findingteagin

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At the 1998 Grammy Awards, Pavarotti was too ill to sing Nessun Dorma. Aretha Franklin filled in on 20 minutes notice.  This is the result.

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THOSE ARE BACK VOWELS NOT WIDELY-SPACED BOOBS I S2G TUMBLR

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Just Friends

superwonderbat “totally platonic” cuddling

Ao3

Summ: It’s totally platonic. They’re just friends. Good friends. Great friends, who may or may not have some less than platonic feelings simmering below the surface.

It’s totally platonic, Clark thinks, with an arm around Bruce’s shoulders. So what if he is touching Bruce, it’s not like it means anything. He’s a tactile guy, and Bruce trusts him enough to tolerate the contact. Bruce doesn’t shrug him off, doesn’t even shoot a masked glare in Clark’s direction, and Clark can’t help the pleased feeling that settles somewhere in his chest. There’s nothing more to it.

It’s totally platonic, the way he spars with Diana, a smirk stretch across his lips. The way his heart flutters when she pins him to the mat, it’s nothing to be concerned about. Probably just adrenaline racing through his veins. What else could it be? He definitely doesn’t throw the next round to get Diana to pin him to the floor again.

It’s totally platonic, Diana thinks as she presses a kiss to Clark’s cheek in greeting. The rest of the League, including Bruce, watch on, but she doesn’t care. The kiss is of friendship, nothing else, and Clark doesn’t seem to mind. The pink tinge to his cheeks must be from the attention, she thinks and plans to avoid any further attempts. Until the start of next week’s meeting, where, far from embarrassed, he is the one to greet her with a kiss.

It’s totally platonic, the way she stays by Bruce’s bedside in the Watchtower infirmary, a silent vigil with Bruce’s cool hand settled in her own. Clark comes and goes, though he’s hardly the best at sitting still and waiting. No one questions it, or her, not even Bruce when he awakes to find her still holding his hand. She’s from another place, another time, and they accept she might be a little different, care a little more openly. Bruce gives her hand a faint squeeze, a thank you, before dozing again with a soft smile on his lips. Diana thinks nothing of it and intertwines her fingers with Bruce’s.

It’s totally platonic, Bruce thinks, catching sight of Diana as she waltzes into the ballroom, the split up the thigh of her dress showing a gorgeous stretch of golden skin. It’s strictly professional, an appraisal of her uniform, so to speak. Tonight he needs her to be inconspicuous, or at least as inconspicuous as a woman of her beauty can be. It’s business, not pleasure, though Bruce can’t deny the rush of emotion when Diana greets Bruce with a kiss. Or when one of Diana’s hands slips between his, the other settled over his chest, ready to dance. It’s platonic, despite what the other guests and paparazzi might think (or what Diana was more than willing to let them think, with her hand slipping lower and lower down Bruce’s back), simply platonic.

It’s platonic when he feels a warmth settling in his chest as he watches Clark scoop an eager Nightwing into his arms, a tight hug in greeting that never seems to lose its childlike joy, even all these years later. It’s nothing new, their antics or the feeling it leaves Bruce with, it’s common whenever he thinks about the family. His family. The boys, Cass, Alfred, even Stephanie, and Diana and Cla- Bruce shakes his head. When did he come to think of Diana and Clark as family? Maybe that knock to the head on patrol last night was harder than he thought? Whatever it is, it’s nothing. It’s totally platonic, he insists, they’re just friends.

And it’s totally platonic when, exhausted after another gruelling League mission, the Trinity escape to a private room, just the three of them. The other members don’t question it, they know there are some things that can only be shared within the triumvirate of leaders.

In Bruce’s room, where they usually end up, the world doesn’t feel so heavy. For a moment, drawn out for as long as they can, they share the weight between their shoulders, three pillars holding up the world instead of one.

It’s the quiet that they first notice. Even Clark finds the world quieter in here, the constant call of duty and danger and fear muted enough that he can think in peace. Peace is Bruce and Diana and him together, an island of their own. Peace is the calmness they bring, a silent understanding. Peace is the feel of them in his arms, embracing and embraced.

Bruce peels back the cowl, his sweat-dampened hair falling across his face. Diana brushes the locks back, her fingertips trailing along his cheekbone, a soft pink glow in her wake.

Clark settles on the comforter, watching Bruce’s body shake beneath Diana’s touch. It’s been too long, and if he was anywhere other than here, in their sanctuary, he’d curse himself for not noticing sooner. “Come here,” Clark says, arms held out wide in a welcoming call. Come here, he says, but it sounds like come home. Maybe it is.

Silently, they join him on the bed, arms and legs and hearts and capes tangling together into one, a pile of heroes cuddling together atop the bed. There’s a sigh that escapes the three of them at once, contentment settling in their limbs. This is peace, if only for a moment, a comfort that only they can bring. Bruce nuzzles closer to Clark’s chest, his nose pressing firm against the S emblazoned there. Diana’s hand cups his jaw, her touch radiant and hopeful and warm, and Bruce melts against Clark’s chest a little more. Clark tightens his hold around his two teammates, companions, lov… Friends.

The bed is big enough for the three of them, Bruce had made sure of it. He always seems to know of these things, to make provisions for instances that haven’t yet occured. Diana thinks it’s his superpower. Clark knows that it is.

In each other’s arms, they are safe. What more can they ask for? A moment of safety, of comfort, if only just a moment, is more than any of them could ever hope for. They can’t spend long here, can’t hide from reality for more than a moment, but the moment spent together is more than enough.

No. It won’t ever be enough, but they won’t admit that. They’ll take all that they can, anything, because it’s more than they think they deserve.

It’s totally platonic, despite Hal’s jokes, despite what the rest of the League might think. It’s a reprieve, a way to ground them, tether themselves to one another so they don’t float away. It’s a victory in itself, defeating the battle of grief day after day, being here and being held and being loved.

Loved.

There’s no denying that. But it’s totally platonic, it has to be, because if it’s not…

If it’s not, they’re not sure what to do.

FIN

[findingteagin]

So the wonderful @forcearama commissioned me with the instruction to draw ‘Obi-Wan, Fancypants Duke of Mandalore’ and BOY DID I HAVE FUN.

So, here he is! And, if you’re wondering if the hilt on his cane (because of course he has a cane) is actually his lightsaber hilt, and whether said saber has been repurposed as a hidden weapon, YOU WOULD BE CORRECT. He’s swashbuckly. C:

[findingteagin]

Just Friends

superwonderbat “totally platonic” cuddling

Ao3

Summ: It’s totally platonic. They’re just friends. Good friends. Great friends, who may or may not have some less than platonic feelings simmering below the surface.

It’s totally platonic, Clark thinks, with an arm around Bruce’s shoulders. So what if he is touching Bruce, it’s not like it means anything. He’s a tactile guy, and Bruce trusts him enough to tolerate the contact. Bruce doesn’t shrug him off, doesn’t even shoot a masked glare in Clark’s direction, and Clark can’t help the pleased feeling that settles somewhere in his chest. There’s nothing more to it.

It’s totally platonic, the way he spars with Diana, a smirk stretch across his lips. The way his heart flutters when she pins him to the mat, it’s nothing to be concerned about. Probably just adrenaline racing through his veins. What else could it be? He definitely doesn’t throw the next round to get Diana to pin him to the floor again.

It’s totally platonic, Diana thinks as she presses a kiss to Clark’s cheek in greeting. The rest of the League, including Bruce, watch on, but she doesn’t care. The kiss is of friendship, nothing else, and Clark doesn’t seem to mind. The pink tinge to his cheeks must be from the attention, she thinks and plans to avoid any further attempts. Until the start of next week’s meeting, where, far from embarrassed, he is the one to greet her with a kiss.

It’s totally platonic, the way she stays by Bruce’s bedside in the Watchtower infirmary, a silent vigil with Bruce’s cool hand settled in her own. Clark comes and goes, though he’s hardly the best at sitting still and waiting. No one questions it, or her, not even Bruce when he awakes to find her still holding his hand. She’s from another place, another time, and they accept she might be a little different, care a little more openly. Bruce gives her hand a faint squeeze, a thank you, before dozing again with a soft smile on his lips. Diana thinks nothing of it and intertwines her fingers with Bruce’s.

It’s totally platonic, Bruce thinks, catching sight of Diana as she waltzes into the ballroom, the split up the thigh of her dress showing a gorgeous stretch of golden skin. It’s strictly professional, an appraisal of her uniform, so to speak. Tonight he needs her to be inconspicuous, or at least as inconspicuous as a woman of her beauty can be. It’s business, not pleasure, though Bruce can’t deny the rush of emotion when Diana greets Bruce with a kiss. Or when one of Diana’s hands slips between his, the other settled over his chest, ready to dance. It’s platonic, despite what the other guests and paparazzi might think (or what Diana was more than willing to let them think, with her hand slipping lower and lower down Bruce’s back), simply platonic.

It’s platonic when he feels a warmth settling in his chest as he watches Clark scoop an eager Nightwing into his arms, a tight hug in greeting that never seems to lose its childlike joy, even all these years later. It’s nothing new, their antics or the feeling it leaves Bruce with, it’s common whenever he thinks about the family. His family. The boys, Cass, Alfred, even Stephanie, and Diana and Cla- Bruce shakes his head. When did he come to think of Diana and Clark as family? Maybe that knock to the head on patrol last night was harder than he thought? Whatever it is, it’s nothing. It’s totally platonic, he insists, they’re just friends.

And it’s totally platonic when, exhausted after another gruelling League mission, the Trinity escape to a private room, just the three of them. The other members don’t question it, they know there are some things that can only be shared within the triumvirate of leaders.

In Bruce’s room, where they usually end up, the world doesn’t feel so heavy. For a moment, drawn out for as long as they can, they share the weight between their shoulders, three pillars holding up the world instead of one.

It’s the quiet that they first notice. Even Clark finds the world quieter in here, the constant call of duty and danger and fear muted enough that he can think in peace. Peace is Bruce and Diana and him together, an island of their own. Peace is the calmness they bring, a silent understanding. Peace is the feel of them in his arms, embracing and embraced.

Bruce peels back the cowl, his sweat-dampened hair falling across his face. Diana brushes the locks back, her fingertips trailing along his cheekbone, a soft pink glow in her wake.

Clark settles on the comforter, watching Bruce’s body shake beneath Diana’s touch. It’s been too long, and if he was anywhere other than here, in their sanctuary, he’d curse himself for not noticing sooner. “Come here,” Clark says, arms held out wide in a welcoming call. Come here, he says, but it sounds like come home. Maybe it is.

Silently, they join him on the bed, arms and legs and hearts and capes tangling together into one, a pile of heroes cuddling together atop the bed. There’s a sigh that escapes the three of them at once, contentment settling in their limbs. This is peace, if only for a moment, a comfort that only they can bring. Bruce nuzzles closer to Clark’s chest, his nose pressing firm against the S emblazoned there. Diana’s hand cups his jaw, her touch radiant and hopeful and warm, and Bruce melts against Clark’s chest a little more. Clark tightens his hold around his two teammates, companions, lov… Friends.

The bed is big enough for the three of them, Bruce had made sure of it. He always seems to know of these things, to make provisions for instances that haven’t yet occured. Diana thinks it’s his superpower. Clark knows that it is.

In each other’s arms, they are safe. What more can they ask for? A moment of safety, of comfort, if only just a moment, is more than any of them could ever hope for. They can’t spend long here, can’t hide from reality for more than a moment, but the moment spent together is more than enough.

No. It won’t ever be enough, but they won’t admit that. They’ll take all that they can, anything, because it’s more than they think they deserve.

It’s totally platonic, despite Hal’s jokes, despite what the rest of the League might think. It’s a reprieve, a way to ground them, tether themselves to one another so they don’t float away. It’s a victory in itself, defeating the battle of grief day after day, being here and being held and being loved.

Loved.

There’s no denying that. But it’s totally platonic, it has to be, because if it’s not…

If it’s not, they’re not sure what to do.

FIN

[findingteagin]

RDJ and his wife Susan are relationship goals (part 2)

I have a post with pics of Robert and Susan showing how absolutely adorable they are but I needed one with just gifs so here it is for your viewing pleasure. 😍

I mean…aren’t they just precious? 😍

[findingteagin]

Boys boys boys | Request week(ish) - 3/7

kiwisodaa: “Tony with his suit boots?”

[findingteagin]

Tip:

When it comes to stuff like racism, sexism, homophobia, etc, I’ve found it’s usually way better to think to yourself ‘I don’t want to be’ than ‘I’m not’.

I.e. if someone goes ‘that thing you just did is ableist’, instead of going ‘I’m not ableist, I don’t hate disabled people!’ it’s usually a lot better to go ‘I don’t want to be ableist, I should rethink what I’m doing/saying/etc in light of that fact’. Because that shifts your thinking so rather than jumping straight into denial and attempts to defend your character, you’re instead more inclined to look at how your actions could be misrepresenting your intentions. Or whether you’ve overlooked something, been callous, or acted in ignorance.

[findingteagin]

[findingteagin]

Scenes I need...

Peter Parker: -on meeting Loki, offers his hand- Hi, I’m Peter!

Loki: -shakes his hand- Loki of Asgard.

Peter: Aren’t you like…a bad guy?

Loki: It varies from moment to moment.

Peter: So like…on a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst evil imaginable, like…killing puppies, and one being I’ll spit on your hotdog…where are you right now?

Loki: …maybe a three?

Peter: Cool. Lemme know if it gets above a six.

Loki: -thinking- I like him.

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I found this gem on YouTube. Almost cried some thugs tears cause it’s so well edited. And I thought I would share. @thehomierobbstark @eriknutinthispoosy @kumkaniudaku @wawakanda-btch @wakanda-4evr @heyauntieeee

@killmongersgurl

(Let me know if you want to be untagged)

Video Credit: https://youtu.be/8xXHQd2Ilhk

[findingteagin]

lil matt damon SNAPPED

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To all my Pendulum readers:

I am going to revamp the versions of the characters in my Final Fantasy fanfiction to fit this webcomic. The name of the series will be titled ‘Monarchs of Eidolon’

some of the fanfiction will stick while other parts will be modified so to fit this new tale. 

Here is a screen shot of the two characters inspired by BAMF!Prompto and Ignis (still written as intersex).

Thoughts?

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People may be part of negative friendships, families, or communities who attack outsiders instead of being self-critical. They may be receiving encouragement to blame and scapegoat others. They may live within groups, relationships or families that do not tolerate the admission of mistakes, and that reinforce Supremacy ideologies about each other in order to maintain illusions of righteousness. This pressure, resulting in the action of collectively deflecting blame, does not mean that the person being blamed is abusive. In fact, it says nothing at all about that person, except that they are in turn being caused great pain for no reason. And in my mind, they have the right to resist that unilateral blame. In this way, group bullying is multiplicative of injustice, even though it is done in the name of nation, family, friendship, or distorted renditions of “loyalty.”

Sarah Schulman, Conflict is Not Abuse: Overstating Harm, Community Responsibility, and the Duty of Repair

In a comparison Schulman herself makes, the connections between fascist and nationalist movements and abusive peoples, and by extension cliques, are plentiful. This is not to say cliques are authoritarian or that all abusers are fledgling fascists, but that there are behaviors which run through ‘negative friendships’ (defined here as these toxic groups, not as a value judgment of individual friendships) which are wielded by nationalist and fascist groups.

[Source]

(via imaginedsoldier)

[findingteagin]

People from privileged groups, or who overlap with the groups society is designed to serve, have expectations that their complaints will be heard. Obviously white and bourgeois people are more likely to have their accusations taken seriously than the undocumented, poor, trans, and people of color, whether the accusations are Abuse or Conflict. So I think it is fair to extrapolate that identification with the power hierarchy and state apparatus would make bourgeois and white people feel more entitled to make overstated accusations and have fewer concerns that their access might not be justified ethically. The word “entitled” itself implies an expectation that one can demand something of others and have it be delivered. This includes accusations of Abuse when Conflict is actually what is occurring. So even with complicating those categories, accusations taken at face value without nuance are those most likely to reinforce existing power dynamics. This is especially true when the person being blamed is a non-citizen, a person of color, poor, trans, queer, HIV-positive, not a family member, etc. In this way, uniting around the accusation allows a group bonded in negative ways to enhance its own status.

Sarah Schulman, Conflict is Not Abuse: Overstating Harm, Community Responsibility, and the Duty of Repair

[Source]

(via imaginedsoldier)

[findingteagin]

that’s so disrespectful.

[findingteagin]

Sometimes when I talk about not wanting to wear certain things in public on here (short shorts, bathing suits, whatever), people try to comfort me as if I had just said I don’t think I’m attractive. I’ve always been up front that my reason isn’t a lack of confidence, it’s a strategy to avoid harassment. You may think “well I think you’re beautiful, don’t worry” is comforting, but it tells me you haven’t listened, you’ve decided the real problem is that I don’t like my body, that’s not the case. What don’t like is being yelled at from passing cars, or lectured about dieting by strangers on the street, or told what I should or shouldn’t eat when I’m out at a restaurant by utter randos.

‪My self esteem isn’t the problem. Other people’s bigotry is the problem. Your compliments won’t save me from harassment, which I endure regardless of whether or not I feel attractive. Reducing fat positivity to self love is a losing game, because we deserve basic dignity whether we love ourselves or not. We have to confront the idea that fat peoples’ lives would be improved merely by the act of self love in a hostile, bigoted world where we’re institutionally marginalized. That’s a fundamental misunderstanding of what it’s like to experience the world as a fat person‬.