#and a hundred other things

[corellianhounds]

The thing is, I’m disappointed in how the story in The Acolyte is being told, but because it has a diverse cast, I’m worried Disney executives are going to blame people’s criticisms and dislike of the show on the cast instead of the writing. I don’t want it to be a case of “See? People of color just don’t draw audiences in, it’s not financially beneficial to us to invest in stories with them as the leads”. It’s unfair to place blame on the cast when their presence is not the cause of a story’s failure. It’s clear the actors did what they could with what they were given but what they were given is mediocre and amateur writing and directing at best

[ctrl-esc]

just put “kill self?” on my to-do list. with my track record this will actually keep me alive forever because i never finish anything on that list

[justgoji]

I really hope my name isn’t pulled from the bucket today because I’m in no shape to present today 😭😭😭

[reunitedinterlude]

dnp's best friends club

[rocketbirdie]

puppy... 🥺👉👈✨💕

[lazy-ahh]

ALMOST, BUT NEVER QUITE (pt. 2)

pairing mark grayson x gender neutral reader

a hundred almosts. a hundred times mark grayson nearly tells you—with his hands brushing yours a second too long, with his voice cracking when he says your name, with the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that makes sense in his chaotic, superhero life. but ‘almost’ doesn’t change anything. not until one quiet night, when the air between you crackles with everything unsaid, and the line between friendship and more feels thinner than ever. (or: mark and reader are disasters in love, dancing around the truth until neither can pretend anymore.)

the thing about mark grayson is that he’s almost brave.

almost.

like that time you were both sprawled on your bedroom floor, textbooks abandoned in favor of trading stupid jokes, his pinky brushing yours like it was an accident. he’d opened his mouth, the words i think i love you sitting right there, ready to spill—but then you laughed at something dumb he said, your nose scrunching up in that way that makes his chest feel too tight, and suddenly the moment was gone. he swallowed the confession down like it never happened.

almost.

or that night after a mission gone wrong, when he stumbled through your window at 3 am, suit torn, ribs aching, hands still trembling from adrenaline. you didn’t even flinch—just pulled him close, your fingers threading through his hair like you could stitch him back together with touch alone. he’d sagged against you, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breathing you in like an anchor, and for one reckless second, he thought this is it. i’m gonna tell them. but then your hands—steady, always so steady—dabbed at his split lip with a bandage, your touch feather-light, and all that came out was a hoarse "thanks," rough around the edges.

almost.

or that afternoon in the movie theater, when the flickering screen painted your face in shifting blues and golds, and he realized he hadn’t absorbed a single plot point because he was too busy counting the way your eyelashes caught the light. his fingers had twitched toward yours, his pulse a frantic drumbeat—just take their hand, you coward—but then you offered him the last piece of popcorn, your fingertips brushing his, and he chickened out. again.

almost.

or that party at eve’s, when you were both buzzed on cheap wine, your head lolling against his shoulder, his arm slung around your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. the words burned in his throat—i’d kiss you right now if i wasn’t terrified of losing this—but then william wolf-whistled from across the room, and mark jerked away like he’d been caught doing something criminal.

almost.

or that lazy sunday on his couch, when you dozed off halfway through some dumb cartoon, your legs tangled with his, your breathing slow and even. he’d traced the curve of your cheekbone with his gaze, his chest so full it ached—you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me—but then you sighed in your sleep, nuzzling closer, and he swallowed the words down.

almost.

he almost tells you a hundred times.

a hundred almosts.

a hundred moments where his heart screams yes but his fear whispers not yet—when his fingers linger on your waist after lifting you away from danger, when he catches your eye across a crowded room and his smile goes soft in a way that’s just for you, when he wakes from nightmares with your name on his lips and has to bite his tongue to keep from calling you at 3am just to hear you breathe.

and the worst part? you were just as bad.

you almost told him during that late-night study session when he dozed off against your shoulder, the warm weight of him pressed along your side. in the dim glow of your desk lamp, you could see the way his adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed, the way his parted lips shaped silent words like he was still trying to argue some superhero theory in his dreams. you'd held your breath, leaning closer—just kiss him. just a tiny one on his forehead. his nose. his cheeks. anywhere. just say it—but then he nuzzled unconsciously into the curve of your neck, his sleepy exhale tickling your skin, and you panicked, shoving a pillow between you like a coward's shield.

you almost told him when he brought you your favorite coffee and snack after a rough day, the sleeve scribbled with a dumb doodle of himself as invincible (complete with a poorly drawn cape, an inside joke amongst the two of you). you’d opened your mouth—you’re the reason i smile even on bad days—but then he ruffled your hair, grinning like an idiot, and you choked on the words.

you almost told him when he bandaged your scraped knee after you tripped during one of his patrols, his calloused hands cradling your calf like something precious. the confession i’d fall a thousand times if it meant you’d catch me burned behind your teeth—but then he pressed the band-aid down with exaggerated care, muttering "there, good as new, ya klutz," and you kicked his shoulder instead, face flaming.

you almost told him when he fell asleep on your couch after a marathon gaming session, his controller still clutched in loose fingers. in the blue glow of the paused screen, you watched the way his lashes fanned over the dark circles under his eyes—always pushing himself too hard, always trying to save everyone. your thumb hovered over his cheekbone, aching to trace the bruise from last night's fight, to whisper let me take care of you too. but then he sighed in his sleep, turning his face into your palm like a sunflower chasing light, and you snatched your hand back like you'd been burned.

you almost told him a hundred times too.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

and then—

one night, when the sky was bruised with twilight and the air between you was thick with something unspoken, you turned to him and said, soft as a whisper:

"you know, vincible, if you keep looking at me like that, i might start thinking you like me."

mark’s breath caught. his pulse roared in his ears. this is it, he thought. this is the moment.

but then—

he grinned, shaky and nervous, and deflected. "pssh. you wish."

you rolled your eyes, but your voice was quieter when you replied, "yeah. maybe i do."

the words hung between you, fragile and heavy all at once.

mark’s smile faltered. did they just—?

you immediately backtracked, shoving his shoulder. "i mean—shut up. you’re insufferable."

he laughed, but it came out uneven. "you love it."

"unfortunately," you muttered, and the way your voice cracked on the word love made his stomach flip.

for a second, neither of you spoke. the silence stretched, taut and electric, until mark couldn’t take it anymore.

"hey," he started, voice softer now. "if i—if i did like you. hypothetically. would that... would that be weird?"

your breath hitched. "hypothetically?"

"yeah." his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve. "just. y’know. asking."

you swallowed. "no. not weird."

"good," he whispered. "that’s... good."

another silence. longer this time.

then—

"mark?"

"yeah?"

you hesitated, your fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeves. "if i liked you. hypothetically. would that be weird?"

his lips parted. once again, mark grayson was speechless.

"no," he finally said, voice rough. "not weird at all."

the corner of your mouth twitched. "good."

"yeah," he breathed. "good."

and maybe—just maybe—that was enough for now.

(no almost this time. but not quite finally, either.)

okay so. this one’s short—like, really short (1.1k words whoops)—but sometimes less is more, right? …right? but hey. if i happen to write a part three—hypothetically—it’ll be longer. messier. maybe even (finally) give these two dumbasses the confession they deserve. or… y’know. drag the pining out even more. maybe make them more comfortable with being more... flirtatious or direct but indirect with their feelings? who can say. (it’s me. i can say. and let’s be real, we all know i’m writing it. so sorry to everyone who looked forward to this, all the budget went to the other one-shots i'm working on right now.)

[unidentifiedgothamite]

dick: little wing, i think you came back wrong

jason: the hell are you on about, dickie?

dick, standing on his tippy toes and gesturing towards jason's head: you came back taller than me!

jason, baffled: you think just 'cause i'm taller, there must be something wrong with me?

dick, pouting: it hurts my pride as the oldest, okay?!

[itadooori]

well. i started thinking about the dynamic between s2 gi-hun and sang-woo (last seen in this post). then i blacked out and all this got drawn

[backpackingspace]

Odysseus: demanding Athena take off whatever enchantment she put on him the second the situation ends.

Odysseus: who constantly reminds Athena that he has great plans to grow old and die with his wife so don't even think about getting any ideas.

Odysseus: side eye diomedes who has started fucking glowing he has so many enchantments on him: bro you should talk to Athena about getting those removed. You're going to end up immortal or some shit

Diomedes: who has been a solider since he was 5 who has intersting thoughts about his own personhood who has a much more traditional relationship with Athena and would rather literally stab his own eye out with a rusted sword than speak out of turn: I don't know what you're talking about

[ruporas]

can’t talk about it

[ID: Black and white comic of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun Maximum. The comic starts with the sounds "thud, thud, click". Vash, mid-action of peeling an apple, turns to the sound, noticing who it was that entered, and says, "Oh, Wolfwood, you're back." He resumes back to his apple in the next panel as he speaks, "Where'd you go? You snuck out of bed quickly this morning..." Wolfwood's hand then enters the panel, hovering over Vash's cheek and Vash looks up as Wolfwood asks, "Can I?" Vash responds, "Not going to talk about it?" while using a hand to gently hold Wolfwood's hovering hand and presses a kiss to his inner palm.

Vash then gets up fully, setting down the knife down on the table and the apple onto a plate, He leans into Wolfwood as Wolfwood explains, "Had to meet someone. Nothing interesting to talk about." Vash kisses Wolfwood's left cheek and a hand moves to cup his other cheek while muttering, "You're being vague." Wolfwood says neutrally, "If yer really that curious, keep askin'. We  can talk about that instead of doing this." Vash leans back and responds, "Let's talk after, since... You look so tired."

The panel pans to a close up of Wolfwood's downcast eyes, bags heavy underneath his eyes. He doesn't allow Vash to sit in that moment for long though, then saying, "Yer not helping, Spikey. Being all slow with it... I could fall asleep right now." He moves his hand to start unclasping Vash's coat, starting from his collar. Vash with red cheeks, responds briskly, "Oh, shut up. I'm worried about you. I can't be worried?"

The final shot shows Wolfwood's back to the viewer while Vash's softened expression can be seen as he holds gently onto the side of Wolfwood's face and a hand firm on his waist. Wolfwood responds, "I'm fine, seriously," pausing for a moment before continuing, "Is it okay to still..?" Vash responds, "Yeah, it's okay."

The next image is a shot from later that night after the previous comic. Vash and Wolfwood are now in bed, half naked. Wolfwood's buries his face into Vash's chest, his arms wrapped around him, while Vash is petting at his hair. Vash reminds him, "Hey. You said we'd talk about it." Wolfwood pauses for a moment before piping up, "In the morning? I'm sleepy." Vash says, "Okay..."

The next two pages start from the morning after. Wolfwood is already fully awake, pulling on his outer jacket as he says to Vash, whos' still bundled in his blankets, "Breakfast is on the table. Make sure to eat it. I'm going to grab some things in town and then we're leavin'. Got it?" Vash says, "Mh." Wolfwood responds, "Good. See ya in a bit." The dialogue starts to shift into Vash's inner thoughts now, as he gets up and eats toast, thinking, "Wait. Weren't we supposed to... talk about it?" The next shot then shows him fully up, meeting Wolfwood in town. He carries a half worried expression with him while Wolfwood slides on his glasses for him. A quick panel shows Wolfwood's tired expression from the night before and quickly juxtaposes with Wolfwood in front of him who's smiling gently, the shades covering his eye bags. Wolfwood asks him, "Still not awake yet?" Vash pauses, his thoughts stirring, thinking, "Oh. I guess I was getting ahead of myself... thinking you owe me that kind of honesty." He smiles at Wolfwood and responds, "I'm awake!" His thoughts continue, "Maybe one day, you'd trust me enough to share your burdens."

The final image shows Wolfwood pulling at Vash's cheek and Vash complains, "Owwwww why..." Wolfwood quickly says, "You were thinking something stupid, right? It's all over yer face." Vash mutters, "Nooo, I wasn't..." END ID]

[knightforflowers]

I don’t want your future, I don’t need your past, one bright moment is all I ask

[funsizedcrow]

Linktober day 26: Echo

"It is my pleasure"

Mipha makes me so,so incredibly sad to think about...

[falmerbrook]

Skyrim screenshot edits I made awhile back

[damthosefandoms]

two indisputable facts about the walls of the curtis house:

1. there is a long line of crayon drawn from one end of the hallway to another. soda’s bedroom door has a crudely-drawn horse on it, underneath the crayon line. the crayon mark is referred to as “load-bearing” and cannot be removed.

2. the doorframe to the kitchen desperately needs to be replaced, but it never will be, because there’s a makeshift height chart on there with little markings for every member of the family that date back to when their dad was a kid, because it’s the house he grew up in and grandma curtis made sure to keep track at least once every year, and darrel kept up the tradition after his parents died. darrel 6/7/30—3 y/o—shoes on. darry jr. 4/17/58—11 y/o—shoes on. sodapop 8th birthday—no shoes. ponyboy 11/14/53—4 mos.—sock feet. mama curtis has an entry from after she and darrel sr. got married. the gang all get initiated into the family via being measured on the doorframe. soda has never been measured in shoes because he refuses to wear them. nowhere was an actual measurement in inches or centimeters ever used. just a line and a silly little note. so many people are included over the years that it’s unreadable and the gang’s kids will have to start a new list on the other side of the doorframe

[luvo27]

because they got me thinking about it, here's a fics I probably won't write: the idea behind my silly (by which i mean horrifying hopefully) wayne family adventures fic!!

premise: told through a weird and funky novelization of chapters of wayne family adventures. there is something something magic plague something something. the batfam (at as dysfunctional as you can get stage) is getting brainwashed/forced to play happy families in a shared dream (the dream being wfa)

there are little glitches as people fall asleep and characters join the hallucination one by one and sometimes people are like whattt the hell am i doing here and then they get zapped into happy family time. and it works because there's a part of them that wants happy family.

at some point things break a little too hard (a character references a really bad argument that never got resolved outside the dream or some such) and there's a glitchy blow up argument between a couple of characters, and then it cuts off. the next chapter resumes and those characters are still there, but Different. Happier and Smiley-er Family. from there it goes from shared hallucination to bruce's individual hallucination as the other characters are yoinked out one by one as the dream keeps breaking. and then bruce is left with these kind of like. happy smiling mannequin people. and he's alone in the dream.

this is when outside magic intervention comes in as the jla or some such have been doing actual work in the real world and the batfam start waking up slowly in a superhero hospital ward and none of them can look at each other because they all remember their happy family moments and they all go their separate ways as fast as they can

eventually they get all the information about the magic disease thing and they all find out that their shared dream/hallucination only worked (for however long it did) because there was a part of them that wanted it. and they have to face the fact that they wanted it, and they have to face the fact that even though the dream/hallucination magic was created to keep them in the dream together, they still managed to be so dysfunctional that they broke it. and then they have to deal with the fact that everyone else knows that they wanted happy families.

from here, depending on the characters involved in whichever different relationship, there are multiple ways it can go. they can realize that the other person wants to repair their relationship, reach out and make amends, as awkward as it might be. They can be haunted by the knowledge of how the other person wants to repair the relationship, and how they managed to break it in the dream even with the dream pushing the happy family reality upon them, and decide for good that they're better off without each other and learn how to grieve what could have never been. they can continue to hover awkwardly around each other and ignore everything that happened and fall back into the status quo, except for how sometimes they'll accidentally reference something that only happened in the Happy Families dream.

this is a story about the difference between the dream you can never have because there is too much history and hurt, and the horrible difficult reality of people who might truly want to repair a relationship and do better, and don't know how to get there and the different ways that reality can turn out.

[somerandomcockroach]

Thoughts on Starop? It felt vaguely like Shockblurr with a twist.

Honestly? I have hard time shipping anyone with Optimus. Specifically when he is Optimus Prime, not Orion.

He is like something subleme that happened to be in the ground body. Others use his name like he is a legend. Of course, he has his flaws, but others still look up to him. And every time I see ships with him, they feel more like "he has a crash on handsome god", "he met a mighty being who showed him what the world could be and he is in awe", I can't grasp a proper ground at where it could be romantic since it never feels equal.

Amicas with someone? Yes please, I can see it. Conjunx? Eh... unless I am prowen wrong. I can see if it comes from his Orion times, like with Senator Shockwave. Transformers Prime Optimus and Ratchet feel very equal, yes that I can see ahah. Actually any Ratchet version is a bulldozer who can stand on the same ground with Megatron and Optimus.

Anyway, can't quite see the chemicals of Starop in my head XDD