Can you do a gif post of Yuma Mukami and Mage from Dance With Devils? Lobe your blog dear 😚😚❤
Aww thank you!💕
And yes i can! It might be a little bit before it’s done since i havent made gifs for a little while but i’m excited and i’ll start it as soon as i have time so please look forward to it!
philzas reaction video to the 1.17 update has turned into a comfort video of mine and idk how or why
EOA season 1 really said “this is gonna be a light and fun show about magic and learning lessons!” just for season 2 to say “SIKE”
Draw My Cyberpunk V - 3/? - @shitposting-for-the-soul
Here you go!! Thank you for letting me doodle your V c:
psa: might be redundant but this blog is a maze runner blog for the next uhhh unforseeable amount of time, i do accept all and any questions at this time along with newtmas fic recs. cheers
sometimes all i think about is you.
so. hypothetically. if i had hl/trolls crossover art. should i post it.
Literally every time I tweet and say I’m struggling with art block or something like that, I draw something within like an hour or two of doing so lmao
just watched nightmare on elm street 2 and read the homoerotic subtext portion of the wikipedia and now i’m having. an aneurysm
This is my first proper attempt at digital art welcome to Al’s WIP’s!
This is nowhere near finished and it has been hours but I felt like sharing my progress anyway! (maybe I am an artist after all?)
This should hopefully be one of two drawings in a set, this is going to be by far the easiest so fingers crossed.
To say that I’m excited would be an understatement…not only do we get our main actor for Zenkaiger, we got the voice actors as well! If you’re a fan of Toku and anime, get your seatbelts and strap in, because your minds will be blown.
hi! so… i can’t find this blog. like, at all. i’ve gone through my activity, i’ve tried one dash instead of two, i’ve tried accessing while not logged in… and i can’t find them? either way:
tbh dont really know whats going on w tuc s2 lol
i joined the crew of people who wrote like, love letter fics to their city (though i will be back to do it again bc i’m a romantic about this place lol). so here is jalex in austin !
title and inspo from the ungodly number of times i listened to don’t come down by the maine. thank you to literally rian dawson on a podcast for getting me to sit down and finally listen to all of lovely little lonely lol
i don’t mention the name of specific places for the sake of allowing you to kinda picture whatever you want while reading this thing but if you’re curious, the boys are seeing a show at this restaurant/venue called stubb’s (the indoor part of the venue which i’m not sure if they ever actually played but they DID play the outdoor bit in like 2011 or something).
feel free to come chat w me about austin or the couple of other places i halfway mention if you wanna. i love my city w my whole little heart and miss dancing and singing at shows
here it is on ao3
Watching Alex watch a show is probably Jack’s favorite view in the world.
He’s traveled around the world more times than he can keep track of at this point. Watched the sunrise over a few different oceans and sunsets over crowds of thousands singing along to words Alex scratched out into journals over a decade earlier. He’s watched meteor showers and solar eclipses and yet none of them hold a candle to the smile he can see on Alex’s face as he looks back at him from the crowd in this tiny, packed room.
the emotional whiplash of discovering that of the bands you can find from your youth, the one you remember being really actually good is, like, on the level of solidly middling liz phair album cuts, and the one you never listened to sober fuckin slaps
“Brother, you’re becoming predictable.”
Thor crouches down next to Loki who is twitching on the ground, held in place, immobile, by the obedience disk he had attached to the back of his shoulder, just in case the need to manage him had arose. And, it has.
“I trust you, you betray me, round and round—” Thor’s smile drops, and he watches in horror as the blood vessels visible across only half of Loki’s face start to fade from a heated purple into blue, snaking over its entirety, like sharp folds of marquina marble.
Loki’s eyes widen slightly, and his mouth opens in an attempt to speak, though he doesn’t manage any sound except a quickly cut-off choke. He continues convulsing, and Thor averts his gaze over to Loki’s hands, palms partially gloved, only to find the same shades of blue bleeding through, like cracks in his skin; glistening cracks with a silvery outline that doesn’t manage to conceal what those exact blues mean to Loki. Or what they mean to Thor.
Those, as much as Thor wills to think it so, despite the colour, are not the natural markings of Jotun. He has fought Jotnar, and for all he’d been told of Loki being a frost giant he had been under the impression that even small for one, he at least looked as they did.
The fissures run, outlines in silvery blue, to the tips of his fingers, Thor notes, and they are denser and coalesce through the centres of the palms and the areas directly under the cheekbones, from whence they spiral out.
They also slip under his sleeves and neckline, and Thor refuses to assume anything further than he can see; he refuses to imagine the rest of his brother’s skin divided in a mosaic of pales and blues, a harried patchwork of scars messily painted on, to imagine it a signifier of suffering passed, but also as a reminder infused into his very being. That Loki had been— that he is broken. Thor refuses.
But he has lived a millennia and a half through battles —albeit most on smaller scales than inter-realm warfare— but he immediately knows.
He can recognize torture.
And he can recognize magic.
And Thor refuses to think what combination of physical and psychological stress could do this to Loki of all people. Loki. The Loki he’d known his whole life to be the most stable, persevering and reserved person in mind. The same who would joke and run his mouth and cause mischief but also the brother he trusted to always be at his side. The Loki he’d pitch to be an unbreakable companion, both in mind and heart, whose mastery of seiðr and knives, however unconventional, were indicative of his strength, his control, his pride.
And now Thor doesn’t even know why or for how long Loki has concealed this fractured form from him— he doesn’t know if Loki would have ever told him freely. Or if this too would’ve been another family secret carefully constructed to keep him in the dark, to mark him as untrustworthy to know. Another silent battle, locked away.
“You’ll always be a liar, Loki,” Thor concludes, disappointed, knowing what he has said to be true, for who else but a coward would hide something like this? Something Thor may have at a time been able to have helped with, but now has no information nor empathy to spare, not for him.
Thor stands, turning his back to the alarm in Loki’s eyes, the slight shake of his head as if trying to refute the truth Thor can see with his own eyes.
He’s too hurt and angry at another of Loki’s deceptions to care about anything right now. He wants to go to Asgard and salvage what he can of the people he knows, who he trusts wouldn’t conceal themselves behind falsities, especially those of being alright when so much is wrong.
Thor holds down on the remote in his hand, releasing the obedience disk’s hold on Loki, so that he may recast whatever illusion he no doubt wants to shield himself with, and he walks away, towards the ship.
Thor regrets not waiting till he was further away to relieve him of the pain when Loki’s ragged breathing breaks into voice behind him, and what he’d seen of Loki’s hands flash through his mind’s eye: cracks across his slender fingers and soft palms, cobalt streaks spreading around his wrist, which no doubt grow stronger rather than fainter further up the arm, likely another focal point for the corruption marks at the shoulder, the largest swirls emerging through the base of his sternum pierced through to covet both his back and chest in slivered crevices giving the illusion of shattered glass, another centrepoint a hairs-width above his hips on each side, rifts of blue emerging from the space between the lower thigh and knee in both directions, cracks curling around his feet from the roof of the ankle like vines. And, of course, the jagged cuts of blue he’d seen across his face.
At the same time he also sees his brother as he’s known him for centuries, whatever he’d show of his entire body always unmarked, the same facial structure, the same bony wrists and hair and softness— but now he doubts how much of that, if any of it, was real.
Thor closes his eyes hard to hold back the welling tears, as if anything Loki says can be a half-decent attempt to justify— as if any reason could ever be worth forgiveness for dismissively concealing something like this, which has impacted all of him enough for his own magic to taint his body in such a way of defense, to have pieced together whatever parts of him it could, and decide to hold him together so desperately under the distress he so evidently faced alone.
Loki speaks, barely loud enough to make it to Thor’s ears over the sound of the dimming alarms as he walks, almost as if Loki’s words are first and foremost for himself, as if he is the one who needs the comfort of them, and Thor a mere spectator.
“My skin was already a lie; I just added a few words of my own to it.”
Thor’s heart shutters and he feels his resolve crumbling. He ignores the pain in his chest and keeps walking away.