#And to think... they almost teamed up...

[someslothcheese]

Cobblemon sillies!!!

"Chilled is the real Mario fan," "Did he win an award?"

I was watching Squeex play Cobblemon and realized the two of them were very similar after that message so I drew them :]

I didn't transport a lot of my 2022~ art so I guessed at my colours/design for Chilled. Shoes were just me having fun.

Both are charmers who steal from their friends, funny and charismatic, Mario fans, gloat about some award they don't think they deserve, play up the bit and are people pleasers...

The only difference is their height😭

[kensatou]

why are you as a man smiling like that at your temporary teammate who the nhl ships you with....

[vaguely-concerned]

do you think that when rook stumbles out of the fade prison and through the eluvian to safety, there's a moment of everyone standing around in joyous (and probably exhausted) disbelief, where lucanis meets their gaze and recognizes the look of tremulous, hesitant uncertainty in their eyes -- that tentativeness of someone who feels they stand on the threshold of madness and one wrong move can send them over, the terror of something finally breaking apart in your head in a way that can never come back together and be whole again; the helpless is this truly happening? is this real? are you really here? confusion that verges on pleading. (the last time they saw him, he was dead. the last time they lost someone, their mind fractured around it for weeks, months, to spare them the knowledge, and they couldn't tell. until they could, and by then it was all too late. how could you know it's not all happening again? how could you not fear that it might be?)

yeah, lucanis recognizes that look immediately and with an instinctive visceral wave of empathy. because it's how he's felt so many times looking at them. anyway. anyone ever think about isabela's comment that lucanis looks at rook like he's afraid they're a fever dream. me neither

[s0fter-sin]

ghost who was chemically castrated by roba and soap who wants to help him to regain his sexual autonomy

nsfw, angst, roba, unnegotiated unsafe but consensual gun play, hopeful ending

💀🧼

ghost walks like it hangs low.

there’s a tilt to his hips and a spread in his thighs and johnny’s never been able to stop staring.

and ghost’s never asked him to.

he knows he’s seen him; he’s not exactly discreet. he swears he’s even seen him cock his hips out before to give him a better view. but he always pulls back just as they toe the line; verbal cold water on the tentative heat they almost can’t help but spark when they’re together.

it’s never a no; johnny’s not so selfish of a cunt that he’d push when he knows he isn’t welcome. it’s always a reluctance; an “i wish i could,” never in so many words. an open ended “but…” as ghost circles the reason without ever actually saying it. johnny knows it’s something personal, something more than a difference in rank could ever excuse.

so he backs off when ghost does, jokes instead of flirts and holds his breath through the agonising wait until ghost lets him in close again. waits to know if he’ll let him close again.

it’s almost anticlimactic, the end of their dance; his delicate steps and looping logic to work out why bulldozed as ghost comes out and says one random night, “i can’t fuck.”

it’s not bitter. it doesn’t grate coming out of his throat; he doesn’t spit it like it’s something to be ashamed, not twisted with insecurity as if it’s an accusation by an ex.

it’s a statement of fact.

“you can’t fuck,” johnny echoes anyway because even if it is the reason, the big why… it still doesn’t really answer anything.

“i can’t get it up,” he elaborates, this horrid blankness in his eyes like he’s reading from a script. “whatever you’re looking for, whatever you want- i can’t give it to you.”

johnny just looks at him, the chill air prickling his skin. “right,” he nods calmly. “because my interest in you starts and ends with your dick.”

that blank calm shatters. “johnny…” he warns.

“do you really think i’m that shallow?” he cuts in, curing himself for the way his voice breaks but he never thought ghost would think so low of him; that this whole time, ghost’s thought that’s the only thing he wants from him. “like i’d take you for a ride ‘n just drop you?”

“there’s a difference between not gettin’ it for one night and never gettin’ it at all,” ghost growls, turning his back on him to lean against the edge of the roof. his shoulders heave and the anger seeps from him in one long breath. “it’s not a hitch, johnny. not a performance issue or ptsd or whatever the fuck you’re thinkin’. it’s permanent. irreversible.”

irreversible.

johnny stops, cold creeping up his limbs and dousing his defensive anger. ghost is many things and when it comes to his words, chief amongst them all is deliberate. he didn’t say it’s unfixable. incurable.

irreversible.

johnny buries his selfish hurt and scuffs his boots, an unobtrusive warning of movement, and comes up beside him; just enough distance between them to catch their breaths. he leans back against the ledge and looks over the opposite side of the roof at the dark sky.

“mexico,” he murmurs. not an accusation. not even really a question but ghost collapses in on himself anyway; sinking into his crossed arms digging into the ledge.

“mexico,” he agrees just as quietly. “‘pparently, roba found it more entertaining to let me keep it but- cut the cords. more demeaning that way; cock’s gone, at least you don’t feel the urge. don’t have to look at the fuckin’ thing hang there when nothin’ fuckin’ works.

“it’s not ‘bout how i see you, johnny,” ghost promises and it’s almost apologetic. “but you like sex. eventually, you’ll want it. and i can’t give it to you. easier to just… not let it get to that point.”

johnny’s jaw flexes. everything in him wants to reject it, wants to protest that something as trivial as an orgasm is more important to him than ghost.

but he also knows words are useless here.

they stand there looking out into the gathering dark, tense silence hanging between them, and the only thing johnny knows is if he isn’t careful, he could lose the one person he cares about most.

💀🧼

ghost’s been uneasy since his abrupt confession.

he knows it was sudden, borderline cruel to dump his shit on johnny with no warning but he just couldn’t take it anymore; couldn’t take the back and forth when he knew it would never go anywhere, couldn’t take johnny’s hope when he knew he’d have to watch it twist into disgust and pity.

into disappointment.

he figures that’s the end of it; there’ll be no more flirting now, no more staring or heated looks, no more teasing him by spreading his knees out just to see the flash of hunger in his eyes. the control he felt playing with johnny knowing it was welcome, just because he could- he’ll never feel that again. not now that johnny knows the truth.

then he steps into his room to find johnny laying naked on his bed.

he’s not spread out like an offering, not throwing him some cheap sultry glance as he plays with himself. he’s not even hard; his cock limp over the cradle of his balls, his legs bent loosely together, arms under his head as if he’s settling down for the night.

ghost sighs and shuts the door behind him. “johnny…”

“i know,” johnny says and it’s gentle; not cutting him off, just getting his attention. “just… hear me out?”

there’s nothing else to say. there’s nothing johnny can say or do to fix his violated body. but ghost still crosses his arms and leans back against the door like he can anyway.

johnny pushes himself up and off the bed, closing the distance between them but still giving him enough space to breathe; to open the door behind him, to escape.

“i can never know what was taken from you,” he starts and ghost’s fingers dig into his arms. “i can never know what it means to you. and i can never get it back.”

he doesn’t break eye contact and slowly lowers himself to his knees. “but i can give you something else.”

“you?” ghost guesses flatly and as much as it warms his blood, as much as he’s imagined having johnny look up at him just like this… it’s still not enough to offset the sickening swoop in his gut when his cock doesn’t so much as twitch.

“i’m a nice bonus,” johnny purrs but his smile remains gentle. “but i’m not the main event.”

he lifts a hand and ghost readies to smack it away when he reaches for his thigh holster instead of his belt. he flicks the closing strap open and pulls his handgun, his favourite, free.

“you told me you can’t fuck,” he murmurs, popping out the clip. he taps it against the side and loads it back in with a practiced hit with the butt of his palm. “but fucking isn’t all there is.”

“johnny, what…” ghost starts just to cut himself off as johnny thumbs off the safety and loads a round into the chamber.

“you trust me?” johnny asks and it’s as loaded as the gun in his hand.

good then, that ghost knows the answer. “always have.”

johnny’s smile blooms with warmth, with pride, and it chases away any reluctance he could possibly feel. he lets him take his hands in his, wrapping them around the gun with his finger on the trigger guard. he brings the barrel up beside his temple, holding it steady before his hands fall away.

until it’s only ghost between him and a bullet.

johnny’s hands go to his belt, his movements slow enough for ghost to stop him long before he reaches his cock, forever hanging limp in his pants. but he just rubs the muzzle along his temple, almost nuzzling him with the gun as he pulls down his jeans and boxers.

he waits for johnny to take him in hand, maybe try and pantomime a handy, and his hips almost recoil at the thought.

but he doesn’t try to touch him.

instead, he takes his wrist and guides the gun to sit in front of his cock; angling it to follow the same slight curve he has then holds his hands behind his back like he’s standing at attention. he splays his knees wide, sinking deeper and ghost sucks in a harsh breath as johnny ducks under the gun; his eyes locked on his as he curls his tongue under the barrel and brings it into his mouth.

it takes every ounce of will he has to not let his hand shake around the gun as johnny gives it the slowest, messiest blowjob he’s ever seen; slowly rising higher on his knees, guiding the gun up with him as if it’s his cock hardening. his cheeks hollow as he sucks, tongue laving up the barrel and flicking out to play with the muzzle like a cockhead, moaning with every bob of his head until saliva drips off the metal and makes a mess of his chin.

ghost’s never felt so powerful as he does watching johnny hang off the end of his gun; watching his cock harden and drool between his legs without a single touch, knowing he could pull the trigger at any time and johnny would not only let him but he’d thank him.

the thought breaks him from his paralysis, drawing the gun from his lips and johnny immediately stills; rolling his wide eyes up like he’s trying to check on him. ghost pushes every ounce of heat into his gaze and cocks the gun to the side, slowly pushing it back in until johnny’s lips meet the trigger guard.

johnny whines as he fucks his mouth, thrusting his hips along with each long drag like the gun is an extension of his body; almost too rough as tears prick his eyes and his lips redden and bruise but he never asks him to stop; his cock leaking a puddle on the floor beneath him.

“you gonna cum for me, johnny?” ghost croons, holding back a groan when just his voice is enough to make him shiver. “gonna cum with my fucking gun down your throat?”

he gives a broken whimper, as close to an agreement as he can make, and ghost crowds in close. he grips the base of his mohawk, wrenching his head back until his throat is flush to the front of his thigh. johnny lets out a choked cry, eyes rolling back and he doesn’t hold back as he brutally fucks his face; feeling the bulge of his gun in his throat against his leg.

“come on, johnny; you wanna be my good little holster?” he growls and makes sure he’s watching as his finger moves from the guard to the trigger. “then take my fucking load.”

he forces the gun as deep as he can and johnny gags, his shaking body locking up as he cums untouched; painting the floor and ghost’s boot, cock twitching and pulsing hard enough to bump against his belly and leave a string of cum threading from it to his cock.

ghost watches him spasm and moan, his throat convulsing around the gun and a heated knot of satisfaction tightens in his gut; so close to the memory of an orgasm, he’s almost dizzy with it.

johnny slumps forward, his hands slipping from behind his back, and ghost quickly flicks the safety back on and drops to his knees. he slides the gun away and pulls johnny forward to collapse into his chest, taking his weight off his knees; his whole body trembling with aftershocks.

“you’re crazy, johnny,” ghost whispers, awed, and feels him smile against his chest.

“aye,” he agrees, voice raspy from his gun scraping up his throat. “how else am i supposed to prove that i mean it?”

ghost tries not to tense up; tries not to let hope sink its cruel roots into his chest. “mean it?”

johnny pulls back, his cheeks still flushed and sticky with spilled tears. “i’m yours, ghost; in any and every way you’ll have me,” he promises. “sex or no sex. this can never happen again and i’ll still never stop wanting you. it doesn’t matter to me as much as you do. you’re everythin’ to me, ghost. not your body; not what you can give me. just you.”

a knot crowds in his throat. “and you needed to deep throat my pistol to prove that?” he deflects.

and just like always, johnny lets him. “worked, didn’t it?” he winks. “you fucked my brains out.”

ghost rolls his eyes to hide the softness he knows is flooding them and helps johnny up and gets him into his shower; cleaning him of the sweat and cum and spit covering his body.

that ghost covered his body in.

his chest hitches at the reminder as he strips himself down to a single layer and all but falls into bed, tugging johnny in after him when he hesitates just slightly at the edge of the bed; splaying his still naked body over him, sated and loose.

“i really do mean it,” johnny whispers into the crook of his neck sometime later; when their breaths have settled and synced.

ghost sweeps his fingers up and down the length of his spine, skin he’s never seen. skin he now knows every inch of. “i know you do,” he whispers back.

and for once, he thinks it might be enough.

[viktorarcanedeservesbetter]

tbh I don’t think therapy would have fixed Jayce and Viktor lmao. maybe would have softened their self-destructive tendencies but there’s no fixing that co-dependent relationship. Heimerdinger Mel and Sky are told “yeah, I can help treat their individual depressions but nothing is gonna reduce their co-dependency. I’m pretty sure separating them makes it a lot worse for not only them but much worse for everyone else. for everyone’s safety I suggest they’re not allowed to be more than a buildings length away from each other and even that is pushing it.” That therapist then quits on the spot cause now they’ve literally seen everything.

It’s like that scene in Brooklyn nine nine where all the physiatrists are observing and talking with Gina but instead it’s a whole crew of therapists and neurologists and physiologists trying to find out how these two men literally mind-melded together. They go to couples therapy but it’s literally just individual therapy held together because why tf not it’s the only way to get them to go.

[violent138]

Batfamily member's civilian identity becomes some serial killer's target because it fits some profile. Cue said murderer going after this member of the Batfamily, earning a very shocked and mildly exasperated set of swear words and then getting their ass kicked. The Batfamily member doesn't even bother calling the cops, just tosses the would be killer in the back of their car (which has bloody gloves in the seat and weird files on people), leading the murderer to conclude they're in the presence of a much worse serial killer.

Tldr: Outsider POV fic where a Batfamily member earns the undying adoration of an actual murderer and it's a slow, convoluted process to getting the evidence to arrest them while also protecting their secret identity.

[fishwolfcrow]

they broke up 😔

[turtleblogatlast]

One of the earliest examples of Leo’s “I’ll do my own thing to accomplish our goal without discussing it with my team first” is in episode one. It’s super, super quick, and ultimately inconsequential, but it subtly sets up a great precedent that I think is very interesting.

When the boys need to grab the medallion from Splinter without Splinter noticing, Raph, Mikey, and Donnie huddle together with Raph taking the lead in trying to devise a plan to get the mystic device. Meanwhile, Leo slinks away and grabs the device by clocking the situation (by knowing his father well enough to predict his actions - something he does with each family member multiple times in the series) and making a move on his own.

It works out perfectly fine, and is ultimately the best move, and it’s honestly okay that he didn’t consult everyone for something so small when it’s such a non issue to get it, but it nicely sets up how this tends to go in the series, including how it goes in the movie.

To be honest episode one is actually really good at setting up a lot of things for each character in the long run, this is just one example that caught my attention, as small and unassuming as it is.

[alexxuun]

Arcane really is the “they fail to do good” show, huh?

[your-stranger-halfblood-things]

Edwin definitely uses the fact that three people like him to get things done around the place:

Edwin: Oh no, I spilled something, if only my favorite boyfriend was here to help me

Cat King, Monty, Charles *appear and start fighting over who gets to clean the spill*

Edwin, flipping on a pair of sunglasses: Now now, boys, there's many spills to go around

Edwin *knocks over a teacup with grin on his face*

[pipperoo]

potential hatchetfield characters that could appear in la dee dah dah day (i don’t have any expectations that they’ll do any of these, just thought some of them were very silly)

Jaime: Shelia or Sherman Young

Corey: Solomon Lauter or Frank Pricely

Lauren: Linda Monroe, Brooke, or Madame Iris

Jeff: Barry Swift, Skud, Gabe, or Chumby

Will: Max Jägerman or Rudolph

[centralsaints]

I need to see all the nyx kids we have in game in the same place. without their mother. I think it would be fun.

[wassupmygays]

god its so cool and Important how. despite all the bright colors and flash fabrics and jewelry, all of the socs are really just carbon copies of each other. theyve all got the same base, just recolored like a character selection page on a cheap game.

all the guys have their crisp, clean, bright shirt, their nice stiff pants, belt, and white shoes. add in some rings and maybe a chain or somethin, and thats about it. add on their matching letterman jackets, and theyre practically identical.

all of the girls have their pretty dresses and styled hair, but thats really it. their dresses all match the popular style at the time, their hair is perfectly placed and not really Theirs. theyre all styled to be popular, not individual.

and they're all so colorful! because they can afford new fabrics and bright colors and expensive dry cleaners to wash them, though they're careful not to get dirty. theyre so bright and colorful but so painfully similar

contrast that with the greasers, who are all relatively in the same color palette. theyre in basic t-shirts, and denims, and leathers. work clothes. theres no split based on gender, ace wears pants with the guys. they are all down in the dirt and grimey, they all have to move and work in these clothes.

but theres so much personality in their outfits! even just the little things, like jewelry or headbands, tells so much about each person. ace's headband is a scrap from the shirt on her back, showing her resourcefulness. darry's flannel and work pants showing his grit and hard work. the patches decorating steve's jacket, showing his passions and the things he fights for. Johnny's vest showing his heritage, and his too-big clothes showing how hes got hand-me-downs. two-bit's tattoos, shown proudly and boldly on his bare arm for the whole world to see.

the greasers might all look 'the same' at first glance because theyre all in grays and dirty whites and denims. but god there is so much more heart and character and diversity in their outfits and therefore in their lives simply because theyre not worrying about sticking in a top spot of society. theyre not worrying about individuality being a weakness to tear them down. theyve got much bigger things to think about. theyre so free in that sense. free to be themselves, free to be with each other and support each other. because thats all they got; their hearts and each other.

the socs dont have that connection. they dont have that chance to be vulnerable and share a part of themselves so constantly. they may live where the grass is greener but are they really so much better off, if they can never truly show themselves?

[thisisahyperfixationnow]

Hi what the fuck

[cent-scratchnsniff]

it was just going to be a few warmup doodles but then she infected the rest of the page like the ever eternal and spreading spores. hod!!! hod. hod :)

[pagesofkenna]

this chapter made me so emo about Keiichi. I still don't really get what his deal is but for him to start out as a bully and a petty rival, and then this??

boy loves his hometown so much that he literally has no greater ambition than to live and die in it. meanwhile his brother has his sights on the NHL; Rou is aiming for the Olympics. is it heartwarming that Keiichi treasures his home so much that he can't see anything beyond it, or sad that he has hundreds of photos of the same factory smokestack that he's already planning to die staring at??

I don't know. but Noda could have easily made Keiichi the hotshot rival who thinks he deserves the best in the world, but instead he made Keiichi a big fish dreaming only of his small pond.

(from Dogsred ch. 28)