#we'll see how it goes!!

[beeayahh]

BALDUR'S GATE 3 STREAM TONIGHT 6:30pm BST!!

twitch channel

[riveterio]

so any updates about livestreaming? 🥺

Actually!! I was thinking about doing Sundays! I don't have a set time in mind though. Probably about 3pm-ish EST. I just need to update my streaming software which I'll probably do tomorrow.

But just so ya'll know I'll be streaming on pictaro under NeighborlyArson! I'll post the link come time.

[georgiacooked]

"....Can I have a Cigarette?"

So remember when I said I wanted to try sketches for every episode of TMA...

[clockwayswrites]

5 Times the JL Learned Batman was Married and the 1 Time They Met the Spouse.

One. Two.

J’onn floated down the hallway of the Watchtower, keeping pace with Batman. The mission had been without injury or death thanks only to the man that J’onn followed.

“May I ask a question?”

Batman gave a noise of soft agreement as they entered the room where the device would be kept for further study. They would need a way to disable such things if Batman and his skills were not there for future battles.

“The question is likely both cultural and personal,” J’onn clarified.

There was a pause from Batman as he settled the device and then a nod. “Go ahead.”

J’onn dipped his head in appreciation. Batman was often one that J’onn went to when he wished to better understand the humanity he found himself surrounded by. Of all the human members, of which there were not actually many, J’onn trusted Batman the most to give him a clear and honest answer.

“There was something that I noticed when you took off your gauntlet in aim to use the HUD to disable the device. On your forth finger, starting with the thumb, there was a black band embedded into your skin. What is the purpose of this?”

Batman’s lips twitched into what J’onn was coming to understand as Batman’s version of a smile.

“It is a mark made of ink that has been embedded into the skin with a needle. Mine was done with a machine, but the practice is thousands of years old. It is called a tattoo. Black is traditional, though the ink come in many colors. The finger it is on is called the ring finger. Thumb, index or pointer, middle, ring, pinkie,” Batman said, pointing to each finger as he spoke the word.

J’onn tilted his head curiously.

Batman gave him the time to think.

“Does the mark have any association to the rings of marriage that people wear? It is, after all, encircling your ring finger.”

“They’re called wedding rings and it does,” Batman admitted. “A ring would be dangerous for me to wear while acting as Batman. The wrong hit to my finger would risk breaking bone or tearing ligament. The tattoo is a way for me to have that physical reminder of the bond without the risk of an actual ring.”

“I see. Thank you for explaining,” J’onn said. As Batman turned to leave the room, J’onn asked, “Are the others aware of your marriage?”

Batman hesitated uncharacteristically. “Only one other in the League.”

“Then I will keep the matter to myself.”

“Thank you,” Batman said with a little nod before he swept out of the room.

[ruubesz-draws]

New comic series featuring the Godzilla Brothers and Mothra :) Will we finally get to see Minus One and Mothra's first meeting?

Stay tuned!

Part 1

I nearly made a dumbass mistake lol:

[vurelly]

I GOT A BUTTLOAD OF NARILAMB STICKERS

(And I'll be honest, I almost delayed these so I could make an extra for the goat)

I don't think I've ever spat out five sticker designs at once, so we're treating these like a trial run! All five designs will be 3-inch vinyl stickers, and while the first three can be bought individually for $3 (or all three for $8), the second comes as a set for $5. They are bonded. Do not separate them.

Please note that these are pre-order only! You can find them in my shop here!

[bellz4brainz]

I DON'T WANT THIS ANYMORE

[alt version below cut]

so anyways yeah my object show fixation has consumed me once more thanks to episode 15 🫶 (help me)

may or may not post more here again if i fully delve back into doing osc art

[wasyago]

kakashi and bull 🥺🤲

[vagabond-umlaut]

gojo: we should get married you: but we've been dating for less than a month gojo: and i think i have shown incredible restraint waiting this long

[bluewolfangel01]

I love the unhinged idea that if Mc is angry or dissapointed with the demons, that they would create a circle of salt around themselves and just stay in it

And no matter the immense combined powers that Diavolo, Barbatos, and the Brothers hold, they ain't getting past the salt circle no matter what they do

Salt is the most powerful thing in the Devildom, confirmed

[dailyfalsesymmetry]

day 119

ouaauuauauaghHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[crushing-on-nico-di-angelo]

2023

invitation, mary oliver // the unabridged journals, sylvia plath // happy xmas, john lennon // north country, mary oliver // i am running into a new year, lucille clifton // salt, nayyirah waheed // diaries of franz kafka // bird by bird, anne lamott // sunrise, louise glück

[sotanghonn]

rikas

[croudjay]

philza doesn't know

see the full clip here

[ghostlysoaps]

A Minor Annoyance

They’re back at base again and Ghost has been holed up in his office for the majority of the week in an attempt to get back on track with his ever-increasing backlog of paperwork. The knock on his door is therefore welcome, though surprising. He sits up straighter, wincing when several joints pop in protest, calling for them to come in.

Gaz leans himself against the doorframe. He, too, looks exhausted. Exhausted and irritated.

“I need your help wrangling Soap,” he says without preamble or an arduous attempt at small talk.

Ghost blinks at him.

“What?”

“He’s a stubborn bastard who won’t listen to reason,” Gaz shrugs. “And if it comes down to knocking him out in order to get him to rest, I’d rather have help carrying his leaden arse back to his room.”

Ghost blames sleep deprivation for the way he snorts.

“Alright,” he acquiesces, following behind the sergeant with amused wariness dogging his steps.

-

They find Soap outside surrounded by the scent of petrichor and bleary-eyed recruits. A gust of wind weaves around them, its chilling bite unmistakable where it tugs upon their hair and clothes, rustling through the pine-ridden area like an unexpected whisper. Ghost waits for Soap to send the group out on the track before he approaches, brow furrowed in response to the thickness layered over his voice. He'd sounded as if he spoke from deep in his throat, and with an air of a man pretending as if it didn’t pain him to do so. As he draws closer, Ghost allows the gravel beneath his feet to shift deliberately.

Soap jerks, swings his head around when Ghost comes to stand at his side, looking up at him with bloodshot eyes. The tip of his nose is red too, his cheeks a tad puffy, though he carries himself admirably regardless. Straight-backed and refusing to huddle into the oversized jacket he's wearing.

"Lt.? What're y'doing ‘ere?”

“I'm relieving you of your duties. Garrick can take it from here,” he replies, throwing Gaz a look that is met with surreptitious thumbs-up. He'll ask Price to look into leave for him. Soap's not the only one itching to work himself into an early grave by the looks of it.

It must be a cold day in hell, he muses, if I'm the one with the healthiest work-life balance at the moment.

“What?! Get tae and dinnae talk pish! I'm fine. I can work, Sir, I dinnae need–”

“That was an order, Sergeant. You can either leave on your own two feet or slung over my shoulder. Choice is yours.”

Soap's eyes narrow, his shoulders drawing up defensively, lips pulled back in a sneer. “You wouldn't dare.”

Which is about the worst thing he could've possibly said.

All at once Simon is twelve years old again with a defiant Tommy glaring daggers at him from across the stained rug, those fateful words a hiss through clenched teeth. Even the keen knowledge of their mother’s impending disappointment, how she'd give him a hushed dressing down in the aftermath of their scuffle, hadn't curbed his need to lunge for him. It's like the flip of a switch. Three simple words and suddenly Ghost is vibrating with the desire to prove Soap wrong. Some previously dormant code ingrained deep in his DNA flaring to life with all the speed of an oxygen fire.

Those memories carry him forward and the sudden shift in Johnny’s expression, the moment he realises he’s sealed his fate proper, sends a thrill skittering down his spine.

“Wait, Ghost, I–” is about as far as he comes before the words change into an unintelligible blend of Scottish nonsense, voice strained from having his diaphragm compressed. “Put me doon ye clarty bastard! Gaz!”

“Dream come true for you, huh?” Gaz says with a jaunty wave at their retreating backs, mirth etched into the crinkled lines around his eyes.

“I'll fuckin’ kill ye, ye clipe wopper! Lemme doon so ah can wring ‘is bleedin’ neck!” Soap barks, squirming in Ghost's grasp like a recalcitrant eel. It's a blessing that Soap's already running on fumes since, true to his callsign, it's damn near impossible to keep him securely slung over his shoulder.

By his third attempt to claw Ghost's back to shreds, Ghost sighs and pats him firmly on the rump. Soap instantly stills. Flushed to high-heavens if Ghost were to hazard a guess – not that he can see him from this angle. “Settle down, Sergeant, and I might be convinced to let you walk on your own.”

“Hate you,” Johnny wheezes.

Ghost grunts and maneuvers the door open, settling Johnny back on his feet again when it swings shut with a resounding thud. He steadies him when he wobbles on his feet and Johnny lets him with little fuss. Resigned to his fate he shuffles along after Ghost, who detours briefly to score each of them a cuppa. He ladles honey into Johnny’s mug and presses it into his freezing hands. Gets a muttered, unenthusiastic and intentionally mocking “cheers,” for it.

“You're a right cunt when you're sick.”

“Yer a right cunt all o’ the time,” Soap fires back. He's glaring mutinously into his least preferred beverage, cradled close to his chest while he watches Ghost tidy up after them. “Jus’ hate bein’ sick ‘s all. Feel proper boggin’ no matter how many times ah shower an’ my nose is both runny and stuffed as if th’ physics of tha is s'pose to make sense. Could'a powered through it.”

“That's how you end up forcefully strapped to a bed in medical suffering from pneumonia and severe dehydration.”

Johnny pauses. A small smile graces his face and Ghost hastily turns back to wiping down the counters to keep himself from being blinded.

One shouldn't stare directly into the sun after all.

“Speakin’ from experience, sir?”

Ghost doesn't answer, as if that isn't a reply in-and-of-itself, merely nudges Johnny back into moving. He gets him all the way to his door before Soap's brow creases in confusion. His mouth opens, closes, opens again while Ghost trudges inside with little fanfare, door left gaping in silent invitation. Johnny seizes it with both hands after dithering at his threshold a second longer.

He examines the impersonal space with keen interest, slurping obnoxiously at his tea as if to detract from how his hands flutter over scuffed paint and barren walls, his gaze catching over the miniscule signs someone is living there at all.

“Why'ahm I ‘ere, Ghost?” Soap asks when he's done, pinning him in place with the intensity of his stare. It's the same focus he dedicates to a particularly difficult math equation or sketching up blueprints with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel. It's a heady feeling to be on the receiving end of it. Heady and terrifying.

“Figured you'd appreciate the en-suite,” Ghost says, violently stamping down on the truth until it comes out in a statement easier to digest. “And someone needs to make sure you stay in place. Bloody flight risk that you are.”

You'd look good in my clothes, in my bed, as a permanent fixture here. This is as much for me as it is for you. A taste of what I can't have.

He hopes Soap doesn't read between the lines this time – always too perceptive for Ghost's questionable sanity.

“An’ where d'ye plan on sleeping?” Johnny smiles, a mote amused and as sweet as the honey lingering on his lips.

“Floor. Or Gaz's room if he doesn't delete those pictures he took.”

Johnny’s eyes go dark as sin.

“Oh, that'll be th’ least of his worries.”

“Sleep, MacTavish. You can come up with your convoluted revenge plot later.”

“Yes sir.” He gives a lazy salute and flops down on Ghost's bed with a grunt – boots and all, the absolute heathen. Ghost watches him rearrange himself into a position more befitting a person who's suffered a recent spinal fracture when Johnny peers up at him again from under thick lashes. “Dinnae think you're exempt from those, Lt. Ah know where ye live now.”

Ghost sighs and tosses the hoodie folded over his chair at Johnny’s face, taking great pleasure in closing the bathroom door in the face of Johnny's indignant name-calling.

-

Prompts via @whumperless-whump-event and @seth-whumps

[belfry-ghost]