#Good morning reply

[heartorbit]

find another role, carry on the show

[distant--shadow]

highlights of a simp

[yutamayo]

[doccywhomst]

okay so i understand that daleks are one of the main brand icons of doctor who, and that they represent a certain breed of fascist thought that can never be fully stamped out, but. :/

i think im ready for the daleks to die.

daleks have been central to doctor who from the very beginning (the second ever episode, the daleks, and season 2’s the dalek invasion of earth), embodying fear, hate, imperialism, and the darker sides of our own nature - but it seems that, for a while now, their continued existence has been maintained solely by the doctor’s mercy and/or ineptitude ??? which sucks as a theme imo

a great example is remembrance of the daleks, a seventh doctor story from 1988 - yes, the one where the doctor blows up skaro. or, davros fires a device the doctor boobytrapped at skaro’s sun, which goes supernova and destroys every dalek in that region of space. it’s pretty baller. anyway! davros and a few daleks hop in an escape pod and fuck off, and the doctor just lets them. k.

(skaro’s destruction was later ‘corrected’ by widely-detested EDA author john peel in war of the daleks, which is unhyperbolically the worst book i’ve ever read, and thus disregarded! but this heretical text explains that the planet was a decoy named antalin. it’s awful yeah. i tried to warn you)

exhibit b: evolution of the daleks (2007). ten confronts dalek caan, the sole survivor of the cult of skaro, at the top of the empire state building. the daleks have just created and annihilated a slave race of pig people, and it’s horrible to watch. you get the feeling that they’ve done this millions of times all across the universe, because they canonically have. they are inherently imperialist, racist, and genocidal. the doctor knows this.

and the doctor’s response is basically “killing you would mean that I commit genocide, so let’s just hang out and have a conversation.”

dalek caan gets away.

and you’ll never guess where he goes. that’s right! he hops the time lock and grabs davros, who escaped in remembrance of the daleks!!! and they make a bunch of new dalek babies together, out of davros’ gross old flesh. it’s a tentacle fest.

so he was right. killing dalek caan would’ve been a genocide- but because he didn’t, now there are ten thousand genocides. a clear improvement!

exhibit d: victory of the daleks (2010).

after a couple of false starts, the daleks manage to make more daleks after tricking the doctor into confirming their species to open their own device (??? okay sure)- but then they trick him again with a robot scientist bomb that he failed to detect even after talking to the guy, and it’s just like…. fool the doctor once, shame on you, fool them twice? damn, you must be on the merch.

exhibit e: the witch’s familiar (2015).

the iconic ‘only other chair on skaro’ scene where twelve and davros chat on the rebuilt dalek home world - super fun, so fun i forgot how the doctor folded like a house of cards. davros, the genocidal maniac, wants to live another day to see a pretty sunrise, so the doctor *checks notes* gives him some artron energy? that can’t be right, wh- oh- oh, but it’s fine because it affects all daleks, and through some contrived science magic, they all ‘learn the concept of mercy.’ on accident.

and it changed nothing. later stories retcon this. i’m too tired to even think about resolution, revolution, or eve of the daleks right now, but those episodes only further cemented my malaise regarding the doctor’s apparent complacency.

again and again, the daleks depend on the doctor’s mercy, and they get it, and they WIN- and it feels like the moral is that they should be eliminated like an unthinking, unfeeling virus, but the doctor is just too compassionate or inept for the job. certainly not the first doctor to lose to a virus, but perhaps the first to do so willingly.

beyond a loss in revenue, i can’t imagine why the doctor couldn’t destroy the daleks, or why they wouldn’t want to - there was a point when, allegedly, “the time lord’s continuity could not survive without the daleks” (“neverland” audio), but i think the weight and relevance of that harry potter type threat has long since passed.

so… it might be time to put the daleks away, for now. sure, they can come back as a concession to the persistence of fascist ideology, but watching the doctor lose or win to fascism for seemingly arbitrary (always sentimental) reasons isn’t really satisfying. the show addresses that daleks cause untold suffering, but again and again the only obstacle to no suffering is the doctor, who can’t get their shit together! it’s killing me.

[moonkhao]

hi.

[thegoodmorningman]

Good Morning, Good Morning Man!

I hope you are having a good morning, as I do every morning upon seeing your lovely good morning wishes. I come to you with a rather strange request, but I think I would have the goodest morning ever if one day you were to make a good morning gif featuring a swordfish/marlin. They are my favorite animals and I have a good morning just thinking about them. It’s entirely up to you, but please do consider someday.

Thank you for your consideration, Good Morning Man! 🌞🐟🤘

Daybreak's Greetings Kannagar, My favorite animal is a Bird. I never tell anyone about it because I try not to brag, but I actually wish I was a Bird. I don't know if you wish you were a swordfish, but if so, there is little in my power to help with that change. I apologize sincerely for that shortcoming. What I can offer you though is this Good Morning Image that I created using a computer. Good Luck with your transformation aspirations!!! Wishing you The Best every day, Bud☀️🧙🏼‍♂️✌🏼

Hope you don't lose your "BATTLE" with existential dread today!!! Good Morning!!!

[mossy-paws]

Fr medkit got that wet cat vibe just like jon

They’re literally just the same person fr

[ferberus-skull]

i finished up that aether i bought a few weeks back <3 her name is morning wish

[icantalk710]

Not a bad get from work's sample sale the other day tbh 😌

[the-nysh]

Was reading thru trimax and it hit me that Meryl really is his anchor across all versions of Trigun, and specifically her voice is an anchor. There’s that moment after he kills Legato in trimax where Vash ends up dreaming/seeing visions of all the people he’s loved who have died, Wolfwood and Rem too, and you really get the feeling that Vash wouldn’t mind if he never woke up. But somehow he overhears Meryl giving that speech about how they (she) fights for and alongside Vash the Stampede, and that’s what wakes him up.

Y-yeah....:'))) Every time, the themes are consistent. (Meryl's so important guys!) Cause god, when he's suffering through his very worst--even through all the ugly, violent, horrifying parts, spiraling at his lowest emotional point, teetering on the very edge of giving up or completely losing (faith in) himself, she's there...to find and catch him when he falls. To Remind him that he's not lost or struggling alone in this too. ;o; And that is so......like the tender love inherent in their connection, softly restoring that faith in humanity and empowering his resolve to keep going without losing hope, is so gently anchoring and beautiful. <3

Like here, the way she gently holds his hand cradling his head on her lap, feeling (crying) his pain for him as he's struggling in half-awareness, encouraging and reminding him of that.

And here, the moment you described: the way he literally pulls himself out of that dark, aimless, unconscious abyss, gripping with his clenched fist (of revived determination) onto the anchoring sound (light) of her voice beside him bringing him all the way back to the world of the living. :')

(She's chosen to stand together, with him at his side, to help relieve the burden of his fight's long suffering, before he resolves to take the next necessary steps as a bridge connecting the hurt hearts of Plants & humanity.)

[desceros]

I feel like Donnie would be mush for his teeny, itty bitty little baby girl.

someone has been peeking in my google drive again i see....

yeah i think he (rise donnie specifically since that's the papatello i'm working on) would be one of those dads who has a big talk about how he's so strict, about the intense regiment he has his kid on to maximize their development, and he's always the most annoying piece of shit at the PTA meeting. flex brag flex brag

but then his little toddler comes up to him on wobbly legs and puts her hands on his calf, tapping at him for his attention and looks up at him with paint all over her face from where she got into the art supplies at the back of the classroom and made a huge ass mess, and he just melts at her crooked little grin (bc dad is the favorite) and is completely incapable of chastising her in any shape or form

that changes when she grows up and starts to act so much like him that he HAS to be firmer with her. the first time he has to put her in time out they both ugly cry a lot

[alectoperdita]

Oh hell, I am all about them drugged confessions. If/whenever you’re up for it. 💕

From Put That Guy in a Situation(TM) Ask Game

Jumped this one ahead in the queue since it's someone's birthday. 💜💜💜 Enjoy, my friend! I hope this has enough of the stuff you dig about them.

13. Drunken/drugged/sleepy confessions

content warnings: referenced non-consensual drug use and mildly spicy because Seto is thirsty

---

The city lights stabbed into Seto's eyes. The city's heartbeat—a frantic cacophony of bumper-to-bumper traffic, music spilling out of late-night shops and restaurants, and an overwhelming pulse of humanity—pulsed against the back of his head like a second migraine.

He lifted his heavy head and tried to get a better look at his surroundings. Not an easy feat when the world wouldn't stop spinning. Seto could feel the planet's rotational force itself.

In the sky, a bloated, sickly yellow moon hung on the black canvas, a dim bulb when compared to the Oriental Pearl Tower's neon blue and magenta on the opposite riverbank. The phalanx of lit skyscrapers behind the landmark formed a blinding wall that threatened to lighten the night sky.

No wonder they were sitting at a standstill in traffic. He was in the Bund. Shanghai. He was in Shanghai. Not for the first or second time, but the city's nightlife never failed to overwhelm.

It came back to him in bits and pieces. The Pan-Asia Duel Monsters Championship was in China this year, which KC was a sponsor of, along with a dozen international and domestic corporations. Seto wasn't here to compete, though. He was here to do business and build guanxi.

Which meant night after night of hard drinking and tedious back slapping as Seto endured their patronizing compliments about his passable Mandarin. Endless rounds of maotai until his blood must be 90% alcohol. That was the preferred poison of the old-school elites, the ones who built their wealth on the backs of a rapidly booming economy that outpaced everyone's wildest imagination. Not even Japan had sustained that kind of boom in the post-war years.

Potential liver failure was the price of doing business in this country.

That was last night, though. Seto was sure of that much, even if the passage of time seemed theoretical at best. Tonight, he'd been swept into a gaggle of their children, mainly the sons of the previous night's party officials and business moguls.

The fuerdai. His "peers."

Ha! Gozaburo had handed him nothing. Everything Seto owned, everything he accomplished, was through his own sweat and blood.

Seto will give them one thing: their tastes were decidedly less provincial. While their fathers drank baijiu like fish drinking water, they preferred cocktails, or at least pitchers of iced green tea mixed with Crown Royal.

Maybe that was his first mistake. Maybe he shouldn't have underestimated how fucked up he could get on such a simple mixture.

That was the last thing he could remember. He drew a yawning gap between the afterparty at the club and this taxi cab.

Seto sank into the seat and squeezed his eyes shut. His stomach lurched. Perhaps it was a good thing that they were stuck in traffic. He might not be able to keep it down in stop-and-go traffic.

An abrasive—a familiar abrasive voice—encroached from the fringes, though. An equally combative voice shot back in a different language.

Seto's head lolled to the side, away from the window and toward the other passenger in the backseat. Reluctantly, he pried his heavy eyelids open. God, why was he so tired? It felt like he'd pulled several all-nighters in a row.

His fellow passenger was Jounouchi, locked in a heated conversation/argument with the cab driver.

Right. Jounouchi was also in Shanghai this week. Except he was here to compete in the tournament. And unlike Seto, he didn't speak a lick of Chinese.

Not that his laughable grasp of English fared any better.

"Fuck, I'm telling ya, it's the other Marriott!" Jounouchi groaned in Japanese, running a frustrated hand through his bird's nest hair. It looked softer than it had any right to be, though. The strands ought to be bleached to hell and back after this many years.

But Jounouchi had been updating his wardrobe and his deck in recent years. Every victory advanced his look and style, and even netted him some media training like someone deserving of media notice, which was why he was playing in the Pan-Asian championship. Seto couldn't ignore him like he once did, like he still tried to in vain sometimes.

(And sometimes, he very much didn't want to ignore Jounouchi, wondering if he could catch the other man's attention in return...)

None of that explained why they were in the same cab, though.

Jounouchi tried again to communicate. It hurt to listen to him butcher English to that extent. The cab driver appeared to grow even more irate, threatening to eject them entirely.

Giggles spilled uncontrollably out of him. Of course! Of course, Jounouchi's incompetence got them stranded on the opposite end of the city from their hotel.

Fortunately, he was a snack to look at, even if his brains were nothing to write home about.

Seto's words croaked out of him, repeating in Mandarin what Jounouchi had been trying to convey. God, why did it hurt so much to speak? But even his drunken slur sufficed, earning a grousing retort from the driver that Seto should've just said so sooner while shooting a death glare at his other passenger through the rearview mirror.

At the sound of Seto's voice, Jounouchi jolted in shock, releasing the driver's headrest he had been clinging to. After several awkward moments of staring, he inched closer to Seto, stopping short of touching him. But the proximity and the tight enclosure made Seto's skin crawl. Not in an unpleasant way, though. His body tingled and felt a touch flushed.

How would Jounouchi's skin feel against his?

"You alright there, Kaiba?" asked Jounouchi, seemingly floating closer. He waved a hesitant hand in Seto's face.

Base urges welled up in him. He wanted to grab Jounouchi's hand and bite it, no better than a dog, as he once mocked the other man for being. Better yet, he could drag his tongue across the rough palm and lap at his knuckles. Suck his thick fingers into his mouth and learn contentment from how they could fill his mouth.

Seto was never drinking green tea mixed with whisky ever again.

He managed a small noise of confirmation before he twisted away, curling as best as he could around the seatbelt. Something like a whimper pushed at the back of his throat, but he refused to release it. He wouldn't humiliate himself any further. Just as he wouldn't crawl across the middle seat and cuddle into Jounouchi's lap.

But god, he wanted that so much it hurt.

A warm hand landed on his back, and he nearly surrendered as Jounouchi rubbed soothing circles between his shoulder blades.

"It's okay." Jounouchi spoke softly, but somehow it rang louder than the many decibels of Shanghai traffic. "We'll be back at the hotel in time. Just hang in there."

Seto spent the rest of the journey folded into himself, wedged firmly against the side of the taxi, trying and failing not to tremble under Jounouchi's caring touch. With a hushed tone, Jounouchi explained what had happened. It was pure coincidence that he ran into Seto and his "party" at that particular club. (Coincidence is giving chance too much credit. There were only so many high-end nightclubs in the city.) Jounouchi had wandered over to say hi before rejoining his own group. But out of the corner of his eyes, he'd noticed that Kaiba was acting unlike himself. In fact, the entire group seemed a bit off.

Seto was coming to his own conclusion before Jounouchi shared his.

Seto had been drugged. And since he knew better than to take random shit handed to him by strangers, it must've been slipped into his drink. Or maybe it was in the communal cocktail pitcher to begin with.

"They were trying to drag you off to someplace else. Don't ask me where. But you didn't look like you wanted to go, so I stepped in," Jounouchi trailed off. He'd yet to remove his hand, but it sat unmoving, a steadying weight on Seto's back helping to ground him to reality.

"I can't imagine they were happy," Seto muttered.

Jounouchi chuckled. "Not one bit. Acted like I was trying to kill the party. One chick threatened me with her stiletto heel."

"My knight in shining armor." Seto found himself laughing, then regretted it when his head throbbed.

"Don't worry, I didn't hit any of 'em. Mighty tempting, though. I just kinda threw you over my shoulder and high-tailed it outta there. That was how I knew you were really outta it. You barely cursed me out."

Heat associated with both shame and arousal rushed through him. It turned out those biceps he secretly admired weren't just for show.

"Finally, we're here!" exclaimed Jounouchi. His hand also regrettably retreated.

Seto watched blearily as Jounouchi overpaid the driver and leaped out the door. He didn't go far, though. He jogged around the vehicle to Seto's side and yanked open the door. As he leaned in and over Seto to undo the seatbelt buckle, the woody scent of Jounouchi's cologne flooded Seto's nostrils. And his strength was plainly evident as he braced his arms around Seto's shoulders and hip.

"Alright, up we go," urged Jounouchi.

Under any sober circumstance, Seto would've never allowed this to happen. To let Jounouchi touch him, especially as a caretaker. But Seto was the farthest thing from sober, fucked up on whatever combination of alcohol and party drugs he had been unwittingly fed. He didn't have the strength to stand on his own two feet.

So he relied on Jounouchi and his strength. Clung to the man's sweat-slicked neck.

The doorman didn't give them a second glance. Why should he? Seto was simply the latest in an endless stream of drunken guests stumbling back into the five-star hotel.

A lobby concierge approached and tried to help, though. Both Jounouchi and Seto waved him off. Jounouchi likely because he didn't want another stressful not-conversation, and Seto didn't want anyone but Jounouchi touching him right now.

"Hey, what floor?" Jounouchi asked after propping him against the wall of the elevator carriage.

Seto patted down his pockets and was relieved to find his wallet. He didn't expect the fuerdai to rob him blind like a common mugger, but you never knew. He tossed the leather wallet to Jounouchi and croaked, "Key card."

The tournament competitors were provided with single-bed guest rooms. Seto, on the other hand, occupied the Vice Presidential Suite for the week. Their elevator shot toward the top floors, bypassing the dozens of floors between the ground and the suites.

As they ascended, Seto snuck covert glances at the other hand. Despite the air conditioning running at full blast, Jounouchi was still huffing and sweating. Who could blame him? Summer in Shanghai could be blistering.

"Can you walk?" asked Jounouchi when the elevator doors finally parted.

Struck muted, Seto shook his head. His heart raced as Jounouchi wrapped a burly arm around his waist, and together, they hobbled down the hall to the suite's door.

The lights flicked on automatically as they entered, drawing an impressed whistle from Jounouchi as he took in the room.

"Yeah, guess I should've known. You wouldn't be caught dead living like us commoners. Where's the bed in this joint?"

The mention of bed caused something hot and heavy to coil in Seto's navel. Without meaning to, his arm tightened around Jounouchi's neck, which only prompted the other man to grip him tighter, mistaking the action as a plea for more support.

"Bedroom," he moaned, knocking his head against the side of Jounouchi's. He might be imagining it, but he swore Jounouchi shivered and pink flooded down to his neck.

Seconds later, they stumbled into the adjoined bedroom. The spacious room apparently didn't warrant any comments, because Jounouchi deposited Seto on the bed and disappeared from sight.

To say Seto was disappointed was an understatement.

It may be a blessing in disguise. Jounouchi had already done the "decent" thing: extracted him from a dicey situation and brought him to safety. Seto didn't need to embarrass himself in front of the other man any further.

He jumped when a hand grabbed his shoulder, kicking a leg out blindly.

"Relax, it's me."

Silly though it was, Seto did relax as soon as he registered Jounouchi's voice. His firm but careful touch.

"Here. I got you water from the minibar and a cool towel. It's unopened. I promise."

Seto stared helplessly at the two items being offered to him. Jounouchi made no moves, either. They were at a stalemate. At least until the other man sighed and pressed the moist towel to Seto's sweat-dampened forehead. His eyes fluttered closed, and he unleashed a faint moan at how good and chilly it felt.

"C'mon, you gotta drink the water, too. The whole bottle, then I promise to leave you alone."

Panic spiked through Seto's system. Being alone, something he never minded before, suddenly sounded unbearable. He didn't want Jounouchi to leave.

He reached out. Not to take the proffered bottle, as refreshing as its content may be, but to grab Jounouchi's forearm. Jounouchi froze under his clutch.

"You can't leave. I won't let you," said Seto before he could stop himself.

Jounouchi's breath hitched. As he stared at Seto's face, his eyes darkened with something unspeakable. He licked his lips. "Okay, not leaving. Not tonight. Guess someone's gotta keep an eye on you and make sure things don't take a turn for the worse. But you gotta at least let go of my arm. I'll take the couch outside."

Seto slid closer. "I want you—"

Jounouchi gasped. Seto could kiss him at that instant, but his head spun.

He wanted Jounouchi in every conceivable way. Wanted to feel his naked skin against his skin. Wanted to feel his weight pressing down on him as his cock pushed into Seto's hole. Wanted to shatter apart and then let Jounouchi piece him back together in the afterglow, warm and content.

He thought Jounouchi might grant him those things. If only he'd ask for them. But the words remained stubbornly lodged in his throat as sobriety started to creep in on the edges.

"I want you to stay with me," he whispered, holding Jounouchi's shell-shocked gaze.

Tonight and tomorrow. Maybe even for the rest of their lives. One day, Seto would give voice to the whole truth.

Read other prompt fill ficlets here

[amongthevipers]

this is gonna fall on deaf ears for some of you but, new rule!

untagged constant criticism and negativity about HOTD will now officially be getting you softblocked or even hard blocked depending on how much it fucks me up when i see it.

i love writing in this rpc but a lot of the elitism comes from people who've read the books religiously constantly shitting on the shows. it makes it a not very nice place to want to write when people are more negative than positive all the time.

you're allowed to have your problems with the show just like i'm allowed to say i don't want to see people constantly unhappy with it on my dash.

i am perfectly willing to have 20-30 various filtered tags if it means i'm able to stay in this rpc and write and keep my friends and mutuals.

( if i have anything to say my tags will be #nico watches the dragon show and #dragon show critical if i really have something to say)

[celestial-sapphicss]

ongsa is such a teenage girl disaster i love that for her

[downs1de]

angry puppy

[gideonisms]

incredibly autism take on food. love it. i am also a sensory seeking food autistic. today for dinner i requested something “garlicky and flavorful” ended up with noodles and dumplings

soups can so be flavorful but a lot of the time they’re just not like that out in the world and it’s soooo disappointing. shockingly easy to make though (onions n garlic, veg, crap ton of spices bloomed in the oil, good broth, blend, SALT)

See I would never trash talk a dumpling but once again I think they are vehicles for other flavors. In MY opinion although soups are easy to make most of them just taste like Onions and Chicken Broth to me and I'm like where is the spice where is the intrigue where is the zest for life