#Don't ship real people

[ajearthlinggg]

My music taste is pretty boys from Jersey with black hair who have worn eyeliner, wear suits, have kissed their guitar player, and have fans who question their sexuality to an uncomfortable amount

[montysoup]

'Can 2 men not just be friends?'

Sure they can, infact it's rude to assume they're anything more than that if they're real-life people. Of course, just because it's rude doesn't mean your wrong but as my dad (and lots of other people I'm sure) likes to say, 'assuming makes an ass out of you and me'.

However if the 2 men in this situation are fictional then them just being friends is entirely up to interpretation.

A straight person might just see them as friends because it's content and we all like to see content that represents us -even if they already have abundances of it.

And a queer person might see them as potential lovers, both due to being more open-minded to something like that and because, as I previously said, people like to be represented.

Now I don't mean to say straight people aren't open minded because, fact is, your sexuality does not define how open you are to things. All I'm saying is a queer person is more likely to already be open-minded due to having to realise their sexuality is different from the perceived 'normal' and having to be accepting of it.

So in conclusion, yeah 2 guys can absolutely only be best pals but that might just be how only you see it, and maybe there's something you need to look deeper into if you're getting upset at people interpreting the relationship of 2 fictional guys as romantic.

[kira-anon-uwu]

Tubbo tries to get his god damn divorce

word count: who fucking knows

summary: no

~-~-~

"Tommy,just sign the fucking papers."

Tommy got on his knees, wailing at his beloved husband. "No, please! I'll change, I'll be a better man! What if Molly married you as well?"

"More marriage isn't going to fix the situation, just sign the divorce papers!"

"But- But- But- But- But- But- But- But- But- But-,", Tommy stuttered, wimpering, "But- But- But- But- But- But- But- But- But- But- But… Think of our children, Tubbo…"

He gestured to the corner, where James Marriott and Jack Manifold were sitting.

"Goo-goo ga-ga,", said James, in a very deep and monitone voice.

"Yeah, no, I'm not fucking doing this,", Tubbo sighed, in a very bitch-like manner, as he got up and left.

He decided to take a long walk, to clear his head and question how he got to this point, eventually getting his phone out and calling the only friend he had with experience in The Law.

Quackity waved as he answered, on facetime somehow despite Tubbo calling him on discord. "Hey man, what's up?"

"Hey, Big Q; do you know anything about divorce court?"

"Not a damn thing, I missed that class to watch a soap opera on stream. what'd you need?"

"Could you be my lawyer? I'm trying to get Tommy to divorce me, but he only wants to talk about kissing without tongue and balls."

"Yeah….. About that…….. I'm actually already his lawyer, so……….. Yeah sorry. Too bad you guys didn't have a pre-nup, bye!"

Tubbo sat there in incredibly shocked silence after the man hung up. Yes, sat; man decided to sit in the middle of the sidewalk to ponder where it all went wrong.

His phone pinged, and he saw a message from Quackity telling him that the 'consultation' he'd just gotten was going to cost him $1 million dollars.

Tubbo could afford that, he was a multi-millionaire and a Tory after all, but not having a lawyer on his side didn't leave him with many options. Well, he *did * have one…..

Murder was legal in the UK if the victim was Tommyinnit; the Queen had spoken it into law when she got her restraining order. May lizzie rest in peace, and all that

Tommy had invoked squatters rights in his efforts to 'save their marriage', and had refused to leave Tubbo's home at all times since every second was a second for him to be wooed. Tubbo had shoved him in the closet where he belonged, hence Tommy's lack of streams as of late, so it would be incredibly easy to murder him and claim his wealth.

More money to the hoard, since Tubbo was a rich Tory that disliked the poor. wow that rhymed, regular eminem in these parts.

Anyways Tubbo got home and committed a horrible, unspeakable crime that will not be spoken so he didn't have to put up with any more of tommyinnit's bullshit.

Dragging the corpse to court gave him an easy win, and a medal of honor for taking out one of the nations loudest people that kept up the corrupt politicians all night.

tubbo got the kids and money and married someone famous and hot. idk who pick some hot guy out of a movie that you'd ship with tubbo and that's his happy ending.

The end.

[thelittlekinghelios]

📝 I can't believe I have to say this to people who make agere headcanons in this community. but I have to say this because someone made headcanons about a real life person who posts on TikTok:

📝 Stop making agere headcanons about real people/live action actors/tiktok people/people in IRL bands!!!!

📝 Look, I'm gonna be big for a second here to talk about this. Making "headcanons" for real people is gross! It's not something as simple as they have a different color than you thought, or a different favorite food. I LITERALLY see agere headcanons writers who are saying REAL LIFE PEOPLE--people they don't know or whose life they don't know--saying "yeah, they obviously age regress/are caregivers."

📝 Do you know how upsetting that is? Everyone deals with trauma differently, and even though I am a regressor, I know that NOT EVERYONE who experiences stress/trauma or wants to reclaim their childhood regresses or does caregiving!!!

📝 These are real people who have real feelings and are probably different from how people who write headcanons think they are!!! It's like shipping real people! Which is gross and inconsiderate!!!

📝 To put this in perspective, imagine that, in real life, you only like certain people (i.e. only girls, only guys, only enby people, maybe pan but with preferences). And then you find out a bunch of people online are shipping you with someone who doesn't fit with your orientation, or someone you wanna be just friends with because they think you two are "cute uwu" or "my little blorbos that should be together. <3"

📝 And imagine they do this, BUT, they ship you with someone you don't like! Or with someone you don't even know!

📝 Real people have their own feelings, like, and responses to stress or bad things in life!!! Don't treat real people like characters and headcanon them as regressors or caregivers, because you don't know them or how they deal with these things!!!

📝 If you are about to leave replies or reblog and talk about how they're still your "blorbos" and you should be able to do whatever you want with them, DO NOT INTERACT WITH ME. YOU ARE GROSS!

[komaedasclovers]

the same people who in fiction are like "let women be friends. you don't have to ship them. they aren't gay." are the people who see two female or fem presenting people being very close as FRIENDS and assume they're dating.

[the-noir-symphony]

Michael Sheen, David Tennant and wonders of chemistry

Warning: This post is me rambling about real people ship. I KNEW IT WAS WRONG on so many level, but I just need to get the emotion out.

First, a little recall to Staged 3x06 when Michael said "We should take a break from each other." And David's face just...fell. He didn't react much when they all had to do the final scene together. Then the parallel ending with Good Omens appeared, to that point I just cracked.

I mean, I know they are brilliant, talented actors. They delivered the full emotion to their audience. I can feel the sadness, the linger from David, the true-desire to change from Michael. The logic is flawless to the point it just hurt. I knew that was not true, but somehow it won't help at all.

That's when I fall for them both, as a couple.

I did remember an actor/actress once said: "If you can't believe it, how do you expect people to believe?". Actors must feel what their characters feel, love what their characters love, want to do what their characters want. It gives me the thought that if ever, for one moment, did Michael and David actually fall in love...

This post is probly written under the intoxicated chemistry of the two said actors. It will pass, will fade away with time (I hope). So I just spend this only moment to appreciate the feeling of their love.

[some---weirdo]

Some people online need to learn the difference between characters and their actors. Two actors can be playing love interests and not be romantically in love. They might have the best chemistry, an amazing off screen relationship, and ship their characters together, and still just be friends. Platonic relationships are important too, people can care about eachother without dating them

[vixen-flame]

Only the characters right? Only the characters right...

gay gay homo gay

[nathaniacolver]

arcane ships be like

i love a show that teaches equality (😭😭😭)

[frenchie-fallen-angel]

So he wrote a whole ass song against shipping culture and how it weaken his bond with her so everyone stopped pushing those intrusive question in interviews (except those idiot commenting about H on P's youtube channel's comments -_-). But it just took him making a fancam of her from the public at her last showcase and you're back making edits of them T-T (when he does that for everyone from the cast who made a solo career)

Don't ship real people, it's simple guys.

[demaparbat-hp]

There is no such thing as personal space between them.

[lucabyte]

On autonomy, and what it means to be Obliged to Help.

Bonus:

[cozylittleartblog]

Columbo and the Knight (1984)

put me in the universe where Columbo ran through the 1980s and had a crossover episode with Knight Rider. I think they deserved it, and I am not just saying that because they're my two favorite Old Shows. @telebeast wrote a little fanfic blurb about it and I HAD to visualize it into a comic (which is also the longest comic I have finished thus far at five pages...), so writing credit goes to them.

Autism W!

[spacedace]

Still thinking about the Social Worker Jazz concept that @gilbirda posted about and it's slowly turning into a full Anger Management fic send help

-

Jason at length - much longer than it really should have taken really - set the resume down.

The new Social Worker’s resume. Because she was there, in his office, trying to convince him to hire her as a member of his criminal organization.

Crime Alley’s new social worker. A bright eyed Midwestern transplant from some tiny speck of a place that only qualified as a city because there was nothing bigger in a hundred miles in any direction to claim otherwise. The new social worker who had a Psy D. and three masters degrees and who had graduated Valedictorian. The one that had high paying private gigs lined up all over the country with the offering companies fighting over her.

The one who had, apparently, decided to take a shit job in Gotham’s shoddy social services department instead. The one that got kicked to Crime Alley - which was its own division despite technically being a small neighborhood in the grand scheme of things - within her first month. Supposedly for the sole purpose of scaring her off or getting her killed for all the questions she was asking and secret dealings she was sticking her nose into.

That social worker.

“I’m gonna need you to run this by me again.” Jason said, never so grateful for the voice modulator in his helmet as he was in that moment. It stripped out the bewilderment that had bled through into his words and made him sound stoic instead.

“I’d like to work for you.” The social worker - one Dr. Jasmine Nightingale - repeated primly. Back straight, clothes neat - if skewing more on the librarian side of professional - expression confident and hopeful. Completely and utterly oblivious of how fucking insane she sounded. “I was told that you’re the person in charge of Crime Alley.”

He resisted the urge to scrub at his face. It’d just look weird with his helmet on and not do anything to actually settle him in that moment anyway. “I understood that part.”

“Look, Doc,” She earned a doctorate and she was crazy enough to waltz into the office of one of Gotham’s most powerful Crime Lords, he’d be respectful about using her proper title at least, even if he suspected she was ten pounds of crazy in a five pound bag. “You’re going to have to tell me why. I was under the impression the only reason you ended up dumped on our end of the city ws because you wouldn’t play ball. But now you want to sign up for my crew?”

Nightingale frowned a little at that.

“Is that what people are saying?”

“What else are they gonna say?” Jason answered, leaning back in his seat, “Head of the department only dumps Crime Alley on folks he don’t like. And everyone knows he doesn’t like anyone that can’t or won’t play his game by his rules.”

“Alright, well. I’ll give you that.” Nightingale conceded, “Payne doesn’t like me. The feeling’s mutual. But for the record,” She added giving him a wry smile, as if sharing wry smiles with Red Hood was just something people did, “I asked to be assigned to the Park Row and Bowery neighborhoods.”

“You wanted to work here.”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.”

Nightingale laughed. It was a bright sound. Not especially clear or pretty, but warm and welcoming in a way that carefully calculated giggles or overdone guffaws couldn’t be. Something with real and honest amusement in it, that encouraged those nearby to laugh along. Not the kind of involuntary, nervous chuckling people tended to slip into when they thought they had pissed someone that scared them off.

She just wasn’t intimidated by him at all, was she?

Behind his helmet, Jason found himself smiling. Just a bit.

“I’m serious.” She assured, blue-green eyes meeting the dark stare of his helmet without a moment of hesitation. He watched as she brushed a lock of her bright red hair behind her ear and out of the way. She’d woven it all into a practical, neat braid but a few sly pieces had snuck out to bounce around her. Gilding her quiet professionalism with a playful charm that worked well with her academia but make it cottagecore kindergarten teacher aesthetic.

“I’ll admit, Gotham wasn’t part of my plan when I first graduated. Time and choices take you funny places sometimes.” She plucked an invisible bit of lint off her soft blue cardigan, not nervous but absent as her gaze went distant for a moment. Thinking back on the events that had led her to his fine city. In a blink, those sharp eyes were back to focusing entirely on him. “But Gotham is where I am now, and I want to help.”

She looked at him, a serious, determined expression settling easily on her face. “The city as a whole has so much chaos and crime breaking out all the time.” No censure or horror in her voice, just a neutral fact to be observed. “But where the rest of the city has millions of dollars poured into it by various foundations or charities run by the Waynes, Park Row is largely ignored.”

Jason watched as steeliness sharpened her gaze, the blue-green shifting from the shine of a bird’s wing to the warning hue of something poisonous and deadly. “No one deserves that. No one.” Her chin tilted up, proud but not imperious. “So yes, I want to work here. There are people in Park Row and the Bowery who need help and I refuse to let any of them feel like they are going to be ignored.”

Jason considered her.

Really looked at her. Pealing back his initial off handed impression of her as some clueless transplant in over her head with no idea of what she was doing or what she was poking her nose into to find the real woman beneath. Her confident poise, her clear unshakable belief, her unflinching willingness to look danger in the eye and not blink. The tense curve of her frown, the lines of pain at the corners of her eyes, the simmering anger beneath it all. There was an edge to her, too. Something sharp and dangerously well hidden by the cardigan and folksy charm of her accent.

It was personal for the woman before him, Jason realized. Maybe not Crime Alley specifically, but something about the whole situation. The treatment the neighborhood and its residents received from the city at large, from those even beyond it.

Crime Alley wasn’t a place that received much in the way of charitable thought. The average joe with their house in Somerset and job at some corporate shithole hating every second of their life but thinking at least I don’t live in Crime Alley. Those asshole hoity-toites in city hall throwing money around equally between shit that’d get them re-elected and their off-shore slush funds in the Caymens doing their damn level best to pretend the black mark on the other end of the city just didn’t exist. Bruce, flooding the entire city with charitable programs and carefully constructed infrastructures shying away from the manifested grief and trauma that was the place he watched his parents get murdered.

For the most part no one from outside of the Alley gave a shit about the Alley other than as a place to avoid at all costs. And most of the time those natives that manages to claw their way out into better and brighter lives didn’t ever turn to glance back. Orpheus could have learned a thing or to from an ex-Alley Kid who managed to eek out a steady 9-to-5 and move to Burnley.

And something about that seemed to piss Dr. Jasmine Nightingale Psy. D right the fuck off.

He could see why Bill said he liked her enough to let her in.

“Alright.” He said, tilting his head, watching the woman seated across from him carefully, “Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here. Why you’re trying to get on my payroll.”

“I’m not trying to get on your payroll.” She said, some of the glinting edge softening, but the steel remaining. Strong and unyielding. “I’m trying to get into your community outreach program.”

Jason thanked god and all the saints once again for the gift of his helmet. That baby had saved his ass more times than he could count both by keeping his head in one piece and keeping his stupefied expressions wrapped up and hidden from view. Dr. Nightingale was one hell of a woman to make him have to rely on that fact twice in one conversation.

“Wasn’t aware that was something I had.”

Nightingale, not fortunate enough to have a full face covering helmet of her own, had nothing to hide her stupefied expression behind. Jason had a feeling she might have removed it to make sure he saw even if she did though. She looked like she had caught him eating glue like it was a cheese stick.

“Yes you do.” She said, sounding deeply confused but unshakable confident in what she was saying. “I’ve seen it. The soup kitchens, the shelters, the collection boxes for donating old clothes, the after school day care.” Nightingale ticked off on her fingers, “I’ve lived here for less than two weeks and I’ve lost count of all the things I’ve seen setup to help people struggling in the area that I’ve been very reliably informed you and your organization are behind.”

Oh.

Those.

“Those aren’t part of some community outreach program.” He said, “We are simply locals offering services for our neighbors.”

He watched as her caught-him-eating-glue expression shifted into one that said she’d stumbled upon him licking electrical sockets for a mid-day pick-me-up instead. He had to give it to her, the woman was not afraid to let one of the most dangerous men in the city know she thought he was a fucking idiot.

“Let me see if I understand this right.” She said, and he appreciated that there wasn’t any kind of condescension in her voice, even though she very clearly thought he’d been dropped on his head as a baby. Possibly from the top of a three story building. “You have a large group of people working together to plan, organize and execute multiple services in your area - your community, if you will - that provide aid and support to those that otherwise would not receive it. Reaching out with your available time and resources to offer these services, that you provide. For free.”

Alright, Jason got it. He had stumbled ass backwards into creating a community outreach program. But he wasn’t just going to let her think she won this one. He was Red Hood, he had a reputation to uphold here.

“What makes you think any of that is free?” He tilted his head at just the right angle, the one that cast shadows across the planes of his helmet and made him look hell-touched and terrifying. “Just because we don’t charge money, doesn’t mean there isn’t a price to pay.”

Dr. Nightingale, dressed like a damn kindergarten teacher, laughed at him.

[batpersik-art]

how are we feeling fronnie nation

[lurukifennecfox]

Gotham was welcoming of Amity Parkers.

not as loving as with her own but she was way more patient with the people of her friend that any other outsiders.

so the people of Amity those Liminal and aware of her tried to pay her kindness back, to a reasonable degree of course but they could help and she let them stay so they did.

Paulina took it upon herself to make a nice place in the fashion district, she sold some charms to help with the curses as much as she could.

Sam being Sam opened a surprisingly Ivy Approved community garden and was very hard to convince not to join the Eco-terrorist but they managed to, thankfully.

the Fentons designed filters to help the 'Parkers but it was good for the city too if too little to do much.

Val hadn't moved here (yet) but she visited often enough and each visit volunteered somewhere.

Gotham grown to adore them almost as their own, she even hid them from the bats for a while to let them settle (and maybe help her more before her Knight inevitably got paranoid)

Gotham laughed when her King stumbled into her Red Knight, you could hear it in subtle ways the sounds of the night flowed just a little too much like a giggle.

Hood did deserve more good things she's proud of herself!