#little did I know what was to come

[vacuumtan]

i sometimes remember that i wrote one (1) banger fic in my lifetime back in 2020 that feels like it genuinely had an impact, and then i never got to relive that high ever again

[sixth-light]

I posted 2,059 times in 2022

110 posts created (5%)

1,949 posts reblogged (95%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@ilikesallydonovan

@darlingofdots

@raedear

@angualupin

@starfoozle

I tagged 2,036 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#in the queue - 1,241 posts

#wheel of time - 210 posts

#wot book spoilers - 134 posts

#tumblr stuff - 90 posts

#the old guard - 89 posts

#ofmd - 89 posts

#wot tv show - 88 posts

#lgbtqia - 72 posts

#fandom - 69 posts

#fanart - 52 posts

Longest Tag: 134 characters

#and she only asks about food in the context of 'are you having any digestive issues' and monitoring of things like iron and b vitamins

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I am extremely not going to dignify that 'walkable cities ARE ableist actually' post which has crossed my dash with a reblog, but four things to keep in mind:

'Walkable cities' is almost always a shorthand for 'cities which deprioritise cars as a mode of transport and make it possible and enjoyable to travel by other modes instead', rather than a call for everybody to walk and only walk everywhere all of the time. We live in a golden age of micromobility options, for starters. And when most people do not need to use cars, it will be much easier for people who do.

Advocacy for walkable cities and active transport often does slide right into ableism and fatphobia and this needs to be directly challenged whenever it appears (as someone who has been a cycle commuter my whole adult life and overweight for all but five minutes of my whole adult life, if I never hear "if everybody cycled we would solve the '''obesity epidemic'''!!!" again...)

AT THE SAME TIME, while this will change in degree from place to place, the Venn diagram between 'people who advocate for walkable cities' and 'people who advocate for accessible cities' has a significant degree of overlap. There's probably at least one car-centric conservative out there who genuinely advocates for accessibility by the law of averages, but it's neither a coherent nor common position. Walkability IS a form of accessibility. It is not accessibility for everybody but no single kind of accessibility is, which is why we need cities with MULTIPLE kinds.

Therefore, as with goddamn near everything in life, if you actually want to see more accessible cities...advocate for more accessible cities, and what that means for you. Going 'but there are some people who will always need cars therefore walkable cities is ableist' does exactly nothing except turn people off the idea of change. Say what you want to see. Be specific. Imagine better futures. TL;DR - cui bono when we lock ourselves into "cars vs walkability"? you guessed it - people who benefit from the (observably harmful) car-prioritising status quo. so is this assertion always a cynical psy-op? No. Does it function as one in practice? fuck yes. be smarter.

2,024 notes - Posted November 21, 2022

#4

 As of the morning of 17 Jan, local time, regarding the Tonga eruption: even nearby governments have extremely limited information on what has happened/is happening on the ground. Recon flights have not yet launched. The internet is down. There are 36 inhabited islands in Tonga and there has been no confirmed contact with most of them. There has been no formal government-to-government communication. We know there was a volcanic eruption, a tsunami, and significant ashfall following. That’s a good 90% of what’s reliably known. 

The impetus in these circumstances is always to “do something” but the reality is that there is almost nothing anybody outside Tonga can do right now. Quite frankly, if you don’t have a direct personal connection/knowledge I would hold off even on donating to fundraisers until there’s more clarity on what is actually needed and where that help can best come from. (It remains true as with almost all disasters that money is the best and most useful thing you can give; however, given the limited info/lack of contact and how little most people on the internet know about Tonga, this is going to be prime scammer territory.)

A lot of social media content that purports to describe local conditions is likely untrustworthy - there’s only been a few verified videos and images, because of the undersea cable being out of action. RNZ, which has an excellent and very active Pacific bureau, is being very conservative with its reporting because it does not want to promote misinformation. Just...cool your jets on this one for a few more hours or possibly couple of days, everybody. We don’t know what we don’t know. 

2,343 notes - Posted January 17, 2022

#3

I am very pleased for everybody losing their minds over Our Flag Means Death (I shall be watching it on the weekend) but if it’s alright, I’ll just be over here in the interim losing my mind that Tumblr’s new boyfriends are the Say No To Racism guy and the 2Degrees Ad Guy. 2022 is really Something Else 

3,149 notes - Posted March 25, 2022

#2

The thing that has been vexing me lately about Fantasy Historical Sexism (vs the real kind) is how it flattens out actual historical politics - particularly in the high medieval period, sexism against female rulers was a tool for people who were already their political opponents for political reasons, rather than a common primary motivator for contesting inheritance. Fairly large numbers of women in medieval Western Europe inherited estates ‘suo jure’, in their own right - not even getting into things like the political power of abbesses (who could often be those same women in retirement, or their sisters or daughters or mothers). 

Historical fantasy tends to be so obsessed with having One Special Woman Who Is Fighting Sexism that it actually erases from the popular conception of history the women who were already there, and the complexity of their lives, and it’s just...very...dull. 

4,379 notes - Posted September 13, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I think one of the things that makes OFMD feel freshest is how it balances being a romantic comedy and being queer - specifically, a romantic comedy about queer men (& Jim). Queer men are not unknown in the romantic comedy genre! But what makes the show stand out is how exceptionally careful it is to ensure that the fact of their romances, and of their queerness, is never the source of the comedy. It’s never meant to be funny that someone is queer, or that someone is in love. Coming out, even in the most casual and incidental way, is never used as a punchline. 

And yet, it’s also not a utopia where stereotypes about queer people and homophobia (the things that ultimately fuel those kinds of jokes) don’t exist - they do! But every time somebody tries to make them funny, it falls completely flat. It steps outside the acceptable bounds of the genre and the characters react to it in that way. Homophobia isn’t a central obstacle, it’s a faux pas. It’s not allowed to be funny and it’s also not allowed to take up space in the narrative by being the thing the characters must overcome to get their happy ending. Which is a hell of a balancing act.

That scene with Izzy trying to mock Black Pete and Lucius is absolutely crucial to this tone. These characters know they’re in a comedy and they react to things like they’re in a comedy, but they don’t react to his mockery like it’s a joke OR like it has power to shame them. They react like Izzy is embarrassing himself by failing to read the room - like he’s a bully, but a pathetic one. You can be evil in comedies and still be funny, but Izzy is committing the cardinal sin of failing to be funny...and what that does is draw very clear boundaries around what the show is going to allow as a legitimate joke. Homophobic jokes can only be funny when the people making them have consensus from the rest of the group that they’re funny. Instead, in this show, it is clear instead that they are acts of violence and (attempted) control. Which defangs them, because the ultimate power in a romantic comedy always comes from acts of comedy. I find it extremely powerful for a queer romcom to look homophobia in the eye like this and say “nah” than either to ignore it completely, or to make it a central problem.

It’s very very smart writing and acting and it should be cited every time someone tries to whine about comedy and boundaries and not being allowed to be homophobic/transphobic any more. You can be extraordinarily funny about queer people and be received well. Queerness just can’t be the punchline. 

10,662 notes - Posted April 1, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

At your side [End of Season 2]

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[samaraxmorgan]

Your Roommate Sukuna

“That Time We Got High And Almost Kissed”

Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!

Contains: brothers au, fluff, frenemies dynamic, use of illegal substances (cannabis)

Word Count: 2.63k

Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist

Sukuna always finds a way to surprise you, he’s definitely got that going for him. However, that’s not exactly a good thing the vast majority of the time, and today is no exception.

You turn the corner as you come up the stairs and find his bedroom door wide open. He’s hunched over on his bed using his pocket knife to slice open a cheap gas station cigar, spilling the tobacco onto a paper plate. He pulls a small plastic bag out of his back pocket and carefully pinches its contents out, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger before sprinkling it inside of the shell of the cigar. His eyes glance over into the hallway and he immediately does a double take after spotting you watching him, for a brief moment he looked like a deer in headlights.

You squint your eyes, your brows furrowing questionably, “Is that weed?”

He lets out a dry scoff, looking back down towards the blunt in his fingers and continuing to fill it up, “Creep.”

“You’re the one with the door wide open!” You exclaim, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

You step into his bedroom, walls littered with posters leaving no clear space in sight; even the ceilings are covered in black tapestries. You crawl onto the foot of his bed, your knees sinking into the red comforter. Sukuna’s hair is disheveled, his bottom lip caught between his teeth in focus, tired eyes narrowed down as he stuffs the flower into the dark brown paper.

“Isn’t that illegal?” You question, a little more snarky than you intended.

“What’re you, a cop?” His crimson eyes shoot a glare up at you, fingers rolling the blunt closed and his pierced tongue licking a stripe up the incision he cut into the wrapper to seal it back shut.

Did he really have to do that without breaking eye contact? He’s gonna be the death of me.

A tiny smirk creeps onto the corner of his lips, “You should try it, could really use something t’ get that stick out your ass.”

You give him an exaggerated eye roll, “I hate you so much, you know that?”

“Yeah yeah, not like y’tell me every day,” A spark flashes in his eyes, his sheepish grin turning more mischievous, “Hey tell you what, split this with me and I’ll show you my spot.”

Your head tilts in confusion, eyeing him up curiously, “Your spot?”

He leans back against the headrest of his bed, shrugging nonchalantly, “Didn’t think I smoked in the house, did you?”

It does never smell like cigarettes in the apartment, or weed, or whatever the hell else he’s smoking. You could smell it on his clothes all the time, but now that you think about it you’ve never actually seen him smoke before.

“You leave the house to smoke?”

“You could call it that, sure.” He hops off the bed, pulling on a pair of black combat boots from his closet and not bothering to tie them. He turns around to face you, looking down at you expectantly, “Gonna join me or not?”

He’s such a bad influence, you’re so aware of that. But you’re also so morbidly curious, and he’s a hard man to say no to, so you cautiously nod your head and stand up from his bed.

“Knew you had it in you.” He smirks, placing the blunt between his lips to hold it in place and snatching a disposable lighter off his nightstand, stuffing it into his pocket.

Sukuna walks across his room to the window, his back facing the glass as he slides it open behind him, and then leaning back to stick his torso outside. His strong tattooed arms reach up over his head as he grabs the edge of the roof and lifts his legs into a crouch, promptly pulling his whole body out the window, doing one hell of a pull up to lift himself up onto the roof in one fluid motion.

Your jaw nearly drops to the floor. There’s no fucking way he’s seriously expecting you to be able to do that.

You see strands of his pink hair first as he pops his head upside down to peer down into the window, reaching his arm inside and outstretching his open palm to you, “C’mon, you won’t fall.” He pauses for a moment, flashing you a mischievous grin, “… Probably.”

You give him a weary and unconfident smile, “How reassuring.”

Taking tentative steps towards the window, you see his grin grow wider. You gently place your hand in his palm and he doesn’t waste a second, wrapping his fingers around your knuckles and squeezing tight, yanking his arm towards him to pull you closer. For just a mere second, the two of you were eye level as he hung his head upside down, your surprised eyes locking with his confident ones and his breathy laughter ghosting onto your forehead.

But just as quickly, his head dipped out of view. His low voice calls down to you from the roof as his impatient hand pulls you closer, “Put your foot up on the windowsill.”

You tentatively place your foot on the ledge, squeezing his hand tight to steady yourself as you shift your weight onto your other leg and pull yourself up to stand on the windowsill. His free hand quickly wraps under your arm, pulling you up and towards him, his arms wrapping tightly around your chest and waist as he pulls you into his lap with your back flush against him.

He leans his chin down on your shoulder, his breath fanning the side of your neck as he sarcastically whispers, “Almost dropped you there.”

A deep blush paints your face red. His legs are spread with your own planted in between them, his arms wrapped protectively around you and squeezing your body against his chest as he keeps you locked in place directly on his lap. You squirm under his hold and it only makes his breathy chuckle tickle your skin, his lips just barely brushing against your neck.

He loosens his hold on you for only a moment to pick the blunt off of the shingles, placing it between your lips while mumbling “Hold this” before his arms are tight around you again. He plants his feet against the roof and slides backwards, shimmying you both up to a flat section to sit more comfortably.

As he releases you from his grasp, you’re reluctant to leave. Lifting your hips from their home on his lap, you plop down onto the flat section of the roof next to him. He wasn’t kidding about this being his spot, there’s already an ashtray up here with cigarette butts sprinkled in the bowl. And you can’t really blame him for coming up here, the sky is orange and pink with clouds stretching thinly across the horizon, the city’s silhouette faintly in the distance, tall trees forming a barrier around the back of the apartment that feels safe and protected, it’s honestly really nice, peaceful.

Sukuna pulls his lighter out of his pocket, sparks sprinkling with each flick of the wheel until it holds a steady flame. He leans in close, holding the light against the end of the blunt that you held between your teeth.

“Breathe in.” His gaze is dropped to your lips, free hand reaching up to gently hold the blunt steady against your mouth with his thumb and forefinger.

As you inhale you see orange embers form at the end of the blunt, smoke rapidly filling your lungs and stinging the back of your throat. You can’t keep the smoke down, immediately hacking up a painful burning cough that only makes him snicker.

“Hm, you’ll get it eventually.” He brings the blunt to his lips and inhales a long hit, holding his breath for a few seconds before teasingly blowing the smoke into your face.

“Ugh,” You fan your hand in front of your face to clear the smoke, “That’s terrible. It tastes so gross.”

He smirks and rolls his eyes, flicking the ash into the small tray, “So dramatic, ‘ts not that bad.”

Your eyes are glued to his fingers, holding the blunt with his pointer finger and thumb and tapping ash away with his middle, the veins on the back of his hand gently protruding out and then settling back into place with each tap of his finger. As your eyes drift to the ashtray and you realize that there are only orange cigarette butts in the bowl, no snuffed out roaches from him smoking anything else.

You pull your knees up to your chest, tilting your head to rest your cheek on your legs when you look up at him, “How come you’re getting high?”

“Needed it tonight.” His answer was quicker than you expected, his eyes locked on the city lights shining in the distance.

“How come?”

His head doesn’t move, but his eyes flick to you. Wordlessly he holds the blunt towards you, the expectant look in his eyes and quirk in his brow telling you that he’s not planning to give you an answer until you take another hit.

You let out a small huff, taking the blunt from his fingers and taking a short drag, trying to hold the smoke in your lungs and keeping your lips sealed shut to try not to cough. Your attempt was futile though, your cheeks puffing out and smoke blowing out of your nose as your throat burned again.

He let out a small snicker at your misery, letting one of his legs lay outstretched across the slant of the roof while he bent his knee on his other leg to rest his chin on, “Brat’s working his first day at his new job tonight.”

Your brows furrow in confusion, your lips dragging down into a frown, “Brat being… who?”

He scoffs, like the answer to that should be so obvious, “My brother, the one you met.”

You hum in acknowledgment, but you’re still confused what that has to do with Sukuna wanting to get high, “What’s the new job?”

He blows a raspberry, tilting his head up towards the sky while he takes another drag, smoke echoing off his lips as he speaks, “Firefighter, been his dream job since we were kids.”

Realization clicks in your brain, making a smile creep onto your lips, “You big softie, you’re worried about him!”

“Tch.” He glares down at you, but his frustrated look only makes you giggle. The look in his eyes quickly softens, shifting to a look of amusement as he leans in closer to you and peers into your eyes. You let out a little laugh, opening your eyes wide to stare goofily at him and causing a smile to crack on his face, “Are you high already?”

“No!” You counter defensively, “You’re just… cute.”

Oh fuck, I’m totally high.

He gives you a lopsided grin, “You’re a terrible fuckin’ liar.”

You giggle and flop onto your back, lying flat on the roof, “Stop changing the topic! We’re talking about you!” You reach your arm out to point in his face, “You’re worried about him! You love him!”

“Ugh,” He gives you an exaggerated eye roll, wrapping his long fingers around your wrist and pulling it down out of his face, “I absolutely do not.”

You give him a toothy smile, poorly mimicking his deep voice, “Terrible fuckin’ liar.”

A deep laugh bubbles up from his chest, his gravelly voice sounding so breathy and happy, creases forming at the outer corners of his tired eyes. He releases your wrist from his grasp, planting his open palm next to your head and resting his weight on his arm to lean the slightest bit closer to you, his free hand bringing the blunt up to his lips as he tilts his head down to look at you with an uncharacteristically sweet smile, “So stupid.”

You can’t help but giggle under his gaze, the warm orange glow of the sunset reflecting in his heavy lidded eyes, a thin ring of crimson around his blown out pupils. His lips wrapping around the dwindling blunt and taking a long hit as the embers come alight. He leans down and gently blows the smoke into your face, making you squeeze your eyes shut.

He gently knocks his knuckle against your cheek to get you to open your eyes, gesturing the blunt to you, “Give me one more.”

You let out an over dramatic groan, covering your face with your hands, “No I’ll choke! I need you to baby bird it to me.”

He quirks his brow, a mischievous smirk curling on the corners of his lips, “Baby bird? Like spit it in your mouth?” He lets out a small chuckle. You part your hands away from your face to peer up at him as he takes another drag, holding the smoke in his mouth as he cups your chin to tilt your head towards him and leans down close to your face, smoke on his breath fanning your lips as he whispers, “Like this?”

Your mouth opens slightly in surprise as his lips are mere millimeters away from yours, gently exhaling smoke into your parted lips. Your cheeks burn red and your wide eyes stare up into his lazily lidded ones, already trained on you. You slowly breathe in the smoke, feeling him lean closer towards you, his gaze dropping down as his lips just barely brush against yours. Your eyes flutter shut, heart pounding in your chest as you feel his fingers trace their way from your chin along your jaw, tilting your head slightly to perfectly slot your lips with his-

But the moment abruptly comes to a halt as Sukuna’s phone loudly rings in his pocket, the ring tone blaring “I like big butts and I cannot lie!” as he freezes in place and both of your eyes shoot open.

“Pfft!” You throw your head back in laughter, your chin clocking Sukuna in the jaw as he shoots up straight and mutters curses under his breath, frantically fumbling for his phone in his pocket.

The obnoxious music quickly stops as he answers the phone, rubbing the sore spot on his jaw as he spoke with a hint of panic in his voice, “Yuuji?”

Even though he wasn’t on speaker phone, you could hear Yuuji loud and clear, emphasis on loud as Sukuna flinched the phone away from his ear as Yuuji yelled out the small speakers, “Guess who saved a cat at work today!”

You could see a look of relief wash over Sukuna’s face, but he didn’t let it translate into his voice, speaking in a low and annoyed tone, “I was hoping you’d die in a fire.”

Yuuji belted out a loud laugh on the other line, “Not yet! But don’t take it off your bingo card!”

A wide smile spreads across your face, yelling loud enough for Yuuji to hear, “You had him worried sic- mmph!”

Sukuna shoved his palm over your mouth, shooting a glare down at you as he spoke to Yuuji, “Ignore them.”

You tried to bite his hand over your mouth and he whispered “Fucking brat” down to you as Yuuji rambled about his first day at work, something about a cat being stuck in a tree and how he thought that was a myth but it’s totally a real thing. It quickly became clear that the moment between you and Sukuna had fizzled out, but he was probably just teasing you anyway right? It definitely meant nothing, surely. If Yuuji hadn’t called he would have just backed away and laughed at you or something.

He wasn’t actually gonna kiss you… right?

A/N: DONT KILL ME WE’LL GET THERE EVENTUALLY!! Anyway y’all like Yuuji’s ring tone I thought it suited him askakaka Dividers by @adornedwithlight

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

[chatnia-starlight]

a little addition to bakery enemies au part 184 from @buggachat I put the dialog to let y'all know where I imagined it'd go!

If you haven't already, go check her comic now!

ID: [Adrien blushing a bit is leaning over giving Marinette a kiss on the cheek making her blush profusely while she looks shocked. Adrien has a speech bubble over him saying "you're amazing".] End of ID

[starry-bi-sky]

Unpleasant Revelations - DPxDC Ficlet Idea for the Stillborn Au

"Have you met my youngest, Damian, Mr. Masters?"

Its only from twenty years of long, hard experience and practice that Vlad doesn't increase the room temperature from 'borderline uncomfortably cool' to 'unbearably hot' the moment Bruce Wayne pulls his youngest and "only" biological son out in front of him.

He puts only in quotations because twelve year old Damian Wayne looks scarily, uncannily like one Daniel Brown. Jack and Maddie's foster son, second victim of their foolishness, and only other halfa in existence. Second only to him.

It's nauseating how similar they look. From the scowl and terrible glare on the young boy's face, to his brown skin -- which was only a few shades lighter than Daniel's, the shape of his nose, and even the strange winged edge of his eyebrow. Something that Vlad has long since come to find endearing on the child he considered a son of his own. The only difference was that Damian had dark, sharp green eyes.

Daniel's eyes were blue. The same glacier shade as his father's, who stood behind Damian with a proud, oafish smile on his visage.

It was infuriating how similar they look. Vlad might not have rapidly swung the room temperature from one extreme to the other, but he can't stop himself from letting the fury burning within his core from slipping out and raising the temperature up a few degrees.

Because it really only meant one thing.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were related.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were brothers.

Standing in front of him, it was clear as day. He can already picture a phantom image of Daniel standing beside Damian, the same scowl written on his face, the same glare carved into his eyes. The only difference being the dark, exhausted circles beneath them that seemed to be permanently painted onto his skin. The only thing missing being the permanent loneliness and vigilance permeating his being like a scar.

This, if revealed, would be enough to ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation. Or, at the very least, darken it quite a bit. The great philanthropist Bruce Wayne with another secret blood child? One related to his youngest? One that had been put into foster care? Seemingly thrown away?

It would be a firestorm.

One that Vlad is not keen on starting.

It would ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation, yes. But it would hurt Daniel in the process -- the harassment he would face alone might just be enough to break that fragile child completely. That was just not something he could allow. Or, even worse, bring him into his biological father's care and custody -- something Vlad was even less willing to allow.

It's not out of kindness to Wayne that Vlad will keep mum about this.

His grip on his champagne flute tightens, just a bit. He's still aware enough of the world around him to not let it shatter in his hands. His plastered, pleasant smile tightens around the corners, and he forces his focus to slide from Damian to Wayne.

"The resemblance is uncanny, Mister Wayne." He says, slanting his smile to the side slyly. Although he's not talking about the resemblance between Wayne and his son. Rage simmers beneath his skin, burning coal and embers in the core of his chest, nestled between his lungs, as he meets the man's eyes.

Wayne swaggles his head proudly, his ditzy smile widening as he squeezes his son's shoulder affectionately. Bastard, Vlad wants to spit.

He breathes in through his nose, and exhales out through his mouth. The champagne in his hand cools, and stops its unusual bubbling.

The Damian boy scoffs under his breath, his mouth still coiled upward into a scowl. With the revelation of his blood relation to Daniel evident, Vlad's not sure if he should find it endearing or not.

He is not Daniel, so he decides that it's just simply irritating. He decides to ignore it.

"And you said he was your only biological son?" He asks, voice lilting and head tilting. He knows its a suspicious question at worst, insulting at best. But considering Wayne's past proclivities, he can hardly call it an unexpected question.

Damian puffs in great offense, face twisting angrily. It reminds him of Daniel when Vlad insisted that he was wrong about something or other, and for a moment his heart swells, fond.

But this is not his child, and so the feeling quickly crashes and burns, simmering back into rage. This was not Daniel -- this was his replacement. A replacement that Wayne was free to keep.

Wayne chuckles, idiotically, as if he'd said some funny joke. Vlad's other hand, the one gripping his cane -- something he's required ever since he was dispatched from the hospital all those lonely years ago -- tightens instead. He grinds his teeth -- him and Jack Fenton would get along like a house on fire, he hates it.

"I can understand why you'd ask that, Mister Masters," Wayne says, squeezing Damian's shoulder again, "but yes, Damian is my only biological son. Although that doesn't mean I don't love my other children any less."

Bastard.

For all his posturing and flouncing about caring for his city and his children, Vlad never would have thought the Prince of Gotham capable of abandoning one of them.

But, well.

They all have their dark secrets.

And what one man throws away, another man picks up. If Bruce Wayne didn't want the treasure child that was Daniel Brown, then Vlad Masters was more than happy to take him instead.

"I see."

[vurelly]

advice is fine when asked for, but i did not request any! i appreciate that you're trying to help, but unsolicited advice can (and does) feel like i'm being told i'm doing everything wrong.

[opikiquu]

[way2gosuperrstarr]

the world's most underqualified daycare team 😁🫶

i fear theyre cooked.

ignore moon and monday being in almost the same pose i noticed it too late to change it.

original au post w og refs and au explaination

my sun and moon designs w more 'detail elaboration' (not sdgo related post, just them in general)

i did want to make sun and moon's designs in sdgo different than my general personal designs that i use in my self insert au for easier differentiation for other people (i can tell them apart pretty easiy because i portray them personality-wise pretty differently in both aus), but . im too attached . to my current designs um 😔 /silly their designs r basically the same i just wanted to draw them in this lineup w monday/yn/mc/whathaveyou so they didnt look . sad and lonely. lol . theyve already got enough of that "sad and lonely" shit going on in the storyline ❤️

i probably shouldve written a bit more on the image itself but i didnt . want to crowd it.

closeups and a bit ....more..... yapping (not too much, but might interest some? maybe?) under cut 👍 + their all eye variations put onto their actual drawn faces, for funsies ^_^

moon doesnt get a security mode until later into the timeline ^_^ it's (spoilers i guess) actually how the virus gets passed onto him and sun! when his security mode gets added the virus comes with it.

moon's by far got the most eye variations god damn (i love him)

[planetvries]

I ❤️ Balin 🥹

[s0fter-sin]

ghost fucking soap so hard and so good he passes out but he utterly panics about it

he thinks he must’ve ignored soap asking to stop; was it pain that made him pass out? how bad could it have been to make him pass out when he’s been shot and kept going? should he bring him to medical? he’ll never touch him again, he’ll never so much as look at him again; he’ll ask for a transfer- fuck that, a dishonourable discharge. there’s no coming back from this

he spirals, guilt chasing hatred chasing despair chasing fear, until soap finally wakes back up

soap's still floating, loose-limbed and buzzing; fucked so thoroughly out of his head that it takes him a while to notice ghost isn't in bed with him anymore. he frowns, lifting a heavy head off the pillow and freezes. ghost's on the other side of the room, curled up tight in the corner as far away from soap as he could get without leaving him alone

(he would've left, would've made sure soap never had to see his face again and be reminded of what he did to him, of the monster he’d let into his bed- but he couldn't just leave him unconscious; what if he didn't wake up, he had to make sure he was safe first even if he'll rightfully hate him forever when he does wake up)

soap's voice when he calls out to him makes him flinch, his head burying deeper in his knees. cold worry chases the bliss from his blood and soap pushes himself up but his shaking arms can't hold his weight

the sound of him collapsing back onto the bed makes ghost rear up, his panic growing and soap's heart breaks at his red rimmed eyes

it takes a long time for soap to coax him back to the bed, countless loops of, "sweetheart, please, come here, what happened? it's okay, everything’s going to be okay.”

(and how ghost’s self-hatred grows hearing soap comforting him; hearing the concern and love in his voice when he doesn’t deserve a drop of it)

it takes even longer for ghost to believe soap when he says that he passed out because he felt so good; that he never asked ghost to stop, never wanted him to stop. that he trusts him more than anything and knows he'd rather die than ever hurt him, especially like that

“you’re not a monster, love,” he promises, soft with conviction and it’s as much a surrender as a relief when he collapses into his lap and lets him hold him close

ghost believes johnny but he still can't bring himself to be intimate with him for a while; that fear still haunting him, but soap doesn't hold it against him, doesn't complain about ghost's perceived "step back" in their relationship

hell, ghost seems to hate it more than he does; he misses being with soap, misses the connection, the closeness they shared, the safety and quiet he found in his embrace, but he's always trusted soap more than he trusts himself

soap doesn't let him be consumed by his fear or worse, sabotage them and turn it into a punishment; doesn't let him even get through the suggestion of switching because he knows how much he hates it and he won’t let him twist something as good and pure as their physical love into something self-harming

instead, he brings them back to the basics, working through the steps to get ghost comfortable with intimacy again, to get him to trust himself again; spends happy months just grinding and exchanging handjobs like when their relationship first started

and it's a happy day for them both when soap finally falls apart on his cock once again, anxiety the farthest thing from ghost's mind when his arms are wrapped so tightly around him, kissing a smile against his lips

[shimmershy]

Chara Week Day 5: Ghost

Every time I see that machine in the True Lab, I wonder if it could possibly be Chara's soul in there? Probably unlikely, but not impossible... It's interesting to think about what the implications of that would be.

A version with no text and then a version with just the machine, because I think it looks pretty cool and ominous alone as well.....

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Sublime Equine.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[fatedroses]

And some days, I just wish you wouldn't look at me at all.

[internetskiff]

Brother rly went "so yeah about that beer :)" immediately followed by implying he had (and still has) to beat at least a couple of people to maintain his position in Civil Protection. Really creates way more questions than it answers. What did u do Barney Calhoun. Is beating people up all it takes? Is there innocent blood on his hands? Is there weight on his conscience? Despite everything, did he still partake in the perks the position offered, the better housing, the extra food? How trusted is he in the resistance, really? It's probably well known that he still has to participate in the Combine's oppressive system, right? They can't all possibly view it as a completely necessary evil. I mean, some rebels hate Odessa Cubbage and his only crime seems to be "being an idiot".

Okay completely unrelated train of thought now but I wonder if he smuggles the melons Kleiner feeds to Lamarr. You can see some watermelons in a Civil Protection outpost/apartment so I assume that's one of the "better" foods the Combine provide to those that serve them. Goddd there's so much to this guy but it's all implication.. Wish he had more screentiiiiiiime I wanna see more of him. I wanna see what he's had to do to maintain cover, and what he's actually done to earn the Resistance's trust. How do the rebels feel, knowing that while they have to take shelter in the canal system, he's able to sleep in an actual apartment with an intact door?