#But it’s fine

[quibbs126]

Oh yeah, so I finished it

I mean maybe I’ll make it look prettier but it’s fine as is. Serves its purpose

This has now been simplified in my head as “Transformers One: good ending”

[damianwaynerocks]

thinking about dick grayson and tim drake. dick was SO good to tim when he was robin. and i think there might’ve been a reason for that.

he wasn’t great to jason. he wasn’t terrible, of course. but he didn’t make near as much of an effort. and then jason died.

we know it wasnt intentional, dick not putting in effort. we know he cared about jason, but he was hurt and he was an adult and adults get so lost in their own lives that they can forget to make an effort. we know he did nothing wrong, but dick probably didn’t know that. dick grayson, the man who shoulders so much responsibility that his hands are always shaking, probably was thinking if i was there, if i would’ve done more.

the guilt probably ate him up, and then when bruce got tim, dick didn’t want to make the same mistake. so he went out of his way to be there for tim, to be the best big brother he possibly could. because he had to atone. because of guilt.

because at his core, dick grayson is nothing if not wracked with guilt to his very soul.

[notfernintheslighest]

can you tell im trying to convince myself

(1/3 of Senate will be up for reelection and all representatives will be as well, also find out when your governor’s term is up because gubernatorial elections are super important)

federal elections are every 2 years, not every 4, the president is not the only vote that matters, in fact it matters arguably the least

[ringneckedpheasant]

this fucking guy…

[scarredmoonss]

If I had a nickel for each time I’ve drawn them I’d be rich

[marylikeslemons]

Let’s fly with mama!

[thecoldandcruel]

21 years <3

[yakuza-emulation]

Shinichi Kudo- I mean.. Conan Edogawa, Detective.

I’ve been enjoying Detective Conan a lot recently, watching it with my father has been incredibly fun. (Including when we both yell at the screen at the utter idiocy of most of the characters)

We’re not that far in yet, still at the 250’s, but we’re getting there slowly but surely :D

[disgracedghostprincess]

Shitpost

Masterpost / Ask blog

[jenson-buttocks]

i know i should just leave it alone because this is never going to reach its intended audience (and lbh they don’t care) but i’m so tired of people who clearly don’t even like lando using him just to prop up their faves. the way he gets written, always feeling inferior to max or oscar or charles, always the emotional support punching bag, the afterthought, the one who exists solely to make someone else look better, it’s exhausting.

it’s always the same forced narrative where he’s the insecure one, the one who’s never quite enough, the one who gets hurt so their favorite can have some kind of fake redemption arc. and let’s not even talk about the ones who solely post him when he’s at his lowest cause “they love to see the tears in his eyes.”

these are the ones strip him of everything that makes him complex. his ambition, his humor, his sharpness, his loyalty, and reduce him to this one-dimensional person, and then act like they’re being generous by including him at all. these are the ones in fandom who use him to push a toxic, tired story that does nothing but undermine him and then act shocked when people push against the narrative.

i’m gonna be real with you, i’m not one to tell people what not to post. i post my own thoughts on my own blog and i’m not about to be censored so i get it (but just to add, i follow tagging etiquette, which is more than i can say for a lot of max, oscar, charles, and lewis fans who seem to relish tagging their anti posts with lando’s name so they show up in his main tag and then get combative when asked to remove them). but let’s be real. you can’t constantly push this narrative that lando is weak, inferior, or depressed, and then pull the shocked pikachu face when the internet eats it up and starts parroting it like fact.

i’ve been recommended so many landoscar and norstappen blogs lately, ones that get hundreds and thousands of notes, and the way they talk about lando? it’s grim. he’s always sad. always insecure. always the one hurting. never the one standing his ground, never the one being chosen, never the one who’s enough unless he’s crying over someone else’s greatness. and these blogs have huge followings. they shape fandom perception. and what they’re doing is subtle character assassination wrapped in a “poor baby” bow.

if the only version of lando you engage with is one where he’s small so someone else can be big, ask yourself why. because whether you mean to or not, you’re not just writing fanfic or making an angsty edit or a performative little text post for clout, you’re feeding a larger narrative that undermines him, and then acting shocked when people start treating that narrative like it’s canon.

lando isn’t your punching bag. he’s not a pity project, and he sure as hell isn’t the collateral damage in your obsession with someone else.

[littleindulgences]

If he were in the business of being honest with himself, Simon would admit that he was actually kind of nervous. He turns the blank white envelope over and over in his hands, watching you from across the mess hall. You’re sitting with a squad of recruits today, getting to know them for reasons he can’t fathom. Your smile warms him all the way from here.

“Ye just got to do it, LT,” Soap remarks with his mouth full. “‘S the only way to put it to rest.” Simon just grunts. He’s still a little loath to admit that he has a crush on you—it’s childish, and embarrassing, and compromising…

But he can’t help it.

He watches you exit the mess, the recruits trailing after you like ducklings. The envelope twists in his hands.

“She’s got range duty for the next two hours,” John says with raised eyebrows as he takes a sip of his drink. Simon purses his lips under the mask. His team stares at him pointedly.

“Ah, fuck off,” he grumbles, rising from the bench and walking off. “Arseholes.”

“Good luck, LT!” Soap calls after him. Simon flips him the bird. The Scot’s cackle follows him out.

Ghost wanders into the barracks, taking a winding, looping route that doesn’t do anything but make his apprehension worse. He finally forces himself to take Johnny’s advice and just fucking do it, and he marches right up to your locked door and slips the envelope underneath.

There. Nothing more to do but wait.

What the fuck. What the fuck. The note lays flat on your cot, rather unassuming, except for the newspaper-cutout letters and the thick black marker scrawling out a time, a place, and “You’ll Be Mine” with a little heart underneath.

“Well that’s…terrifying,” says Alicia, your bunkmate.

“Mhm,” you say. You’ve been staring at it for five minutes.

You found the envelope on the floor when you came back from training. It was blank except for the puppy dog sticker on the back, clearly intended to mimic your callsign: Watchdog. You’d opened it without a thought and found this, a threat/ransom note of what you think was meant to be a valentine.

“You’re not gonna go, are you?” Alicia asks.

You suck in a breath through your teeth and make a noncommittal noise. Alicia throws her hands up.

“Babe. You will get snatched if you go.”

“Not necessarily! Besides, if I go, then I know who sent this to me and can like…confront them or something,” you defend.

“Or you could take this to Price and report it,” Alicia deadpans, ever the voice of reason. You wave her off. She rolls her eyes and stands, bumping your shoulder. “Whatever. I’m heading out, my girlfriend’s waiting for me. Please try not to get kidnapped?”

“I’ll do my best,” you reply and give her a peck on the cheek.

But there are no guarantees in your line of work, and this is no exception. You narrow your eyes at the note. Bring it on.

You came. Holy shit this is farther than Simon thought he’d get. His palms feel sweaty. Did it get hot out all of a sudden?

“Ghost, you gotta calm down, mate,” Gaz whispers, motioning at him to breathe.

“I’m fine,” Simon snaps. You’re right there, turning every so often, peering into the dark with that look of concentration he loves on you. He can imagine the way your nose wrinkles and the way your tongue pokes between your teeth.

Simon shakes himself. Get it together, soldier.

“Alright, it’s go time!” Johnny whispers, and nudges Simon out of the shadows. “Go get ‘er LT!”

Simon takes one last deep breath and starts across the field to you.

Whoever invited you here is fuckin’ late. You’ve always been of the mind that early is on time and on time is late, which is most people’s opinion here anyway. And the note said 2100 hours! It’s coming up on 2105 now.

The note didn’t even name a meeting place, either, just coordinates that led to the massive oak tree behind the shooting range. Which isn’t suspicious at all. You turn in a slow circle every so often—head on a swivel and all that. While you were all bravado with Alicia earlier, you were a little tiny bit worried that maybe something would happen. You made sure to bring your bear mace with you, in the end. Just in case.

You’re about to call it quits and head back when a huge meaty hand falls on your shoulder.

Before you can blink you’ve whipped around, depressing what has to be half the canister on your attacker. They crumple, and you take the chance to plant your hands on their shoulders and your knee in their balls, sending them into the dirt. You take off running. Your heart climbs into your throat. Holy shit, Alicia was right!

You’re so caught up in your escape that you don’t notice where you’re going until you run smack into a barrel chest. Strong hands catch your arms and hold you upright.

“Woah, woah, lass! What was that?” It’s Soap, and he’s staring at you with a mix of horror and confusion. You see Gaz sprint off in the corner of your eye.

You’re out of breath. “I-I got this weird-ass note earlier,” you try to explain, “and it said to come out here? But it didn’t say who it was from and ‘Licia was worried I’d get kidnapped, and then that creep showed up—”

“That’s not a creep, that’s fuckin’ Ghost!”

“Huh?” You twist, and sure enough, Gaz is helping Ghost’s hulking form off the ground, supporting him as he struggles against the effects of the mace. Fuck.

Gaz and Simon stagger over. “We need to get him to medical,” Gaz says. You bury your face in your hands.

You sit awkwardly on a stool next to Ghost’s cot as the nurses irrigate his face. Price, Gaz, and Soap hover in the corner, talking quietly amongst themselves and occasionally looking over at you. You’d shown them the note Ghost had apparently given you.

Eventually the nurses leave Ghost be for a minute, and that’s when Price jumps in.

“Okay,” he starts, then turns to you. “Watch, you aren’t being stalked. Ghost wanted to give you a valentine rather than actually talk to you, against our advice.” Then he turns to Ghost. “Simon. Why.”

Ghost shrugs and frowns down at his lap. “You all said that valentines are ‘sposed to be secret. I knew she’d recognize my handwriting, so I improvised.”

“And you didn’t think that maybe you could just type something up?” Gaz asks. Simon shrugs again, but you can tell he’s blushing under the mask.

“Soap said handmade ones are better,” he admits quietly. The group turns to Soap. He gapes.

“Oh, like this is my fault,” he grumbles.

“I’m sorry for startling you,” Simon says, addressing you directly for the first time. “I just wanted…” He trails off, glares down at his lap.

“I’m sorry for macing you,” you tell him. “And for kneeing you in the balls.” Price facepalms beside you and you scramble to think of something else. “I—I liked the dog sticker, though!”

“Yeah?” Simon glances up at you. You can tell he’s grinning, and you smile back.

“Yeah,” you say. “Put him in my notebook.” The both of you sit there, smiling at each other like idiots.

“All right, ye two, tone it down,” Johnny chimes in, and Gaz elbows him. Price rolls his eyes and herds them out. You watch them leave, then turn back to Ghost. He’s picking at his cuticles, a rare show of vulnerability.

“Simon?” you say before you can overthink it.

“Mm?” He looks up at you. A stray sunbeam touches his face, turning his puffy, red-rimmed eyes into melted chocolate. You feel yourself flush.

“Would you…maybe want to go to dinner sometime?” you ask. Simon straightens on the tiny cot, and yeah, he’s really smiling now. Your heart kicks up a few notches.

“I’d love to,” he says. “Please don’t bring the mace.”

[sofitai28]

uhh martin I drew for a last minute secret santa (had to step in when someone dropped out 😔)

I miss him :(

[macknus]

Pathetic and Defeated (II)

Part one here

*~*~*~*~*

Whumpee groaned as Caretaker half-carried, half-dragged him down the street. He tried to minimise his hitches in breath, tried not to anger the good samaritan who took pity on him. He blinked as the stranger led him up towards the more wealthy part of town.

“Maybe,” Caretaker grumbled, letting out a breath of effort. “If you focused more on—” grunt, “walking, instead of trying to hide,” grunt, “your pain, we’d get there faster, ey?”

Whumpee released a breath he was holding and nodded. He shifted his weight to take more pressure on his bad leg and winced as his foot hit the ground. “There ya go, not much further now.”

Whumpee grunted in reply, but Caretaker was right. They were moving much faster now. And the quicker they got out of the rain, the sooner Whumpee could rest. Black spots swooped across his vision, accompanied with a warm sicky feeling and Whumpee’s strength left him.

Caretaker let out a shout of surprise, and ducked to catch Whumpee before he collapsed on the ground again. When Whumpee could see clearly again he was staring at the sky, the kind stranger staring down at him.

The stranger’s hand patted Whumpee’s cheek lightly. “Still with me?”

“Mmhm.”

Caretaker nodded and sat back. He ran a hand through his soaked blond strands and let out a sigh. “I guess I’m dragging you home,” he said.

Whumpee protested, struggling to get up on his elbows but Caretaker just laughed and pushed Whumpee back down again. “I’m joking. Relax. Get your strength back, and then we can move again. Here.”

Whumpee blinked into the midnight sky. A pop to the left of him and suddenly the sky was replaced with a black web of fabric and the rain seized falling on Whumpee’s face. Caretaker’s face popped under the cover of the umbrella too, grinning down at Whumpee as rain dripped steadily down his face.

What a strange man, Whumpee mused even as his mind swirled.

“There, now. We have some shelter while you recover.” Caretaker said happily. His brows fell over his eyes. “Though if we get colds out of this I will hold you personally liable. I hate sneezing.”

Whumpee wanted nothing more than to rest his head back against Caretaker’s warm leg and sleep but he knew it was dumb. They should really try and get back to Caretaker’s house. So after another minute or two Whumpee said, “okay.”

Caretaker glanced down, eyebrows raised, “you sure?”

“Yeah. I can make it.”

“Wonderful! It’s not far now.”

That’s what you said last time, Whumpee didn’t say.

Caretaker helped Whumpee to his feet and they were off again. Caretaker walking, Whumpee limping. And they were making far better progress than before.

“Ah, there. You see that big house at the end of the street?”

Whumpee saw it alright. It was hard to miss. But that was the baron’s house. He told Caretaker as much. Caretaker grinned. “Yes, well. Nice to meet you too…”

Whumpee stopped suddenly and Caretaker grunted. “You’re the Baron?”

“Yes. And I’m also freezing, so can we please keep moving?”

Whumpee blinked away the stupor, or maybe it was a concussion, but they continued walking anyways up to the big manor house that stood proudly at the edge of town.

“And your name is?”

“Whumpee.”

“Ah. Wonderful. Pleasure to meet you, Whumpee,” Caretaker said. “My name is Caretaker.”

“I know your name, Baron Ca—”

“No, no, just Caretaker,” Caretaker said, half lifting, half dragging Whumpee up the steps to the house and stumbling along beside him. He grabbed Whumpee and set him against the wall for support as he lifted the knocker to the door. Caretaker put his hands on his hips and grinned at Whumpee under the shelter of the porch, exposing perfect white teeth. “I insist.”

A stocky gentleman in his late thirties opened the door, prematurely salt and peppered grey hair cropped neatly at the sides. He stared down at the Baron who seemed to have disturbed him from rest like a tired parent. Baron, in striking contrast, beamed a grin at the man.

“Master, you are soaking wet. How many times have I told you—”

Caretaker held up the umbrella. “Not to worry Valko my good man, I remembered it this time. No I found a poor man in the street who needs medical attention and dry clothes.” Caretaker sniffed the air, glancing at Whumpee then back to Valko before theatrically whispering: “And maybe a bath.”

Valko stuck his long neck out the door and glanced at the barely conscious Whumpee, half falling down the wall and let out a long sigh. “I thought you were finished collecting strays as well,” Valko muttered but stepped out into the porch and approached Whumpee.

“Who said I was finished collecting strays?” Baron asked, disappearing into the house, his bright voice carrying out the door. “Besides, a human is better than another hound, Valko. We don’t have any free kennels left for one, so I improvised.”

“Mm, no…” Whumpee mumbled, as Valko approached, weakly lifting a hand, but the stocky man didn’t seem to notice or care. The last thing Whumpee saw before darkness filled his vision, was Valko lifting him with surprising strength for a skinny man and carrying him like a baby into the manor house. Whumpee’s strength left him as soon as they crossed the threshold into the house and he went limp in Valko arms as the Baron asked from somewhere within the bowels of the house.

“What’s for dinner? I am famished.”

*~*~*~*~*

General Tag-list: @sunflower1000 @scoundrelwithboba (lmk if you wanna be added/removed🫶)

[logandria]

Self Portrait while Living in My Car

[other-side-of-the-puddle]

More one piece doodles

Enjoy my head canons and off model characters because I’m too lazy for references. I might clean up and colour some of these later if I feel like it

Sorry if you can’t read my writing! (It’s nothing important anyway)