[[Sorry for being a little inactive here, work has been really busy and I've been pretty stretched with writing/drawing and other stuff! I am still around though!]]
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PSA:
You don’t have to be nice to my character. You don’t have to hold your character back. I am perfectly okay with consequences. I don’t consider powerful characters using those powers to be godmodding. Some things might require a little bit of a chat before hand, but go crazy, kids. Conflict is part of story telling.
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Reblog if you don’t mind random inbox starters that aren’t memes
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"...You know, dude--I would eat almost anything that looks like food. But I am NOT putting that thing anywhere near my mouth."
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Reblog if it is totally, 100% fine to send anonymous comments to your muse pertaining to the events in your RP
( originally by imlostinthesnow, archived here)
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little memes for child muses
send ( fib ) for your muse to catch mine in a lie
send ( book ) for your muse to read mine a story
send ( tuck ) for your muse to tuck mine into bed
send ( yummy ) for your muse to make mine a meal
send ( costume ) for your muse to dress up with mine
send ( brush ) for your muse to brush my muse’s hair
send ( toy ) for my muse to ask yours to play with them
send ( teach ) for your muse to teach mine a skill — specify
send ( gift ) for my muse to bring yours something they made
send ( tale ) for my muse to tell yours a wild, make-believe story
send ( sweets ) for your muse to catch mine eating too much candy
send ( fashion ) for your muse to help mine pick out clothes for the day
send ( no ) for your muse to keep mine from doing something dangerous
send ( scary ) for my muse to ask yours to get rid of the monster under the bed
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What kind of touch do you possess?
creative touch
you are a gem. you pride yourself on creating and sometimes you feel it defining your personality. sometimes you can be a bit scattered and messy, but it just helps your brain think that way. you have your own aesthetic and you know its incredibly cool. you are most in your element when you are doing what you love. sometimes the process is SO frustrating but the proudness of a finished product is what keeps you going. you often compare yourself to others and are the harshest critic of your own work. you are immensely talented and you are inspire others. keep doing what you are doing, love.
Tagged by: @lxkexbxss
Tagging: Whoever wants to do it!
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deusxmachiiina:
The blade against his throat didn’t end him.
It had been stupid coming alone.
“I know you don’t believe me.” Don said, voice cracking. This version of his brother had so far given him no leeway, no matter how hard he’d tried to make Mikey remember-
Because who COULD forget the time Mikey broke his arm when they were eight? It had been the first time Don ever had to put a cast on a member of his family, and he overcompensated by wrapping Mikey up from shoulder to fingers. He had to make the plaster from some kitchen flour, water and torn strips from an old bedsheet. In his defence, he had panicked.
Mikey’s favourite pizza toppings where cataloged in his mental encyclopedia. He didn’t know how Mikey convinced him to shell out 30$ on a jalapeno, pineapple, banana slice and anchovy pizza; only that it was well worth the entertainment of getting that phone call back from Antonio’s very Italian and very IRATE chef cussing them out for the Culinary Declaration of War.
Talking had only gotten his shell HANDED to him. He knew Mikey couldn’t appreciate the irony, not when he was literally brainwashed.
Twelve whole seconds passed and Donatello still wasn’t dead.
“I give up.” He put his hands in view, wincing as his left arm gave way. “You’ve disarmed me and I’m down. So you win. You can take my weapon.” He waited. There was only one way to know. An experiment of sorts.
“Besides, if you kill me now, then how can you ever judge for yourself if I’m telling the truth or not?”
Believe him? Michelangelo wanted to laugh.
“Why would I believe your lies?” he spat, but again his voice betrayed him. There was a wobble to it that undermined the threat. “You’re just... just a thing. Just a thing that Yoshi uses to torture me. Master Shredder told me all about it.”
And of course he believed Shredder. He believed the man who had saved him, who had took him in when Hamato Yoshi had burned his life to the ground. The Foot Clan had become his family.
“You... You’re just pretending to be my bro, but I’m not stupid. I can see right through it.” All those things ‘Donatello’ had said to him were just a trick. Trying to mess with his head. It should have been easy to kill him right now.
The more he looked at ‘Donatello’, the more his stomach twisted and curled in on itself. Battered and bruised, shell to the wall, cowering in fear from the metal at his throat. The sight of a blade at his neck should have made him happy, but for some reason the opposite was true. It hurt to look at him like this and Michelangelo had no idea why. Didn’t know why his head was pounding and his skin was boiling.
So when ‘Donatello’ offered surrender, it lifted a bit of that weight from his gut.
Michelangelo regarded the other turtle for a few seconds, as if sure this was a trap. His breath rattled and heaved and his mind spun like a top. Was he being made fun of? Was he being mocked? His hand trembled, fingers clenched around the grip of the blade. Kill him. Just kill him. Just do it.
Seconds stretched to minutes and his eyes burned with uncertain rage. Donatello’s staff lay scattered on the ground beside him, but Michelangelo made no move to confiscate it. He was too lost in his head to care.
Why did the idea of actually killing him make him feel sick?
“Why... WHY?” He was a Foot Elite. He didn’t cower or--or hesitate, so why couldn’t he push forward? Why did the blade feel like lead in his fingers? Why did his voice crack and creak and his breath fall heaving and ragged from his lips?
Michelangelo bit back tears.
"Why--Why can’t I kill you?”
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INCORRECT QUOTES GENERATOR STARTERS.
“i am going to defeat you with the power of friendship!”
“goodnight moon, goodnight tree. goodnight ghosts only i can see.”
“you think i really give a fuck? i can’t even read!”
“you wanna see how hardcore i am?” *punches wall* “… take me to the hospital?”
“if you can’t beat them, dress better than them.”
“i’ve come to a point in my life where i need a stronger word than fuck.”
“i identify as a fucking threat.”
“so apparently the ‘bad vibes’ i’ve been feeling are actually severe psychological distress.”
“i was born for politics. i have great hair and i love lying.”
“all these ghosts and i still can’t find a boo. “
“fool me once, i’m gonna kill you.”
“with great power comes a great need to take a nap. wake me up later.”
“ha! nice try, jackass. next time give it your a game.”
“you seem familar. have i threatened you before?”
“you’ll have a hard time believing this because it never happens. but i made a mistake.”
“some of you may die. but that’s a sacrifice i’m willing to make.”
“you can de-escalate any situation by saying ‘are we about to kiss?’”
“oh no… (muse name) in b - flat. you’re disappointed.”
“my face is on fire!”
“i became more evil if you’re curious.”
“i slept for almost twelve hours. but i might still be tired. let’s go for twelve more just incase.”
“are you okay with constructive criticism? i don’t want to sound mean.”
“violence isn’t the answer. violence is the question. the answer is yes.”
“three words, say them and i’m yours.”
“i have a black belt. not in karate. it’s gucci.”
“in light of what you did for me, you can hug me for four to five seconds.”
“why did you draw a pentagram on the floor?”
“i’m ten times funnier and sexier than you.”
“you have to acceot that swear words are necessary sometimes.”
“it’s dark in here.”
“i prevented a murder today, using the power of self control.”
“is letting someone win in chess sapiosexual bottoming?”
“don’t worry, i have a few knives up my sleeve.”
“good morning. what the fuck is wrong with you?”
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[ @lethargic-hunter I see you 👀]
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[Considering pulling my Leo onto this blog as a sort of temporary multi-muse, maybe on a temporary basis. Don’t really fancy booting my actual multi-muse blog back up at the moment]
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deusxmachiiina:
It was the third time in as many minutes that Don thought he was going to die. Mikey had him pinned against the wall in the same muddled heap he’d landed in, looming above in the black and red foot insignia that still felt so, so wrong to look at.
It was all wrong to look at. Mikey was wrong to look at. Don struggled to take an even breath against the knee digging into his plastron, dimly wondering when his little brother (His sweet, goofy, ever-smiling, kicks-your-ass-during-sparring-but-gently, little brother) had gotten so strong.
“Please, Mikey-”
“Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!”
The cold sheen of the tanto sent his thoughts scattering. He held his breath, unable to pick where to focus as his eyes darted between the naked rage contorting his brother’s face, and the cutting finality of the blade. He kept waiting for there to be a moment where the old Mikey would shine through, because Mikey wouldn’t go through with it. The person looking down at him with such hatred couldn’t be the same brother who filled the silence of his lab with inane ideas, and handed him tools between comfortable conversations.
This was Mikey, this was Mikey and he couldn’t, he would’t, it would destroy his little brother and Don couldn’t bear to think of what the HELL Shredder did to have turned Michelangelo so far in on himself that he couldn’t even recognize his family.
Against every one of Sensei’s lessons, Donatello shut his eyes. If he was going to die, he refused to go looking at his brother like this.
“Then at least let me tell you I’m sorry.” Every second he didn’t feel the tanto was another second he threw into desperately trying to undo the last three weeks. “Idon’t…you must have been so alone. I’m sorry.”
There was something like pain carved into his enemy’s face, fresh like the blood dripping from the many cuts along their bodies, but this pain wasn’t physical. It was something deeper than that, something that cut far deeper and far harder than any cut or broken bone. Was he scared? Afraid of death?
Pathetic, the thought came quick and raw, but it wasn’t enough to smother the shards of pain floating around his head. Not even all the hatred he could muster for Hamato Yoshi was enough for that—not when he was fighting one of these fakes. Not when he was staring them in the eyes and they were always, always pleading with him and he didn’t understand why.
Michelangelo continued to tremble, his blade wavering without purpose. Every time he urged his arm to strike forward it refused and that made his head hurt all the more.
Why why why?
‘Donatello’ had closed his eyes and was mumbling at him. No movement, no attempt at struggle -- just words. It should have infuriated him, but for some reason every word latched onto him like a hook.
“ — you must have been so alone. I’m sorry.”
Something sharp coiled around his stomach. Michelangelo’s chest ached and crunched and he wanted so bad to laugh because OF COURSE he was alone. His brothers were dead and he was fighting the ghosts of something he could no longer get back. But this was his life. This is what Yoshi had done to him and he had accepted that.
So—So why were tears rolling down his cheek instead?
“Stop it,” Michelangelo croaked through heavy, unsteady breaths, fumbling to get a firmer grip on his tanto. The blade continued to waver and his fingers felt like lead pipes against the handle. “Just stop it. You—You don’t know the first thing about me!”
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TMNT fan art (2014~2016)
2014年~2016年に描いていたTMNTのファンアートです
無断転載禁止
Please do not reprint without my permission.
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I'm a bit late but... Happy Mutation Day!!!
I can't believe this cartoon is already 8 years old. I'm really glad I grew up with these boys. TMNT team, you're all awesome! 🐢🐢🐢🐢
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deusxmachiiina:
“Are you kidding me? You’re lucky it wasn’t a WORSE disaster. We couldn’t get that ink off for months!’
Don supressed a shudder. How Michelangelo got his hands on tattoo ink, he’d never know, but to this day he was only grateful that Mikey hadn’t had access to a tattoo gun.
“If you’d applied it subdermally, you’d *still* be walking around looking like a picasso.”
Without looking up from the innards of the Shellraiser, Don gestured at the wrench sitting by where his brother had perched himself, hand outstretched.
“You know, if you want to make some money, there’s other ways of going about it other than NFT’ing your face.”
“Is that really a problem when the Picasso looks this good?”
Mikey kicked off the ground, setting his swivel chair into motion. “Meh. You guys just didn’t get it. I guess it just takes a real artiste to really appreciate all this stuff. Someone brave and cool like me!”
Incorrect usage of that word aside, he followed Don’s out-stretched hand, settling his gaze on the wrench. Mid-spin, Mikey snatched the tool up and made another full rotation on the chair before reaching out and placing the wrench into his brother’s waiting hand.
“Are you telling me to get a job? ‘Cuz it totally sounds like you’re telling me to get a job, dude.”
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