#post it when i'm done lmao

[hothammies]

au art where mikey left carmy his daughter in his will (writing a fic for it called ribbons and scrunchies, it is sydcarmy + single dad carmy)

[dukeofthomas]

I can't find it now but there's a post about suspension of disbelief and how it's broken when the story starts trying to excuse it. "character gets knocked unconscious for hours but there's no further issues from this" okay 👍 "and actually this makes perfect sense because of this and that" um no it doesn't why are you lying to me. like i am willing to ignore the holes and the discrepancies!! all you need to do is let me and not bring unnecessary attention to it!!!

and all that is my issue with the whole robin child soldier argument. like i am willing to ignore it i am willing to engage with the fantasy literally all you need to do is NOT try to convince me that Actually It's Fine Because They Want To Do It or whatever. like literally just shut up about it and i can engage with the fantasy!!

[oceans-beloved]

Meme dump yayyy🥳✨️

(off to make more now muhahaha >:3)

[toxintouch]

Hyperspecific Leander Fluff Headcanons:

sleepy time themed bc I am supposed to be asleep

[They pronouns used.]

He loves to bring his partner breakfast in bed. It honestly might be more for him than for them; he loves it that much.

It's not an every morning thing. (Unless??) There's an element of surprise to it - he will sneak away at some unholy hour of the morning to prepare/obtain everything.

He knows all the best hidden delicacies and can always miraculously get something prepared at odd times of the night/morning. He's just a nice, normal guy doing his part to support his local economy! :)

(He'd be more keen on making breakfast (or other meals) himself if he's cooking with his partner. He'd enjoy the domesticity of helping them cook/bake if that's their hobby, or would love learning alongside them if they showed an interest.)

Breakfast in bed tends to happen more often if he was taking care of Bloodhound business all night and didn't get to sleep ("sleep" - does he ever even sleep?) next to them.

Loves being the one to wake them up in general, even if it's not a breakfast in bed type of morning. :)

Getting to see them all sleepy and unguarded and adorable is priceless for him.

Secretly loves it even more if they are slow to wake or grouchy first thing in the morning because that means he gets to dote on them and/or gently coax them awake with cuddles and kisses all over their face.

(If they are really grouchy: 🥺🥺 Is there anything he could offer that might make them more happy to wake up? 🥺🥺 😏)

On that note, he is completely unfazed by morning breath. It simply doesn't exist to him. They don't want to kiss him because of morning breath?? Invalid argument, he doesn't even know what that is.

(He's a morning person. Also a night owl. Also very active in the afternoon. Seriously, does he ever sleep?)

Even if he's staying up whereas they're going to bed, he always walks them to their room. Will excuse himself from whatever he is talking about with his Bloodhounds just to kiss them goodnight.

If he was away and thus didn't escort them to bed and wish them goodnight himself, he'll ask around regarding when they were seen heading to sleep. That way, he knows when is a good time to wake them up! He can't have them undersleeping, after all. (Man's a hypocrite.)

(Or, if they wake up at the same time every day, he'll adjust his schedule to accommodate.)

Crowds his parter when they are doing their nighttime routine. Always trying to hug them around the waist when they are brushing their teeth, etc. They come up from rinsing their facewash off and he's there behind them like a jumpscare.

Endless chatter while they get ready for bed unless they can quiet him down with some form of affection. Chatter will continue as he tucks them in.

Except... as their relationship progresses, he'll stick around on nights where he's feeling more burnt out needy quiet. He'll go in for an embrace and not let go... then transition into a gentle sway. The two of them end up doing a kind of mindless slow dance, if they allow it. Mentally, he's worn out but physically he's still restless. Hopefully they'll indulge him for a while?

Absolute worst at telling bedtime stories. He's too much of a showman. He'll turn the shortest little fable into a sprawling epic. Will act out the parts like he's in a play and/or make tiny magic illusions. It will be an hour(s) long affair. Worse, they won't even notice time passing because he's such a compelling storyteller. Always manages to put a fresh spin on the tale in question.

Has a great reading voice to fall asleep to. But even when he's supposed to be reading off the page, he editorializes, changes the story where he doesn't like the source material -- more often, changes the story to cater to their tastes specifically -- , finds ways to add in anecdotes about random things/people, bring up shared experiences and inside jokes...

If his partner starts playing with his hair, he'll stumble over his words. Every. Time. If they keep at it, he'll quiet down and just enjoy being in the moment for a while.

You'd think he would want to be the little spoon, but nope. Big spoon so he can smother hold them to his heart's content. ❤️

Okay, maybe sometimes he'll be the little spoon. More specifically, he'll quite happily be the little spoon while they are awake - he loves having their attention - but as soon as they are asleep, he swaps to be the big spoon. He likes the feeling of protecting them while they are asleep. :)

He's impossibly good at removing himself from the bed without waking his partner. Doesn't matter how entangled the two of them were, he manages it.

[beecampbell]

taz is so good guys how am i supposed to do anything besides listen to it

[leofrith]

obviously the quality of all these shows is suffering from the fact that their primary function is to provide the setup for future star wars projects (mcuification, baby!!! who's ready for the infinity war style team-up movie where the gang takes down thanos—i mean thrawn?). but i also think a big part of why the book of boba fett, mando s3 (and to a slightly lesser extent, s2 as well), and ahsoka all suffer from the same issue of having their main protagonists cast aside in favour of side characters—which in itself might not be as annoying as it is if those stories were even remotely interesting or well-written—is because filoni & co. want to be making an ensemble piece. but instead, they're stuck having to make a bunch of solo projects that are ostensibly about individuals or smaller casts of characters, which they then stumble their way through in the most half-assed, half-hearted way possible because it's all just setup for the "mandoverse movie," a phrase which makes me want to projectile vomit.

[thelonelyshore-if]

Putting the finishing touches on the final scene of the chapter right now, and then I'm going to grab lunch. After that I'll do a few test runs to ensure it isn't totally broken, and then I'll have a (partial) build ready to go. All this to say: I'll be contacting beta testers later today!

[stjernespiller]

Another eye

Can also be found on AO3

You can’t see anything.

Blood drips from your face. You think it hurts, in that distant way everything does now. You try to get it out of your eye, just enough to see the fight, but your vision stays dark through the wet sounds of blood and flesh.

Stupid, you think to yourself. Stupid stupid idiot, zoning out in a battle. Should have just looped forward to the king instead of taking that bathroom break and fighting the floor boss. Couldn’t even blinding cry, so what did it matter?

Your family members are speaking. They don’t do that much in battle. You should probably listen.

Bonnie is crying.

Mirabelle heals you again, a light feeling drifting over you that does nothing to take away the weight in your stomach. You don’t know why she did it again, you just need to get this blood out of your eye and you can go back to the fight, stop zoning out just enough to beat the sadness blocking your way to asking the king the question you’ve been dreading.

Isabeau is saying something very close to you. You think it’s him, at least, from the deeper tone. You can’t hear it. Can’t fight can’t see can’t hear. You’re pathetic.

He touches your face.

It’s- new, strange, unexpected. You flinch, and he takes his hand back, like your family always does because you’re so weak you can’t even handle being touched. But the hand only leaves for a moment before it’s back again, holding your cheek. you stand very, very still.

Is the fight over? It has to be. You almost had it before you got distracted and let yourself get hit. Maybe Isabeau and Odile got it while Mirabelle was healing you. He wouldn’t be touching you like this if the sadness was still attacking, back turned to where it stood.

He wipes the blood away from your eye, unstained hand doing a much better job than yours had. You still can’t see. You still can’t hear what any of them are saying. He sounds close to tears, though.

Ah. You know why you can’t see.

It clears your hearing. Fear, for some reason, leaves when you exhale. You breathe deep in, again, and a full sense of calmness fills the space of the fear you breathe out.

The blood hadn’t covered your eye, it was coming out of it. Stupid Siffrin didn’t pay attention to the fight and lost another eye.

Isabeau is cursing, voice wet with tears. His other hand cups your jaw, keeping your head in place. He wipes more blood away, touching your eyeball with so much gentleness you feel it should heal it. Mirabelle crafts another healing spell, and Odile asks Bonnie for the one sweet tonic you picked up this loop.

You pick up your wooden arms, raising them slowly, like through a thick fog, to land your hands on Isabeau’s. He drops his hands from your face. You’re speaking to your whole party when you say, “It won’t work.”

Bonnie sobs. Someone, likely Odile, pours a tonic on your eye anyway.

You just need to get to a frozen tear. You don’t remember where they are, but maybe you could convince your family to lead you to one. If you could find some excuse. Or just swing your arms around until you hit one.

“The head housemaiden could heal you,” Mirabelle whispers, voice just as teary as Isabeau’s. “I should have taken more healing classes. Studied more on my own. I can’t do it. And by the time we get to her...”

She trails of. Crafts another healing cure. It works just as well as the others.

Healing of this scale needs to be done quick. You know, because you all talked about it when you lost your first eye, and when Isabeau showed you a small scar on his bicep. Go more than an hour or two without the right healing craft, and it’ll be permanent.

An idea lights up in your mind. You turn your head, but it all stays black, and you can’t look anyone in the eye.

“We can find a tear. Freeze me.” It’s so perfect. You almost have to stop yourself from grinning. The best excuse you could have ever asked for. “when you beat the king and everyone unfreezes, someone can help me.”

The lie is easy, as easy as all the others you’ve filled these two days with. They won’t beat the king without you. You won’t unfreeze with everyone else, and the head housemaiden will never help you. But you need to see to fight, and you need to loop to see, and you need a tear to loop.

It’s quiet for a moment. “Will that work?” Odile asks, voice strangely soft.

“It’s worth a try.”

“We’ll find a tear!” Bonnie yells. They either stamp their foot or jump in place. “We’ll defeat the king and you’ll get your eye back!” their voice is still wet. You don’t know why. Are they scared of fighting the king without you? Now you’re thinking about the loop you let them go alone. Stars, you really are an awful person. Of course they’re scared when you can’t keep fighting, and just before the king, too.

“Let’s bandage it until then.” Mirabelle says, and a piece of cloth presses against your face. It’s nice and cool. “Your coat is all dark know.”

Odile, you think, listening to the footsteps, start walking. “We can’t go back,” she says, “hopefully there will be some tears further in.”

You walk after her. The corridor is as familiar to you as the rest of this blinding house. You don’t need an eye to know the way.

Isabeau still hovers beside you, steps heavy but careful. He doesn’t offer to guide you, probably afraid to touch you, but you can imagine his arm reaching out, hovering above your shoulder, ready to steer you away from the walls or the floor or what else you might kill yourself on. Fragile little Siffrin, can’t walk on his own.

Bonnie is to your other side, rushing ahead for two steps at a time before falling back again, never straying far. They hiccup, and audibly sniff their snot in. You feel awful. The tear is close. You just need to loop.

Mirabelle walks in front of you with Odile. You can almost feel her continuously looking back at you, footsteps irregular in that familiar pattern. You don’t know why it’s familiar, and when you try to remember, it slips away like lightless sand between your fingers.

The air is tense. You slip into your mind, a little. Claude is up ahead, frozen in time with the secret ingredient. You turn a corner, and don’t think about how strange it looks to your family for you to walk through the corridor like this. Isabeau calling you graceful is there, memory pushing itself to the front of your mind, but you don’t force yourself to act as if you don’t know this place better than yourself. They won’t remember.

“Does it hurt?” Bonnie whispers besides you. You instinctively look towards them, but still see nothing but darkness around you. “Sorry, stupid question. Of course it hurts.” Their voice is still wet. They sniffle. “You just act like it doesn’t.”

You’ve been acting a lot. Almost everything feels like a secret, a lie, a play. This isn’t one of them. “It’s just an eye.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN JUST AN EYE?!” Bonnie yells, and their voice is still wet, but it cracks in fury. “You always do this, you don’t care about anything! It’s your eye, you can’t see, you lost both of them now! You have to care!”

They hate you. You remember, now, that they don’t love you. You couldn’t get yourself to help them this loop, too tired from hearing the same thing again and again and again. In this moment, Bonnie hasn’t hugged you. In this moment, you haven’t talked with Bonnie about losing your first eye. In this moment, they still hate you.

But it’s fine. You’re on your way to a tear. You’ve all been walking this stretch for a while, Mirabelle should see Claude soon, and then they’ll find the safe room, and after that - you think you’ve seen tears there before.

“It’s just an eye,” you say again, because you can’t bring yourself to pretend any differently, that it matters to you more than having to loop and run through the third floor again. “I’ve lost worse.”

Bonnie doesn’t respond. Claude has to be here soon, right? Was she always this deep in the corridor?

"How is your eyes not the worst thing you've lost?" Mirabelle asks, so quiet you almost don’t hear her. The kind of question she doesn’t expect a response to.

You shouldn’t respond. You don’t want to respond. How can you. You can’t speak it’s name, can’t tell them anything about it, and you already didn’t help Odile this loop because you couldn’t bring yourself to follow the blinding script again when she won’t understand and won’t remember and won’t care.

“I lost my home,” you say anyway, because it’s all one big cosmic joke. They won’t remember anyway. It doesn’t matter. “And I don’t even remember it.”

Does your country matter, if no one remembers it?

Isabeau speaks up, always the emotionally mature one. “I’m sorry, that sounds awful.”

“You never remember anything,” Bonnie sniffles, sounding tired. The kind of exhausted you get calming down from crying. You wish your stupid eye would let you cry.

You’ve already broken the dam. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. “I don’t.” Isabeau tugs at you cloak, pulling you slightly towards him. He lets you go, a meter more to the left of the corridor than before, and doesn’t explain anything. You don’t ask.

“Not even the word for a stuffed animal. Or a sharpening stone, which you use all the time. Or bananas.” It seems to calm Bonnie down, listing all the things you don’t remember. You follow along.

“Not the name for all the birds in Dormount. What bonding earring are. What we did last week. My family. My country. Your names, that one time.”

It doesn’t calm you down. Or the others, for that matter. Isabeau stopped walking. The other three follow suit.

You stop too, because the others did. Then you wish you had kept going, because now you’re just standing here, and you still can’t see anything.

“Sif...” Isabeau starts, soft and careful. “I’m sorry. We’ve been poking fun at your memory, but this... We need to talk, after we beat the king.”

You don’t want to talk. Have you already made the pun on your memory this loop? Bonnie said you couldn’t remember the name, so probably, you need something else, something to divert the attention, it doesn’t matter because they’ll forget but right now they remember and you don’t want to talk.

“Aren’t there any tears here?” You ask, and it comes out harsher than you planned.

“Oh! No, not yet, but there’s a door here, maybe on the other side?” Mirabelle sounds nervous and jumpy. Did you do that? Stars, you’re awful.

Then you think. There’s a door, and you hear someone open it. Claude was before the door. She was, you know it, you can’t have forgotten that, Mirabelle stops you all and says the same thing every time.

Did you all walk past her? Did... did Mirabelle change the script? Because you’re blind now?

Your head hurts. You walk towards the door, and only need to follow the wall for a moment before you reach it, having been pulled from the middle of the corridor by Isabeau. Was that.... because of Claude? Did he pull you out of the way?

When Mirabelle tells everyone to hurry through the safe room, they do so. No one talks about taking a break, and Odile’s stomach doesn’t rumble. You’re through the room without eating or touching the star.

“There!” Bonnie yells, first out of the second door.

“A tear,” Odile says simply. “Two, actually. Pick your poison, Siffrin.”

You chuckle, just a little. Lean right. But you don’t actually know where in the room the tears are. You just know the door to the king is straight ahead.

“Can I lead you to it?” Isabeau offers. You empty your mind, think of nothing, and hold out your hand.

He guides you in an arch. Let’s go of your hand. You reach out, and dream of nothing.

[decarbry]

found family

day 27: shelter

[reblog-house]

Some things can change.

[diazfightclub]

this is part 1 of my catholic guilt eddie/buddie wip! (working title) i've previously posted small snippets here and here, but this one today is the opening scene!

At the end of the night, after Tommy swoops in and saves the day, delivering Chimney to the altar by chopper, after the vows and kisses are exchanged, after people have eaten and danced and drank and celebrated—

At the end of the night, Eddie finds Buck. 

He’s standing alone at the edge of the garden, watching people dance. The party is starting to break up, the crowd thinning out. There’s something wistful and sad in Buck’s expression, and Eddie finds himself walking over to him before he even thinks about it. 

“Where’s Tommy?”

The man had been here earlier. After the heroics, he had stayed for a while. Eddie had watched as he and Buck danced together without meaning to, drawn to the two of them slow dancing to the band Maddie hired. Eddie had caught Buck’s eye over Tommy’s shoulder and lifted his glass in a toast. Buck’s nose had crinkled in disgust. How are you drinking right now? he seemed to ask, which made Eddie’s stomach roll in turn, his hangover roaring back to life. He shook his head and pointed to the gatorade bottle on a nearby table. Eddie watched as Buck’s mouth went crooked like it did when he was trying not to laugh.

Tommy had glanced over his shoulder, then. There was something in his gaze when he made eye contact with Eddie, something calculating that had Eddie looking away. 

He didn’t know what to do with the flush of embarrassment he felt. Like he had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. He left them to it, slinking away to where Marisol was waiting for him inside.

Now, though, he’s standing with Buck alone.

“Tommy left.”

“He had to return the chopper, huh?” Eddie tries to joke, but Buck doesn’t react. 

“He said…” He watches as Buck takes a deep breath. “Tommy and I—It’s not going to work out.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to do with that. “What? I thought you said the second date went well.”

“It did.”

“And then Tommy flew in here, delivering Chimney to save the day. I thought you’d be into all that knight in shining armor schtick.”

“I was. Am.”

“So?”

“It’s just… not going to work.”

“That sucks, I’m sorry man,” he says lamely. “I’d offer you a drink, but.” Buck doesn’t laugh. “Do you want to come over later?”

“I probably shouldn’t,” Buck says, and there’s — something in it that Eddie can’t identify. 

“Maybe this weekend, then.”

“Listen,” Buck runs a hand through his hair. Eddie resists the urge to smooth it back down when it sticks up. “Tommy said something before he left, and I—I think he might be right.” There’s a pinched quirk to his lip. “He said that it wasn’t going to work out between us because it’s obvious I’m caught up in my feelings for someone else.”

There’s a whisper of a thought in the back of Eddie’s mind that fills him with dread; he refuses to think it. “Who, Natalia?”

“No.”

“Taylor, then.” It made the most sense, it had been Buck’s longest relationship. The sting of their breakup had lingered. Her betrayal of Buck’s trust had hurt them all, and even if Eddie never liked her, it’s obvious that Buck loved her. Even though the thought of her coming back into their lives made him want to vomit.

But Buck — Buck looks at him with this look in his eye, and he’s not, not sad but more regretful. He’s anxious. Eddie is suddenly, painfully aware that he doesn’t want to hear what Buck’s next words are.

Because he knows what Buck is going to say. He’s going to say it, he’s going to name the thing Eddie’s been so carefully avoiding. Their relationship has been a minefield for years, and Eddie has gotten extremely good at picking his next move carefully, but Buck is about to throw caution to the wind and take a daring step forward without watching where he places his feet.

He’s filled with so much dread in an instant, but he’s helpless to stop Buck as he’s opening his mouth to say:

“Eddie, I think I’m in love with you.”

Buck says the words, and nothing changes.

Everything changes, really, everything that matters anyway, but — it’s not the explosion of movement Eddie is expecting. It’s like the earth stands still. The party sounds fade to nothing, the twinkling lights frozen in time. Nothing moves. There’s no wind, no insects buzzing, nothing at all. 

It feels monumental, like something should be shifting. Everything should be thundering with the weight of this moment, but. Nothing. It’s like a hush has fallen instead, the world taking a pause to watch them, waiting to see what happens next, and Eddie—

Eddie takes a step back.

He doesn’t know what Buck’s expression does because he very stoutly doesn't look at him. 

“Eddie,” Buck says, but Eddie is already shaking his head and taking another step. 

“I have to, um,” he doesn’t even come up with an excuse before he’s turning his back to Buck and walking away.

[zerodaryls]

it's so funny (read: sad) that if bigoted fuckheads didn't insist i was a woman simply by virtue of my body at birth, i'd probably be chill with she/her pronouns in addition to he/they. if my mom didn't insist i was her daughter, i'd probably let her call me that, and we could still have a relationship.

i'm nonbinary and 'gendered' words are hypothetically meaningless, but because there are so many people who are more interested in telling me who i am rather than lovingly and curiously letting me express my own sense of self, those words carry trauma.

there's no reason a nonbinary person like myself can't be a son and a child and a daughter. there's no reason a nonbinary person like me can't go by he, they, and she.

'she' is not a slur. 'daughter' is not derogatory. 'beautiful' 'pretty' 'gorgeous' 'feminine' are not insults.

to the contrary, they're parts of language that express certain facets of a multi-faceted human existence, like mine.

and i have this sad, mournful feeling that if it weren't for unloving, condescending people, i'd probably be down to be called any of those things alongside my usual masculine/neutral terminology.

but i'd rather die than let anyone tell me what i have to be called.

[askcapital]

Today I was so brave that I showed my animation meme WIP to my animation professor. I felt so cringe but now I feel so free LOL he was super nice about it and gave me a lot of good pointers, hopefully I'll get this finished this year. :')

since it's still Munday I can ramble about this, and since the animation is about Capital I can post this here specifically

[xannerz]

hey, rapunzel :)

[alpinefrsh]

Drew this- uhh... Idk, at least a couple months ago at this point. The context is kind of hard to explain here. Or maybe it isn't.

I guess all you really need to know is that it's Macaque (from Lego Monkie Kid), Bai He (LBD's host from LMK), and Tommy as skycats.

[camplease]

i'm pretty sure i have the most unpopular campal opinion in the fandom being someone who does not romantically or sexually ship them or think that's canon, but also being someone who's not morally opposed to people who want to headcanon their relationship that way, and not being upset if people even chose to interpret the text that way (as long as they don't insist that it's unreasonable or unsupportable to interpret it as platonic)