The Little Things
The world gets reset, but some memories just don't go away.
A child again, Jason Todd knows three things for certain:
- the Joker is going to kill him one day;
- he's never going to have a perfect family;
- and Batman is going to be his damnation.
Two people in that list live in Gotham, so Jason does the smart thing, packs his things, and marches himself to Bludhaven. He thinks that it's going to be easy to fall through the cracks there.
Pity no one told him about Nightwing and his increasing fascination with runaway children that so happen to have the name Jason.
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kinos-fortress-2 · 3 months
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i am aware that this looks nothing like them and i made them ugly af i just dont care anymore. and yes this is still tf2
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rwrbsource · 5 months
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@rwrbmovie & @rwrbsource’s rwrbweek: Day 5 | Fashion ↳ Henry in Casual Clothes
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Rest in peace, Robbie Coltrane 30 March 1950 – 14 October 2022
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mariana-oconnor · 6 months
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