I Am So Tired Lol - Tumblr Posts

It's 2am and my humour is broken but this is the funniest thing I've seen this week so I'm sharing it with all of you

They're the same picture

It’s a good concept, but Anti/Rage form comes from Sora not only turning into a Heartless, but also the fact that Sora is way too skilled in repressing/ignoring emotions. And when he does give in and let’s himself be something other than the goofy screw-up of the group, he always always gives into his rage. Don’t get me wrong, I do love the idea of Vanitas trying to protect Sora and doing so through Rage form, but Rage form just adds another layer to Sora’s character when it comes solely from him.

Hey uh

I’m halfway through plotting out Stellar Wind Final Mix and

I think Rage Form is Vanitas??

There’s a moment in Birth By Sleep after Ven and Van fight that shatters the x-blade and their hearts shatter, and that’s the moment that Xehanort drags his pieces into a vessel in KH3 for the Real Org, but. What happens when they’re returned? They have to return to Ven’s heart, right?

The one now inside of Sora?

The hero was halfway home when they got the call.

“I’m sorry,” the person on the other end said, voice wet with tears, and the hero knew.

They knew that tone of voice, they knew this sinking in their stomach. They knew.

Their phone shattered against the ground, fingers numb.

Their friend was dead.

Again. Again, again, again again–

“Fuck,” the hero muttered, heart clenching. “Fuck.”

They were crying by the time the villain appeared next to them, and it took everything in the hero not to punch them.

“I don’t know why you do this to yourself,” the villain said, eyeing their tears.

“What, love?”

The villain tipped their head slightly. “No. Love things you can't keep.”

The hero was sure it would kill them this time, the heartbreak. They had thought after enough centuries, enough people loved, enough funerals attended, death would be an old friend and not a bullet wound. They had hoped it would hurt less.

But it still hurt, and death was chronic.

“What, you expect me to be you? Cold, killing people for fun?”

The villain raised an eyebrow at their tone.

“I don’t kill people for fun.”

“Don’t you?”

“No,” the villain shrugged a shoulder. “I just don’t care if there are casualties. Besides, not everyone is a good person in the first place. I’m doing the world a favor, half the time”

“How can you say something like that,” the hero hissed. “Do you hear yourself? Do you hear how awful you sound right now?”

The villain gave the hero a long look.

“Hero. You fight the worst people this world has to see for a living, and you’re standing here saying they deserve a second chance?”

“Yes,” the hero snapped. “I am.”

“You are a bleeding heart,” the villain observed. “It’s amazing you haven’t turned into me.”

“You and I, we are not the same.”

The villain half-smiled. “Aren’t we?”

“Shut up,” the hero looked away, chest tight. “These people, these lives, are so precious, so, so fragile, and you take them away like it is nothing.”

They were shaking, and they weren’t sure if it was rage or fear or something else. They couldn’t stop. The hero wondered if this was what death felt like. If this is what it felt like to have your body betray you, longing for the ground and solitude of a grave.

“I am not going to stand here and debate morality with you when you are breaking apart at the seams.”

“I’m fine,” the hero managed. They willed themself to stop crying.

“Death is inevitable, and you are hiding from the truth of that.”

The hero’s throat closed before they could respond.

“Your friend is dead, and no matter how much you fight, you will not win the war against death a second time. Do you hear me? You and me, we already won. We are time’s children. We will be here longer than ‘here’ will be. Death has no claim to us, and yet you keep pushing, and pushing, and pushing, because you cannot bear the weight of this gift.”

The hero’s knees gave out, and the villain caught them.

“Stop letting the guilt of being alive break you.”

“I don’t want this anymore.” It was a pitiful thing as it fell from their mouth. Something broken, worn out and tired.

The villain rested a hand on the back of the hero’s neck. “You cannot undo this any more than you could the last time you tried. I promise.”

It almost sounded like an apology.

“I am tired of loving precious, fleeting things.”

“So don’t,” the villain said easily.

The hero closed their eyes. “How?”

The villain hummed, voice soft. “Love me for a while. Until the burden of existence fades. I won’t leave.”

“You say that like loving you is easy.”

“It isn’t. But you’ve done it for centuries–what’s a few more?”

“You kill people.”

“No. I just don’t save them, and I don’t carry the guilt of not saving them, because it isn’t my job.”

“Yeah.”

“It isn’t your job either.”

The hero had known that, centuries ago. Somewhere along the way of funerals and eulogies, it had been hard to keep believing it wasn’t their fault when they were always the one left alive.

So they had stopped.

“Promise you won’t leave?”

“I couldn’t leave you if I tried.”

“Liar.”

“Yeah,” the villain agreed. “But never to you.”

Just like the hero had known it to be true when they were both fifteen, mortal, and wild, the hero knew it was true now.

And so, like every time this had happened before, across centuries and continents and deaths, the villain brushed away the hero’s tears; and they went home.

beeduo + Michael for 44 please?

AYYYY this is a fun combo! I went back on how exactly the pairing would end up, but this is ultimately what I decided on :] Sorry that it’s kinda short :[

Prompts from here!

Warnings for fear, slight swearing Word Count ~650

------My Little Boy------

Tubbo and Ranboo reached the edge of one of the many crimson forests in the Nether, sighing in relief as they spotted a portal up ahead.

"Hell yeah! It's too hot for this, Boo"

"I know, Bo." Ranboo gave his platonic husband a smile and placed a hand on his shoulder. "But we've got all the blaze rods and everything else we needed. We shouldn't have to come back for a while."

Tubbo hummed in response and they began to walk toward the portal, the purple glow casting an odd coloring on the surrounding area. They stepped in, feeling the magic of the portal as they were transported back home.

They walked into their house, Tubbo heading ahead of Ranboo to organize the things they'd gathered.

"I'll go check on Michael while you do that, then." Ranboo gave Tubbo a small smile and walked up a flight of stairs, navigating their home and coming to stop by his son's door. He knocked on it softly. "Michael? We're home!"

All he heard from the other side of the door was the sound of a soft crying, and Ranboo felt his pearl shift as he felt himself teleport directly into the room, looking around as his paternal instincts screamed at him to help.

The problem was, he couldn't see his son.

Panic gripped his chest. Where was his son?!?

And then he turned, and he saw a small figure on his son's desk. It took longer than he'd like to admit to realize the following: the figure was alive, the figure was his son, his son looked terrified.

Ranboo stepped forward numbly, though he stopped in his tracks as his son scrambled away from him. His son was scared. His son was scared of him.

It twisted something unpleasantly in his chest, but he slowly walked forward, hands out placatingly. He knelt in front of the desk to be more eye-level with the tiny zombified piglin.

"Hey, Michael." He gave the kid as gentle a smile as he could manage and tried to ignore how his child cowered away from him with a sniffle. “What happened, bud?”

And then his son was stammering and, although the words were rushed and stumbling and didn’t make much sense, Ranboo gathered that “the green man” had done this, or had at least had something to do with this. He felt the anger bubbling in his stomach, yet he kept a gentle smile as he coaxed the little boy into his hands.

“Let’s go see Papa, okay? We’ll figure out how to fix this, I promise.” His heart softened and twisted simultaneously as he saw Michael prepare himself to step onto his hands. “That’s it,” he gave an encouraging smile, “you’re very brave.”

His little boy gave him a big smile at that, and fully shifted into Ranboo’s hands. Ranboo could feel his son trembling as he straightened himself, standing carefully and murmuring reassurances to his son, his little MIchael. 

Fury churned in his gut as he slowly carried his boy downstairs to his husband. He paused outside of the storage room. He looked down at his trembling son and held him close to his chest, shushing him gently at the panicked noises.

“Are you ready to see Papa?” The little boy gave a shaky nod, though he was obviously nervous and still (quite understandably) afraid of everything around him. “We can wait if you need to.”

“No.” The piglin shook his head, looking determined as he looked up at the Enderman hybrid. “Wanna see Papa...”

“You’re being so brave,” Ranboo murmured to his pride and joy, “I love you.”

“Love you, Dad.”

And Ranboo gave another reassuring smile before knocking on the door, his husband answering and looking to Michael with wide eyes.

Oh yeah, there’d be hell to pay.