#2 seconds of interaction

[zoroshonkingbazonkadonkas]

eye contact?? they can have civil eye contact??????

[blaithnne]

Live Mel reaction

[bunnyboy-juice]

you guys know butch =/= taking T right? you guys know dyke masculinity is not correlated to being transmasc right? you guys know that even your silly jokes where you flatten butchness to taking T/being transmasc is extremely transmisogynistic right?

[turtlespancake]

i love seeing out of context posts about long-running stories with deep lore because it's always shit like "MAJOR SPOILER WARNING!! i can't believe that the metallic athenaeum's envoy actually used never-ending dance of the 57th universe on rionne as if she's not LITERALLY the incarnate of august?!?!" it's like buddy boy thank you for the spoiler tag but all of those words are incomprehensible without at least 5 years of foreshadowed knowledge, 7 different fan theories, and 21 wiki entries

[skunkes]

micro comic with no real point or punchline i just have conversations i wanna draw out sometimes

[dropoutposts]

After trying and utterly failing to sign up for Apple TV+, all I can say is it really makes me appreciate Dropout's interface more.

[childrenofcain-if]

Clingy D wasn't something I knew I needed. For research purposes, how would that fare though, author

the texas heat clung to D as they sat on the back porch of their grandfather’s old farm. the air smelled of earth and sunburnt grass, a scent that had grown oddly comforting in the months since they’d moved back.

the farm was quiet now, save for the low hum of cicadas and the occasional bark of a stray dog wandering by the fence. the peacefulness suited D—most days. but tonight, it was unbearable.

their phone sat on the wooden table in front of them, face down like it was a guilty party. they’d told themself they weren’t going to look at it anymore.

just leave it, rook, calm down.

stop being so needy, rook.

get your shit together, rook.

you’re always the recurring car crash, rook, the common denominator.

but their eyes flickered toward the phone anyway.

the truth sat under their ribs like a splinter: it had been three days since you’d texted anything more than a brief, polite response to a link they’d sent, and weeks since you’d called. three days of D’s mind running circles around itself, spiraling into every worst-case scenario it could conjure. and they were losing their grip. their fingers tapped restlessly on the armrest of the chair, their boot scuffing against the railing.

maybe you’re busy, they told themself for the fiftieth time that evening. new york is a big place. MBA programs are hard. you’ve got new friends now, fancy urbane friends who wear suits and drink wine like it’s water. you don’t have time to call your idiot partner who still wants to live in their old farmhouse down south and smells like hay and diesel these days.

that last thought stung, and D flinched like they’d spoken it aloud.

they picked up their phone and stared at the screen, willing your name to appear. a new message. a missed call. anything. they’d tried calling you twice yesterday but hung up before it even rang.

the phone buzzed suddenly in their hand, cutting through the peacefulness like a blade. D jumped, nearly dropping it in their haste to answer.

“hey,” they said, too quickly, the word coming out rough and broken, betraying how much they’d been waiting for this. they winced at their own pathetic eagerness.

“hi,” you replied. your voice was warm but tinged with something D couldn’t quite place. it wasn’t joy.

there was a pause, one of those long, awkward ones that stretched out like a wound neither of you wanted to clean out.

“why haven’t you replied to my texts?” you asked finally. your tone was light, sure, but the edge was unmistakable.

D blinked, thrown off-guard. “why haven’t you called me?”

the words left their mouth before they could stop them, sharper than intended, spilling out like blood from a clean incision. the silence on your end was deafening.

“excuse me?” you said after a moment, your voice now tight.

D pushed on, reckless now, the spiraling in their chest too loud to ignore.

“it’s been weeks,” they said, their voice rising despite themself. “weeks since you actually picked up the phone to call me. i’m supposed to be okay with a couple of dry texts here and there? a couple of ‘how are yous’ like you’re checking in on a goddamn houseplant? what am i even supposed to do with that? do you even want to talk to me anymore?”

“of course i want to talk to you!” you snapped, louder this time, frustration apparent in your tone. “but you’ve been so distant during our texts. i didn’t know if you even wanted to hear from me if you got too busy with the farm renovations.”

“distant?” D barked out a laugh, harsh and humorless. “i’m not the one out there living some shiny new life in new york city with shiny new friends. don’t talk to me about being distant when you’re the one who left!”

“oh wow, so it’s my fault now?”

“isn’t it?”

the words hung between you like a noose, both of you too angry to let go and too hurt to say anything else.

“this isn’t fair,” you said finally, your voice breaking just slightly, and D hated that they heard it, hated that they caused it. “you don’t get to put this all on me. you knew what this was going to be like. you knew it would be hard. you could’ve just come with me until renovations were done for the farm. you’re the one who insisted on supervising everything to stay in that stupid place.”

“don’t fucking call the farm stupid,” D shot back, their voice trembling now, but they couldn’t stop. “besides, i’m here, aren’t i? waiting by the damn phone every night like some... some pathetic—” they couldn’t finish the sentence.

“then maybe stop waiting!” you yelled, having had enough of it. “if this is so hard for you, maybe you should’ve just come here with me!”

the line went dead.

D stared at the phone in their hand, unblinking, as though willing it to come back to life. the silence that followed was heavier than the summer heat, heavier than anything they’d ever known.

they stood up abruptly, the chair screeching against the porch, and paced back and forth like a caged animal.

“unbelievable,” they muttered under their breath, the anger bubbling up again. “they hang up on me? after all this? after—”

the thing about D was that they wouldn’t—couldn’t—express their emotions in words a lot of the time. sure, they could write about it, but writing about it was different than actually saying it. so these emotions were usually spelled out in other ways.

a bloody fist. a slow song. a naked dance.

but this time, the anger burned out as quickly as it came, leaving behind nothing but the ache. the ache they always carried, the one they could never name but always felt. they sank back into the chair, burying their face in their hands.

you’re going to lose them, a small voice whispered in the back of their mind, insidious and cruel. you’re going to push them away forever. they’ve grown tired of you because you’re too much. you’re always too much, rook.

the thought made them sicker than a glass of cheap liquor.

D picked up their phone again, their thumb hovering over your name in the call log. they could call you back. they could apologize. they could beg.

they pictured you in new york, surrounded by skyscrapers and lights, people who had never set foot on a farm in their life and who probably never will. they imagined themself there, awkward and out of place, fumbling with subway cards with their doc martens too scuffed, their drawl too thick and alien.

they never belonged in san francisco. they never belonged in new haven. they’d never belong in new york city.

but they’d go. if you asked, they’d go in a heartbeat. they’d go and make themself fit into your world if that’s what you wanted. they’d camouflage themself all over again like they did in california and connecticut. even if they hated it, they’d still try.

or maybe you could come back. just for a little while. they’d show you the stars again, the ones you couldn’t see in the ever-polluted cities. they’d hold you close and tell you they loved you, over and over, until you believed it.

but for now, they’d wait by the phone like dogs waited for their owners on the front porch—all day, and then the next.

here’s the pt. 2 to this.

[daisydood]

why do people actually get mad at rockstar for making john so cringefail in rdr2 like do you think he came out of the womb with rock hard morals and loving his wife?? the game is called red dead REDEMPTION. "ohhh rdr2 ruined john for me!!" do you not know what a redemption arc is

[blinkingaway]

[buzzingroyalty]

timeline in which aziraphale is in fact tasked with raising a new baby jesus in an orphanage run entirely by angels so there are no shenanigans nor interferences but the supreme archangel insists they hire at least one human who actually knows how to raise human children. a "human" eventually shows up. Jesus 2 is named Lucy <3

[st-pop]

Frobin for the Heart ♥️ Song: Valentine by Laufey

[stubz]

Fenrir smiled as he watched his little love work. He came to surprise her with a dinner date after work but it seemed like there a few stragglers left. Not that Kim or the children minded too much, the little children giggled as they ran from a playfully roaring Kim.

Glyka he has had the honor of meeting before, the youngling truly lived up to his name for he was sweetness itself. Sasha and Rubi on the other hand were new so he had not yet been properly introduced.

"Run Sasha! Run or she'll get you!"

"Yesh!"

The little children ran as fast as they could, well as fast as Sasha could, Glyka and Rubi didn't want to leave their friend behind for the 'monster' to get. Just as any good warriors should do!

"Ra! I'll gobble you up-oh shoot!" Fenrir winced as he watched his little love slip on a stray toy and tumble backwards.

"I'm okay! Just uh, gonna take a moment. Friggin Legos..."

"Quick let's hide."

"Yesh." "Ye."

As far as Fenrir could tell, the two little humans were still learning how to speak. Which was surprising as they looked to be about 4 years old...he thinks. Human children are so much smaller than orc children so it's hard for Fenrir to accurately guess ages.

For the most part the two rarely said a word other than the handful that they could confidently say like 'ye(sh)' which was yes and 'no' which was obviously no. Despite this, Kim and Max managed just fine as did the other children. Never were the two excluded from games, always asked yes or no questions, they were treated like everyone else by both the younglings and teachers.

Said little children scurry over towards where Fenrir sits on the ground and hide behind him. The orc's massive frame easily hiding the three of them.

"Mister Fenrir, can we hide here?" Glyka whispered.

"Yes you may Glyka, actually, hold on." Taking out his folded up cloak, the orc puts it on and drapes it over the children behind him. "Stay still and Ki-Miss Kim won't find you." he shuffled to make sure everyone was covered.

"Thank you."

"Merci."

"Cпасибо."

"...Вы говорите на моем языке?" he peered under his cloak the children. "Je ne pensais pas qu'on enseignait la langue de la noblesse orque ici." he spoke to Rubi.

For a moment no one spoke until Sasha and Rubi began speaking non-stop at the same time.

"Vous parlez français!" the little girl beamed.

"Вы говорите по-русски!" the little boy giggled.

"Athea peut-elle venir à mon anniversaire?"

"Вы можете поднять машину?"

"Uh, wait, по очереди. Soulever une voiture?"

"You speak French and Russian?"

Finally Kim had gotten up from the floor and came to investigate the blanket orc fort.

"French and Russian? But this is orcish, Sasha speaks the common tongue and Rubi speaks the nobility tongue."

"Oh that's so cool! Are you sure our species never had contact with the other before? Cause French and Russian are the official languages in the countries they're from. Rubi is French and Sasha is Russian, they're still learning English."

"...I thought they just couldn't speak yet. I thought they might be toddlers still." he examined the two, lifting them up to his eye level. The children giggled and spoke to him in their respective languages.

"No hon," she laughed. "they're 4 years old. They just need to spend more time with the others and then they'll be talking in no time...but it seems like I'll be roping in Athea and the others to spend more time with them now. Do they also speak the nobility tongue?"

"Yes, titles mean little now but the language is still taught. Athea and the others would be happy to spend more time with Rubi and Sasha. I imagine they'll be quite happy to speak in our native tongue more with friends." he smiles.

.

When the children were picked up Sasha and Rubi eagerly dragged their respective parent to Fenrir. Kim fought back a laugh at the wide eyed looks on the moms when seeing the 8 foot tall orc speak fluent French and Russian.

Talk was made, numbers were exchanged, calls on speaker phone done, and now Athea is attending Rubi's birthday as her friend and as Sasha and Glyka's translator. The boys were already invited but this will make things easier for everyone, specifically the parents.

While Fenrir and Kim left for their late dinner date a thought came onto him.

"You don't speak French or Russian. Nor does Max."

"Yep, although he's learning Spanish and Japanese."

"But...how did you communicate so perfectly with them then? Not only the language barrier but they also just rarely spoke the few words they know."

"Body language and gut feeling. We have translators for human languages but most of them only work if you can type what you want to say meaning children their age can't use them. So me and Max mainly have to rely solely on body language sometimes feeling."

"I guess when you live in a world with thousands of languages you need to."

"Yep. Sometimes I wish we only had like 5, I could learn 5 languages."

"I like your diverse world though. So many cultures and stories. Each one unique and wonderful. Just like you." he grins leaning down to kiss the top of Kim's head.

"...well...I don't actually wish that. Specially now." she smiles.

[backpackingspace]

Wait going off the idea that Athena keeps things from her favorite people:

What does diomedes give her?

[izloveshorses]

asgdljfhk he said

[mettywiththenotes]

Viktor and Jinx parallels so good they work better apart than together

[shortnotsweet]

1. ANATOMY OF A KITCHEN (excerpt from THE THRILLING AND NOT AT ALL REPETITIVE ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN MAN AND KID DANGER: “A CHRONOLOGY OF ENTIRELY TRUE AND HEROIC EVENTS COINCIDING WITH THE END OF HISTORY”) [2] [3] [4]

If you want to know a person, watch how they treat their servers, how they treat their food. Living with them is the second best option. Living with Ray is not Henry’s only option, but it is the best. They don’t even need to watch the other eat; they know each other already.

[ “There is a man in my house. There will always be a man in my house. I will find him even when he is not there. And one day, when I find out there is no man in my house anymore, well—I will go find one and invite him in.” Paraphrased and reappropriated from Catherine Lacey’s “Cut”. The borrowed text refers to the uncanny feeling Henry experiences as an adult reflecting on his childhood relationships. ]

Catherine Lacey writes in her short story “Cut”: “If you're raised with an angry man in your house, there will always be an angry man in your house. You'll find him even when he is not there. And if one day you find that there is no angry man in your house—well, you will go find one and invite him in!” Peggy—a professor—reads this poem, which a female student has placed on her desk, and grapples with a response, to which she is advised, “It’s not your job to save anyone from their life or explain anything to them or even really teach them anything”.

PANEL NOTES

This follows the format of the catalyst stranger approaching the downtrodden protagonist in a dingy bar from behind, backlit by the hazy yellow lights and smoked out shadows. This is not a bar, but a kitchen—the center of any living space.

The borrowed text is tweaked, and excludes the descriptor “angry”, as the theme of the storyboards is not anger.

The use of red is limited and strategic, and scattered throughout like evidence; dusting for fingerprints. It’s tempting to drape Henry’s back in red against the blue background, as if bathed by an overhead lamp, but Ray is the anomaly. Henry is colored by an anxious, slightly melancholic blue (as well as shaky panel borders), while the flints of red signify danger (knock on wood) or non-literal symbolism.

The white wolf is curled around the blue in a protective gesture that also doubles as a stranglehold, snakelike.

Something, something, about wolves and lambs, consumption, and the simultaneous loss and retention of innocence through transformative processes. Note there are three lambs; these could stand either for Henry, Jasper, and Charlotte, or Henry (singular).