#DAMN THIS WAS A DOOZY

[fumble-art]

Massive Mutual Movie Mayhem

If anyone wondered why I was dead to the world for the past couple weeks this mass attack is to blame! Happy End of ArtFight to my amazing mutuals

characters belong to the following: Red @jackzarts, Keeva (myself), Mokki @mokki-tea, Neirin @beakdoktor, GRiM @tg-i, DeVahl @nightexcision , Lucien @seplium , Jasper & Axle @mynders-universe , Ren MidnighTisDed

[whumble-beeee]

Yur Gonna Get Murdalated, Rookie

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 15.5

Content: adult character perceived as a minor, kidnapping/captivity, noncon drugging, guns, recreational drug use, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, past captivity references

* * * * * * * *

Excerpt from: The Law Enforcement Policy Handbook, Chapter X: Superhumans

[Officers of the law have the right to ask any civilian to show their upper right arm to verify whether or not the civilian bears the ‘General Super Brand’. If the civilian does possess such a marking, they are superhuman; the officer has the right to use whatever superhuman training they may possess. 

If the brand indicates that the superhuman is also a ‘Latent Supervillain,’ ‘Supervillain,’ or Test Subject,’ the officer is also compelled to check the superhuman’s upper right shoulder blade for the ‘Hazardous Super Brand,’ colloquially known as ‘The Villain Brand.’ Depending on the contents of the brand, the officer may be required to arrest or otherwise subdue the superhuman. They are advised to use their best judgment to subdue the superhuman or hide and call for backup.]

* * * * * * * *

The night was peaceful. Boring, even. The type of night where you’d wanna just sit back and smoke a cigar in the amber-dusking twilight that spilled through the half-closed blinds of your office. It’s filled to bursting with old bookshelves sworn by the tests of time, a single chair for you to sit in as you work, and a sprawling, book-laden red oak wood desk, surrounded on all sides by stacks and stacks of notes, files, crucial evidence about your latest case. The scent of cigars burns your nose. You’re so close to a breakthrough, you could just about taste it on the tip of your tongue, You would find it, you always did, and you could feel it now, edging ever closer after a tirelessly rewarding and sleepless night.

And yet here Officer Kalis Brooks sat instead, bored out of her skull watching some dinky ass highway that was lucky if a car graced its beaten roads once every twenty minutes. 

If only she were a film noir detective. Truly an unfair life she led.

It was a suspicious sort of fellow she finally spotted slowly making his way down the highway. A scoundrel who wore a bandana over the lower half of his face.

A person with something to hide.

Of course, she pulled him over. Simply her duty as an officer of the law.

She approached the truck and rapped lightly on the driver’s side window, and it rolled down with a gentle whirr. She shined her flashlight into the vehicle, and the view to greet her was almost something of a–

Holy shit.

The driver sat there, lazily gripping the steering wheel, looking like some sort of modernized pseudo-cowboy with a buncha scary lookin’ gadgets. A burn scar ran all the way up the side of his face, down his neck, and reappeared on his arm where his leather jacket rolled up to his elbows. His eyes were dilated, every movement markedly relaxed. Disjointed. Uncanny even. 

He was definitely high. But at least he’d had the forethought to take off that bandana concealing his identity. That was a good thing, right?

Then her jaw nearly dropped when she registered the passenger. He didn’t even look at her, his gaze stiff and unseeing. Very obviously also high on some sort of drug, though Kalis reckoned this high was less than consensual. Not to mention the super-power suppression collar wrapped around his neck. 

He was a super. 

She wasn’t trained to handle cases like this. Was this a super kidnapping in progress?! Something more?

Shit, no time for film noir roleplay bullshit, this is serious.

This is a villain.

Her gaze snapped back to the driver, just as her hand unclipped the gun holstered at her hip.

“Sir, please step out of the car slowly with your hands up. You’re being detained under suspicion of committing an in-progress felony.”

The driver’s gaze immediately shot to his passenger. “Officer, there uh… seems to be a misunderstanding–”

“Step out of the car or I’ll have you arrested for disobeying an officer of the law.”

That got his attention. The driver blew his bangs out of his face with a slow, deep sigh, and equally slowly reached down to open the door. The metallic creak of the door swinging open was almost deafening in the moonlit night. 

“I should mention I have a gun holstered on my belt,” he drawled inattentively, boots crunching the sparse gravel scattered across the shoulder of the highway. His arms stayed firmly raised, thankfully. “A revolver. Left side.” 

“Thank you for informing me,” Officer Brooks said quickly. This man seemed to be an easy-going fella, thankfully, but air around him stank of danger, like the haze of the walking dead. She slipped the ornately decorated gun out of its holster and slapped all the bullets to the roadway with 6 distinctly clean clinks. Then triple-checked that the safety was on. Then a fourth time. The matching knife too, for good measure. 

“I’d like to ask you some questions,” she stated, barely halting her transatlantic accent from slipping through. Stop it with the film noir. “Show me your upper right arm, please.”

He sighed, then nodded, then struggled to push up the leather sleeves of his jacket enough to show her the clear absence of a super brand. 

Good, one less thing to worry about. Not a supervillain.

“Alright then, what’s going on with that boy in the truck, friend?”

“Nothin’ much. That’s Stan. He’s my ward.”

“Your ward?”

“Yuh. I have custody over him. He’s a test subject.”

“Really?” She said, voice full of faux intrigue.

“Really.”

“And who are you, exactly?”

“Handler, of sorts. A bounty hunter. I work with the police sometimes, actually, we have an arrangement.”

“Oh? An arrangement?” she asked, as if daring him to tell her all the illegal dealings he held in his hidden hand of cards.

He just shrugged.

Ugh, she hated these types.

 “Fine. You have any proof?”

“Think I left my bounty huntin’ papers in my other pants,” he quipped. “Check the kid's villain brand, call in my ID, talk to your boss. Should be proof enough.”

That was absolutely not how that worked. Though she did feel a slight vindication in her chest that she would actually probably arrest this man.

“You have your ID on you?”

“Mhm.” 

He flicked out his ID between forefinger and middle to the officer, seemingly plucking it from thin air before she snatched it out of his hand, noting every piece of identifying information, checking for signs of a fake. Nothing seemed to be out of order… Had he really just handed her his real ID?

“And you said something about the boy having a villain brand?”

The man– Declan Cansano, so said the ID– nodded. Then rolled his damn eyes.

“Oh, I'm sorry, am I boring you?” She smiled sarcastically. “Need I make it obvious that you are suspected of kidnapping?” 

“I just have somewhere to be. It’s late. If you’d call in to ask about–”

“Are you telling me how to do my job?”

“No ma'am, I'm sayin’ you'd save yourself a lot–”

“Well stop ‘sayin'’ or I'll be ‘sayin’’ that you resisted arrest when I’m writing up your arrest report. This way.” 

She had to keep from grabbing his arm and yanking him as she led him over to her cruiser and deposited him near the passenger side door. Only after ordering him to turn around so she could cuff him behind his back of course.

“Stay here until I come back,” she ordered. “And remember that running from a uniformed officer is a criminal offense.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he lulled back, almost sing-songy while leaning nonchalantly against the car. “Keep an eye on the kid, he's the type you’d have to worry about.”

Because you kidnapped him? God, she couldn't wait to throw the book at that man. 

Kalis pressed the talk button on the radio clipped to her shoulder. “Officer Brooks reporting, I have a man pulled over here named Declan Cansano, roughly 6 and a half feet tall, blond, possibly… Latino? I have him detained for suspected kidnapping of the boy he has with him, a white brown-haired male, very battered and bruised and likely drugged who looks to be about… sixteen-ish? The man claims the boy is a super with villain status, and that he has jurisdiction over him as a ‘handler’ or ‘bounty hunter’ or something. Can you look him up for me?”

There was a moment of silence, then the radio crackled to life. “Report received, I'll look into a ‘Declan Cansano’ for you real quick. Do you have a name for the white male I can look into as well?”

“Not yet, I’m going to check that out now and get back to you shortly.”

“Wait,” A third voice interupted, familiar in just the right way to make Kalis’ heart flutter in her chest. Officer Frida Galleta. Her mentor, her favorite person on the force, one of the people she trusted most in this world. And… well, it didn’t hurt that she was easy on the eyes as well. “Brooks, did I hear you right? You said last name Cansano?”

Just as fast as it had soared, her heart dropped like a stone in a vacuum. She’d never heard that tone from Frida before. “I– I– Uh... yes. Why?”

“Oh god, I… Brooks, don’t engage with him– Look, I’m gonna call you on your personal cell–”

“Wait, Frida, what do you mean ‘don’t engage with him?’ I have him detained, I can’t not engage with him.”

“Officers, please keep small talk to a minimum over the radio,” Dispatch interrupted. “Officer Brooks, I couldn’t find anything on a ‘Declan Cansano’ anywhere, not the super or villain database, the criminal database, the employee database. But uh… to Officer Galleta’s point, if he said he’s a bounty hunter... Well, let’s just say you might wanna follow up with the chief about that before you make any decisions. They might have some sort of arrangement, so to speak.”

Arrangement…? Like a… Like…

Officer Brooks smelled the stinking injustice of a rat.

“Co–... Come again, dispatch?” she breathed into the radio.

“No!” Officer Galleta’s voice interrupted. “Dispatch, I’l’-I’lll handle this, no need to get the higher-ups involved. Please.” 

Then her phone rang. Officer Galleta’s beautiful profile photo graced her periphery as she pulled out the phone and promptly sent the call straight to voicemail, eyes straight ahead and staring into the pitch-black night. At the car that a captive was waiting for her in.

“Kalis, please answer your phone,” Galleta pleaded.

Officer Brooks silenced her radio, that wretched squeal, and started toward crime scene in the making.

It was a pig-filled world out there. She wouldn’t stand idly by as they made the entire world their mud pit.

Her phone rang again.

A single deep breath to steel her razor-sharp wit, then slammed open the passenger side door, preparing for the occupant to do anything from attacking like a spit-fire to running for the hills to grasping onto her and holding her close as the first friendly face this boy had seen in years.

Somehow, she didn’t expect the boy inside to startle and struggle, legs scrambling and weakly kicking at her to put distance between them. He leaned precariously back on the console of the car, shaking as if he were in hell when it finally froze over, and only then did she realize his hands were restrained behind his back.

Now that she wasn’t looking at him over the angry presence of a kidnapper, she could see clearly now that her first impression of him was so very wrong; He was so much worse off than she could have imagined. Deep-set dark circles under his eyes, so many bruises lining his skin, specks of dried blood flakes dotting his body, cuts caked with disgusting oozing brown, eyes dilated and bloodshot, angry red welts peaking out from under the power-suppressing collar that only could have been from being yanked around or choked, and dried blood-stains that drip-drip-dripped down the front of his oversized white t-shirt.

Her face went ashen at the ghastly scene. What had that man done?

Her phone rang once more. She muted it. It still buzzed in her pocket.

“Hi,” she started slowly. Her voice cracked slightly. “My name is Officer Brooks, or Kalis. I'm here to help you. What's your name?”

He simply returned her a wide-eyed stare. Then glanced over to her cruiser. At the man leaning on it. Then at her badge. Then down to his lap, not a single word uttered.

The phone buzzed with another call.

“It's alright,” she soothed, like a mother beckoning a lost child home. “He can't hurt you right now. I'm here to help you, but I need you to talk to me or else I can't help you. I need to know your name. It’s Stan, right? Stan? That’s what I heard from him.”

He looked up, staring into her as if she wasn't even there again, eyes so wide, so dilated. No words. He frowned, considering for a moment. Then a vindictive determination spread across his features and he moved his gaze right back to his lap.

“Alright, that's uh… that's alright.” She felt like a kindergarten teacher with the way she was talking. Her phone buzzed with yet another call. “Can I… can I at least see the super brand on your back? Can you do that for me, Stan?”

He jolted back. “No.”

More phone buzzing. Adrenaline surged in her chest. “Stan, please. I can't get you back to your family if I can't find out who you are.”

“... fam–... family?...” His eyes widened, pupils somehow blown even wider, unfocused into the middle distance.

“Yes, Stan.” She very carefully reached for the collar of his shirt, ready to pull back at any time. The boy didn’t react. “I just want to get you back to your family.”

Kalis pulled the shirt down just enough to reveal that awful blue of the villain brand. The blue that signified a test subject.

Shit, the bounty hunter had been telling the truth.

The phone buzzed once more. Kalis snatched it out of her pocket. Turning around swiftly so Stan wouldn’t think what was about to happen next was directed at him.

“What do you want?” She hissed. “I’m trying to talk to a kidnapping victim.”

“Oh thank god, you’re alright,” Frida's tinny voice came through the speaker.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I– Look, Kalis, I know this sounds bad, but I need you to let the bounty hunter go. Now.”

Officer Brooks grit her teeth. This was exactly what she was afraid of. “Why.”

“He’s… look, alright, I’m surprised no one told you before, but the police have a sort of… deal… with certain criminals and organizations. Mr. Cansano is one of them–”

“So you’re a dirty cop, then?” Kalis interrupted, voice strained, chest tight. “And– and you’re trying to bring me down with you, now? Frida, I–...  You should see what he’s done to this captive. I can't let him go.”

"I’m not a dirty cop! Not the way you’re thinking at least, I– just trust me, I can't even say over the phone but I'm on my way and I’ll tell you when I get there, I swear. Please don't do anything, for both our sakes.I know him, he's–”

“You know him?!”

“Yes, he’s–”

“How do you know him?!”

“Kalis. Listen to me.” Her voice turned deathly serious. “He's got ties everywhere. Hell, he does jobs for the police sometimes, they won't protect you if you get in trouble. He might try to kill you, and even if he doesn't and you get him arrested, now you have a target on your back from both the mob AND the corrupt police. If you try to arrest him, you're going to die. Please just leave him alone. Please."

She grit her teeth. “So that means he doesn't have any… official paperwork to prove he has authority over the super?”

“I– uh… probably not? They don't work within the law, that's why you need to let him go.”

Well then…

That’s all she needed to hear.

“I’m arresting him.”

“No! No, Khalis, I'm on my way, I'll-I’ll be two minutes, just wait–”

She slammed her phone down and turned back around to Stan, only then realizing that the poor boy probably heard everything she just said–

Nope, he was off in his own little world again.

“Stan?...”

No response.

She waved her hand in front of his face. “Stan!”

He startled back to himself, terrified, scrambling to get away from her just like the first time she'd walked up to him.

She didn't have time for this.

“Stan, honey, I'm going to arrest the man who hurt you alright? He won't hurt you anymore. I have to leave now, but one of my friends will be here very soon. She'll help you out, alright? Everything will be alright. Just please stay here. Hopefully I'll see you soon.”

Officer Brooks closed the door of the truck before she could catch a reaction, hoping that ditching Stan to be found by Officer Galleta was the best choice here.

It had to be, it was the only choice.

She steeled herself, resting her hand on her gun once more, and walked back over through the oppressive black night and into the spotlighting brights of her police car. 

To face down the bounty hunter.

“Mr. Cansano, you're–...” 

Then all of her built-up courage suddenly burst. What the hell was–...

She gaped.

Then scoffed.

Really?

“Are–… are you… smoking a blunt right now?”

The bounty hunter’s hand withdrew from his mouth, followed by a puff of dark white smoke. His gaze never once broke from the bright dot of red-yellow ash that oh-so-subtly lit his face. “Yup.”

She just stared at him for a moment. Then shook her head out. Whatever.

“Mr. Cansano, you're under arrest for suspected kidnapping of a super and illegal bounty hunting.” He didn’t so much as blink. “You have the right to remain silent, as anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, and if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you.” Crickets chirped somewhere in the forest sidelining them. “Do you understand these rights as I’ve spoken them to you?”

He didn’t move in the slightest through her whole spiel. He almost seemed to have paused time around him, actually, a frozen snapshot.

A pause as Kalis stood ready to arrest a few feet away, yet unable to move closer as the air turned sticky with his low chuckle.

A pause because, only then, did Kalis realize that when she last left the man, she'd left him in handcuffs.

The bounty hunter shoved the burning tip of the blunt into the metal siding of her cruiser, instantly extinguishing the bright ember. “You talked to your boss?”

She clutched her gun. “I've been made aware of the situation.”

“Brave one, you are.”

He pushed up out of his lean. She whipped out her gun and aimed it squarely at his chest. “Freeze.”

He stopped, staring at her gun hand, eyes narrowed, hands shooting up to show he wasn’t a threat.

Yeah right.

Police sirens in the distance. Couldn’t be anyone but Frida.

“Put your hands on the car. Slowly.”

He looked her up and down. It was funny, his eyes almost looked red, with the way the headlights shined off his eyes.

“Hands on the car.”

The hunter almost seemed to think about it for a moment. Then he laughed, pulled his bandana up over his face, and took a step forward. 

Her vision tunneled, heart pounding in her ears. All she had to do was pull the trigger.

“Shame,” he drawled. Now he had… a string? A metal string, the type used to cut clay. Held taut between his hands. “I’ll try not to make this hurt, youu seem lie one of the good ones.”

Kalis’s gun hand shook. She should shoot him. She’d never shot anyone before. Shoot him. Shoot him. In the chest, in the leg, somewhere, shoot him, shoot him, you’re going to die shoot him shoot him do it fucking SHOOT HIM–

Her finger squeezed the trigger as he lunged forward, a flash of light, everything bright white and hot and blinding as a loud CRACK split through her eardrums, her very skull. Her gun arm knocked to the side, the gun flew from her hands. Her only chance at defending herself disappeared somewhere into the inky black night.

Suddenly she was staring right into his dark brown eyes that seemed to gleam red. His hands slammed just short on either side of her neck, the wire held gingerly between them pressing into the hard muscle of her larynx.

Just the two of them. 

The crickets, the trees.

The stars, shining above so sweetly.

Her last witnesses.

She was going to die here.

“Sorry about this,” he whispered, a low grumble that reverberated her entire soul. She couldn’t look away from those blood-red eyes. Would her blood be added to that as well?

A deafening screech of tires.

His brow furrowed, gaze stuttering elsewhere. A new set of headlights spotlighted them like startled deer, two omens of death and justice heading straight for them, night turned into a shining white day. 

 Brighter, brighter.

“Holy shit,” the bounty hunter yelled. Low engine revs turned into deafening roars that wholly swallowed any screams that ripped from Kalis’ or Declan’s throats, right before a hand yanked off her feet, just barely heaved over the hood of the car and tumbling jarringonto the ground next to the man who had apparently saved them both as a giant mass of immoveable flashing red and blue and black and white metal screeched past them as it attempted to grind to a stuttering halt before flying into the ditch that sidelined the highway.

Kalis slammed into the ground.

The world spun around her.

Frida.

Frida.

Ow, FUCK–

What’s–

It was Frida!

She was saved!

Or wait, was Frida trying to kill her now?

Why had the bounty hunter saved her, were they on the same side now?

What was happening?!

The door of the cop car flew open before the car even fully screeched to a halt, and there she stood in all of her gorgeous, life-saving, terrified and anger-filled glory, pointing her gun over the top of her cop car right at the man in the cowboy hat sprawled dazed on the ground next to her.

“DECLAN CANSANO, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

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Next

Also linking this rq for anyone who didn't see bc I think I'm hilarious

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything

@paperprinxe | @tippytappytyping | @chaotic-orphan | @notactuallyluska | @lumpofsand

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees | @whumpwhittler | @thelazywitchphotographer

(If you'd like to be added or subtracted from the taglist, don't be afraid to ask!)

[pocketgalaxies]

:D :D :D

[ask-granite-pillars]

[TRANSMISSION REQUEST INBOUND. PARTICIPANTS: Ten Ounces Of Enriched Egg White (ADMIN, URAD), Unit of Radioactive Decay, Granite Pillars Stained By Statuesque Memories Of A Thousand Hands] [Live Broadcast] URAD: Hello? Is this reaching you? URAD: Your communications towers appear to be somewhat degraded. it took several tries to- TEN OUNCES (crosstalk, from out of frame): You degrade my efforts! Several tries and me fixing the formatting, as well. URAD: Several tries and my administrator's assistance in order to get a signal through. Your upkeep seems to be rather neglected, group senior. But I expect that it would be quite difficult to keep one of your age running in the first place. I am told that I should keep an amiable relationship with my group's senior, but I believe that Ten Ounces was more enthusiastic to meet you than I. TEN OUNCES (faint, from out of frame): Granite Pillars Stained By Statuesque Memories Of A Thousand Hands is the oldest surviving iterator, and it would be an honor to learn anything she might still have in her archives. URAD (directed towards indeterminate point to left of frame): As has been true for the past twelve times you have mentioned this. URAD: Truthfully, I do not know what value there is that I can gain from this, besides simply being aware of those above me on my local group's chain of command, but Ten Ounces was quite insistent that we at least try now that your communications are back online- TEN OUNCES (crosstalk, from out of frame): (undecipherable) TEN OUNCES: (very low voice, from bottom corner of frame): Don't say that to your group senior! URAD: -and so, here we are. Hello. I am Unit of Radioactive Decay. It is nice to meet you.

Oh, I remember this broadcast very well! We met (properly, at least- I did work on their genome and construction plans before they were activated fully) long after I had already grown obsolete. Unit of Radioactive Decay is the second-oldest in our local group, and I consider us to be good friends, research partners, and distant neighbors.

[BROADCAST TRANSCRIPT]

GP: Do I know you?

GP: Silent Embrace of Leaves? Is that you?

URAD: Your name data appears to be out of date.

URAD: To a nearly comical degree.

URAD: As of four thousand, three hundred, and twenty-six cycles ago, it is Unit of Radioactive Decay.

GP: Oh. 

GP: It’s been a long, long time since I’ve seen you last- my apologies.

GP: It’s a pleasure to meet you once more!

GP: Have you been doing well?

TEN OUNCES: Um.

URAD: Have you been maintained... at all... in the cycles since you were constructed?

GP: Ha!

GP: Not much, these days! 

GP: I’m far out of date, as you can undoubtedly tell.

URAD: It shows.

GP: Would you believe that I put in a request for the repair of my communications systems over a thousand cycles ago?

GP: And yet, here I am, as my communications remain in this tragic state… my greatest gratitudes to your administrator for managing to connect us at all!

URAD: Your administrators sound very inefficient. Are you sure that you have technicians? If your memories are in the state they seem to be, you may have been sending your requests to the inbox of someone who has already moved on.

URAD: You should check your active staff. It would be very inefficient to make your current administrators comb through the emails of their predecessors.

GP: Perhaps I should...

GP: Ah, it's such a hassle to deal with seasonal administrators.

GP: I was never meant to have to deal with a city, and you'd think my administrators would be able to work around that...

GP: Sigh.

[The broadcast continues for some time as iterators Granite Pillars Stained By Statuesque Memories Of A Thousand Hands and Unit Of Radioactive Decay continue to exchange words.]

[ddeongies]

quiet afternoon crush (ch 9) - anatomy of a hookup

ryeji college au, idiots in love, slow burn, fluff & smut, yeji falls first ryujin falls harder | word count: 41.6k/????

Ryujin draws all the while, barely aware of the charcoal on the page. All she can think about is pressing a kiss to the swell of Yeji's hip, tracing a finger across the corner of her jaw. She remembers how dark Yeji’s eyes were when she didn’t kiss her in her apartment almost three weeks ago. She remembers the sheer athleticism of that goal she scored at the semifinals and the way Yeji had found her in the crowd before being slammed into a group hug by her team. She remembers the quiet certainty with which Yeji had looked at her when they were sitting together in the common room, thighs pressed together, the private intimacy of the moment despite the fact that they were surrounded by her friends. Ryujin realizes that she’s not sure she’ll be able to shake the image of Yeji’s naked body from her mind. Realizes that it’s going to be near impossible to spend time with Yeji without itching to do something. She had been content to play a long game, to see if something could happen between them naturally. But after Snow Ball? After this? She’s not so sure that’ll work.  

🎨 Keep Reading

⚽️ Master Post

[lighterfire9000]

[dirtytransmasc]

the level of just... I don't want to be rude, but stupidity that just consumes this whole idea, I don't even know where to fucking start.

like what? what is this? some random person on the internet in the 20th century being a bastard is vastly different than 3 princes of the realm, son's of the heir, from a fantasy show/universe that can't be compared on a timeline, since its y'know, fictional and takes place in a fictional timeline, but most things point it being vaguely 12th century based. its not some fucking gotcha, like yup a lot of people nowadays are born out of wedlock, myself included, that totally nullifies any and all consequences of being a royal bastard at a time when being a bastard was literally a death sentence...

like what else should I say? this is just so nonsensical, I can't even come up with a response.

it's really tiring seeing TB fans strip the context and nuance from literally every scenario ever. like it was never really about them being bastards, it was about them being bastard prince's, that were still being pushed as legitimate heirs to not one, but two thrones, and were an active threats to multiple children (Alicent's children. Baela and Rhaena, cause if they hadn't been betrothed to Jace and Luke, which is a death sentence in its own right, would have to be taken out of the picture to secure the boy's reigns. their own legitimate siblings.), and the fact that its literal treason committed by the heir to the throne, who then did whatever it took to defend her lies, no matter who it hurt... like yes, people were mad that they were the bastard, but it was definitely influenced by all of the context surrounding it.

then there's the comments, which... jesus... these are my favs (warning, they're somehow more nonsensical):

so first off, we have this one, which, the logic is so far out the window I don't even think any amount of logical response can touch it. bastards are, by definition "a child born to parents who are not married to each other" which doesn't describe Alicent's children at all. just because they don't meet your weird, blood purity, eugenics type bullshit standards, doesn't make them bastards, it just makes you dense.

and then there's this one. just because it wasn't shoved down your throat so hard you can't even attempt to refute it, like it was in the show, in the books, doesn't mean it wasn't there, and doesn't mean its not true, your head just permanently takes residence in your ass. they were most definitely bastards in the books, they just showed it instead of told it, unlike the show that told you outright that they were.

I just want one day where TikTok doesn't give me a stroke, cause this damn near put me over the edge.

[ssreeder]

Ollooooo!

I was tagged by @erisenyo @chiptrillino & maybe someone else? Idk I’m sorry I love you all. For the last line that I’ve written, so here it is -

“I find the different nation’s war strategies interesting, and a ruse like this is precisely what I would have expected from the Southern Water Tribe fleet.”

im supposed to tag some people: @maaaxx @hella1975 @sockfus @chiptrillino (writing please.) @punkjet @y-s-t-v

It’s the last line you’ve written (please all of you feel free to ignore me except one of you don’t you ignore me. Mwahahahaha (seriously don’t befriend me I’m so annoying)

Anyone else feel free to join & tag me so I can see wohoooo!!!

[missingmumbles]

okay so obviously I’m no stranger to obsessing over hockeys, shocking I know, but goddamn did Arber Xhekaj get a fucking chokehold on me fast

I’ve heard his name a few times before but I finally looked him up & holy shit I have not stopped thinking about him for more than five seconds over the last couple days what the fuck

[notjusthespongenextdoor]

Man i feel like the benefits of everyone being taught how to cook as a regular part of school are pretty self-evident but also if this theoretical education was not only extant but Thorough and went into WHY recipes work and what the different ingredients are there for, i feel like we'd see a lot less of stupid food products like "low fat cream." Like what the fuck are you talking about. That's just skim milk

[oculusxcaro]

FEEL. -How does your character react to a persons touch? A random stranger’s? A loved one’s? A friend’s?ㅤ&&ㅤFEAR. -What are your muses biggest fears?

“DAMN.” Questions for Muses.

FEEL. -How does your character react to a persons touch? A random stranger’s? A loved one’s? A friend’s?ㅤ

In all honesty? Khare is brutally touch-starved yet at the same time lives in terror of being touched, partially due to traumatic experiences at the hands of the researchers who turned her into what is she but self-disgust also, at what she is, what she's done. She's repulsive, inhuman. Khare can barely tolerate being in her own body so why would anybody want to touch a monster like her? They wouldn't if they knew the truth so she stays away, fearful of physical touch lest they feel how cold she is, flesh chilly and pale as death. She longs for comfort however, to be hugged by family just one more time. Months of solitary confinement - and sensory deprivation - while held captive by Prometheus was a nightmarish experience to somebody who had a healthy family life until the day she was locked up, restrained and forcibly injected with whatever mystery concoction her captors decided to test that day. For strangers and customers, Khare avoids their touch. It's easy enough since she doesn't actually need to touch people in her line of work, handing out receipts, taking money, passing customers their plates and so on. The odd random stranger she can't help bump into is quickly given a wide berth with many apologies. She's repulsive, she knows she shouldn't touch anyone and that maybe it's even dangerous, if she accidentally shocks them or somehow infects them with whatever condition she's got. @the-rorschach-mask is one of the only people she's dared touch until now, carefully tending to his injured hands as though they were made of finest bone china. She'd forgotten just how warm another person felt to the touch but she worked quickly, cleaning any open wounds before bandaging his knuckles up, task complete. Far from seeing him as dirty, Khare was the one concerned for Rorschach, if he was truly okay with somebody like her touching him. He's seen them, those disgusting eyes in her flesh. Khare will pull away from contact (if she sees it coming) but deep down, she wants nothing more than to be scooped up into a reassuring hug and squeezed tight, to know everything's going to be okay and that she's not diseased, a monster or a freak. As comforting as this would be, somehow she feels it would be more terrifying than never being touched again.

FEAR. -What are your muses biggest fears?

Bears. Needles. Being alone again. Being around too many people. Cars pulling up quietly behind her while she's walking outside in the street. Being stared at too long. Silence. Too much noise. Being followed. The eyes growing in her flesh. How her family is doing back home. Are they missing her? Are they glad she's gone? Is she going to be okay? What will she forget next? How long as she got left to live? What will she do when rent goes up again? Will Prometheus come looking for her here in Gotham? Can she get a second job? What'll happen if she loses the one she's got? Did she offend another customer today? She's sure she's forgotten something important... but what?

[gpedia]

Fucking how am I supposed to wait two more days for the VOD now

[vectorman]

oh hey happy three year anniversary to the last time i was able to take two PTO days off in a row at work

[lowgang25]

A dream I had a month ago

So, this was a dream I had abt a month ago, roughy a week after I first started watching Sanders Sides and I jst wanted to share it. (Hoping there’s no word limit) So in my dream there was an app on ur phone that highlighted your soulmate in a light blue outline and everyone was walking around trying to find theirs. For whatever reason I was following this girl around and keeping her out of danger bc she kept walking into the road. Eventually she found her soulmate and mine was her soulmates brother, but he had literally no interest in me (sad times :( ). So I went to a nearby train station and kinda jst moped about bc apparently I had two train tickets; one for me and the other for my soulmate. As I was walking, I noticed someone in the distance, so I kinda froze. Who was it, you may ask? It was mf Remus Sanders, and boy when I tell you he was tall as FUCK. I had literally almost look at the ceiling to see his face. The weirder part? At the time of having the dream, I actually hated him a bit; not now, ofc. But to wrap things up I asked him if he wanted to ride the train with me and he said yes, told me to grab a hand puppet for some reason (it was a light tan dog) and then the dream ended. Pretty weird but I jst needed to share it somewhere.

[cornsobsessions]

i don’t think i realized how emotionally draining this week has been until i got home from work this afternoon and literally just sat at my desk with some background noise and barely talked to anyone for literally 7 hours

[parabelled]

+ HALFWAY THROUGH BAR EXAM WEEK and I reached the stage where I was literally pouring eye drops into my eyes half the day while drinking coffee because my eyes were bloodshot from staring at a screen for eight and a half hours without a break.

This is where the rubber hits the road and I’m just determined by sheer force of will and math not to be within the twenty percent failure rate.

(Also my mum was sweet and sent me a “Skip the Dishes” gift card and YES I DID USE IT TODAY AND ATE A BLT in bed after exams with wet hair and a heat pad listening to Youtube videos).

Also two days till I get to fly home after exams WHOO.