#gonna be real for a sec

[arinmoss]

You love Miku so much it makes me like her too

YEAAAH!!!!!!! im so glad to hear this man miku deserves the world U_U

[mochinomnoms]

Cling azul clingy azul clingy azul. Kisses for azulito. Azulito deserves many kisses

BESITOS! MUCHÍSIMOS BESITOS, MUCHÍSIMOS PARA EL AZULITO MI AZULITO AZULITO AZULITO AAAAAAAAAAAAAA BESITOS BESOSBESOSBESO!!!!!!!! EL MERECE MI AMOR, MI CARIÑO, MI TODO LOS BESOS NO SON SUFICIENTE—

*ahem*

If you're like me, and insist on showering Azulito (he begs that you don't call him that in front of others, especially the twins) with kisses and kisses galore, you better commit to it!!

You better let him cling to you as you cuddle and smooch in his large bed, he's exhausted after a long day's work. He needs this, he needs to wrap his arms (just the two never seems enough sometimes) around you as you lay on his chest with his weighted blanked on top of you both.

Complain that it's heavy, but he insists if he's to take you back home that you start becoming accustomed to the pressure of the ocean and his 8 tentacles around you. No, you are legally obligated to spend at least one hour with him every day after 5pm per your relationship contact.

(Note that, it's not an actual contract. He's made very few since Leona destroyed his collection, saving them for emergencies and things of personal importance. He has one waiting for you to sign in the future, glittering gold with the words ENGAGEMENT CONTRACT on the top.)

For now, though, he demands that you let him indulge in your affections, exclusive to him (and maybe Grim). Leave lipstick marks on him, one specifically on his collar, Why are you so surprised? It's so that he can brag about getting such a wonderful, beautiful, enchanting, loving partner. Azul's so surprisingly affectionate in public, an arm wrapped around your waist so that his hand rests on your hip, rubbing any exposed skin there. He's bringing you closer, preening when you place a hand on his chest for stability. That's right, he's YOUR stability in this crazy world. He's delighted that everyone else can mope and stomp around, jealous as you place another kiss on his cheek. All these single-fucks can seethe and cry about how he, the Azul Ashengrotto, can show off his pretty eye-candy of his arm with a self-satisfied smirk.

You're his partner, his beloved, his his his! You, to be frank, had the opportunity to choose celebrities, princes, heirs, future kings. You had the cream of the crop, really. But none of them met your standards, only him! He wins! Ha! Ha ha ha! Now, let's go back to the bedroom, he's in need of your sweet embrace and would like to make out with his partner! HIS!!!

Ha, ha, HA!

[bixels]

idk how off tangent this is but ngl. me as a transfem asian dyke seeing everyone mistake u for butch gives me more self assuredness and hope i can pass. thank you mr bixels for ur lgbtq swag

That makes me feel better.

[riuuneon]

never piss off the artist friend bruh😭😭😭

[alagaesia-headcanons]

I've Had A Thought. I was thinking about the scene where Eragon is reminiscing over Brom's message to him as his father, and how Eragon is confounded and troubled that he in no way mentioned Murtagh. I found it a little sad that, for whatever reason, Brom decided Murtagh didn't bear mentioning. Then it crossed my mind to consider the possibility that Brom didn't know about Murtagh at all.

As it turns out, Eragon actually does think about it in that scene- he says, "He must have known about Murtagh. He couldn't not have." And admittedly I don't think this is the most likely scenario or that it's now my personal interpretation of canon, but the idea really has captivated me. Because it actually does fit within the facts! (the new book notwithstanding)

Brom was a gardener at Morzan's estate for three years, and while it's probably more likely that he learned about Murtagh in that time, I think it's certainly feasible for him to never know. Morzan was very determined to keep him hidden and took a lot of precautions to ensure just that. Oromis said Morzan forced all his servants to swear fealty and Brom found a flaw in his wards to infiltrate, and possibly he was able to do so because a job as a gardener didn't require such strict oaths because it wasn't in proximity to Murtagh.

Again, it may not be the most likely, but I can absolutely believe Selena might not have told him either. She also would have been aware of the serious danger Murtagh was in and would've wanted him to stay hidden. Even after Brom told her who he was and she started working with the Varden, she might have kept it secret. For one, Brom's hatred of Morzan is described as extreme and all consuming, and that it never waned with time. Even if she came to believe that Brom wouldn't harm Murtagh, she might not have trusted he could look at him kindly. And of course, telling him about her child with Morzan also risked damaging their relationship considering that they were lovers. Then there's the possibility that Selena did build all this necessary trust to tell Brom about Murtagh if he wasn't aware of him already, but it was too late for her to discuss it with him before she died. So I think it is conceivable that Brom actually never knew about Murtagh's existence.

Where this concept really shines is in an AU where Brom survives after Murtagh saves them from the Ra'zac. I've always liked these, and I sometimes toy with my own, but there's so many ways Brom could react and I've never been able to settle on one well enough to get invested in it. But I find this SUCH a fascinating take on it (especially if you wave off the detail that Murtagh's voice sounds ~exactly like~ Morzan's, which I tend to do). Brom recovers and meets their rescuer, and he has no idea he's looking at Morzan and Selena's son. Murtagh seems terribly familiar, but Brom has been relentlessly haunted by his past for so long now that he doesn't put much stock in the perceived similarities. Meanwhile, Murtagh realizes that Brom truly does not know that he's the son of the man he murdered, a precarious but welcome relief. Because he doesn't know- up until Murtagh's confession in the valley.

Brom is stunned by disbelief. It can't be true, Morzan had no children, because surely he would know, surely-! But another thought dawns on him, drowning out the memories of Morzan, because who could have been the mother of his child other than his wife: Selena? And Murtagh is looking at him with fear, fear that he'll turn on him because he shares the blood of the man Brom hated most. It's heart wrenching, because even as part of his mind tells him that maybe he should scorn him, Brom is looking at this man who single handedly saved him from the brink of death and saved Eragon and Saphira from far worse at the hands of Galbatorix, and who has given them extraordinary devotion ever since.

In his core, he accepts the truth of Murtagh's claim as he explains his past and recounts the story of his parents exactly how Brom knows it to be. The paradigm shift sends him reeling. Murtagh believes Brom is affected only because of his past with Morzan; he has no way of knowing what he felt for Selena. He still glances at him nervously, especially as he admits that he briefly intended to serve Galbatorix, yet then there's also a spark of trust and gratitude- maybe even hope- in his eyes when Brom doesn't rescind the way he vouched for him when they were stopped inside the gates. How could he? Murtagh has accomplished one thing neither Morzan nor Selena ever did: escape.

Despite everything, his aching heart feels something fiercely like pride. He would not dare ruin that for him.

Then to further prove the truth, like the world is laughing at his years of ignorance, Ajihad recognizes him, because after Murtagh was brought to Uru'baen, the Varden's spies informed him of Morzan's son. But of course, that was after Brom cut himself off and started living in Carvahall, so he never learned of that discovery. "Morzan's son" is said over and over, but in Brom's mind, that idea is far eclipsed by Selena's son. He's hurt and ashamed to realize he never knew something so significant about the woman he loved. And he feels guilty that Murtagh struggled for so long in Uru'baen because no one was there to save him when he was left helplessly alone. Brom must have been so close to him when he arrived right after Selena's death, but he just didn't know.

Brom is utterly at a loss. How can he process Murtagh- the child of Selena and Morzan, Eragon's half brother, and in a certain sense, his own stepson? What can he do now? He was already so terrified of telling Eragon the truth of being his father, and now he has another staggering revelation to inflict on Eragon and Murtagh both. The prospect feels terrifyingly impossible, but keeping his secrets has grown even more painful. Watching how easily and how well Eragon and Murtagh get along is now bitterly ironic. Even without knowing it, Murtagh is a great older brother, waiting vigilantly near his side after the battle. The injury Durza inflicted scared Brom in a way he can't put into words; he simply could not bear to lose Eragon. How could he risk that happening without telling Eragon how much he loves him and values him as his son? But telling him truth could be the quickest way to lose him. And now, with Murtagh, he has more to lose than he ever realized.

-And because Murtagh deserves it, I like all these changes resulting in the Twins never getting the chance to kidnap him, and so Brom has to figure out how to make the three of them into a family <3

[shays-shack]

Was binging nichijou yesterday (for like the 2nd time 💀) and one scene reminded me of a post I saw that was like "Nano's character arc could be interpreted as a trans allegory" and....

yeah I see it

[itissadbutitsmy-artblog]

i wanted this comic digitalized so bad that i used max's birthday as an excuse. :)

this is the true ending. if im insane enough ill show you the alternate ending though

bonus because i just. it just kinda peters out. longggg post yayyye

[gravedigg]

I got the random urge to design Dorian, Iron Bull, my Adaar, and a friend's Lavellan some finery for the ball in Halamshiral, with and without masks :-)

[hollowboobtheory]

what goth music would you recommend to a total newbie?

why would you ask me, the tramp stamps mutual, this

[calyssmarviss]

Hi tubblings, here’s a humble offering

streamer at children’s hospital ‘s award fit

[indigo-inks]

Could I maybe request a sketch of Jarod from Radiant Dawn being a cranky Hank? :-)

oooooh this guys GUMPY.

[graveyarrdshift]

wait a damn minute. wdym spotify stops collecting data for wrapped by the end of THIS MONTH???

[sharpilu]

And if I were someplace else And if I were someone else And if I were not myself Would this be easier?

got inspired by @cherrifires "The Crane Lives" thing and decided to do some (much needed) TL Joel art.

[closedrop]

I’ve been thoroughly roped into the portal fandom now

All I know right now is the song “Mr. Blue Sky” by Electric Light Orchestra is fucking magical what the hell-

Why it doin that, more importantly how??

[arsenicflame]

modern au where ed + jack have spent the last several decades buying izzy the absolute DUMBEST shirts for every occasion- its a competition between them at this point- whoever gets izzy the shirt that makes him groan louder wins. izzy complains about this ridiculous tradition but he secretly loves it, has kept every single shirt, and often even sleeps in them (he will kill anyone who ever finds out)

[antebunny]

Only Children

Barbara has been the last Bat in Gotham for two weeks when her surveillance finds Jason. It is a long-forgotten but somehow still operating security camera in a grainy corner of Gotham that tips her off. Settling in for another long day in, ironically, the Jason Wayne Gotham Public Library, founded almost ten years ago, Barbara immediately receives a notification that one of her searches found a match.

Usually she keeps her day work separate from her night work, for both security and personal mental health reasons. Lately she’s been slipping. For the past two weeks, her mind has slowly been consumed by a burning call to find them find them find them bring them home.

“Please be real,” Barbara says to anyone, any higher power listening. Her laptop itches in her lap as she abandons her desk in the library and heads to a back room, where she can conducts her investigations with more secrecy. 

The stale air of the back room greets her with a swirl of dust as the door slams shut behind her. Barbara wheels herself to the low desk and boots up the desktop. If this notification is a trap from someone who knows or suspects her identity, she wants her personal laptop safe. From the desktop, she opens the surveillance footage that tipped off one of her automatic searches. 

Last night, 4:34 am. West Murray Road. A southbound van (white, no license plate) pulls to the curb. People dressed in all-black clothing spill out of the east-facing doors. There are no distinct features amongst any of them, save for one. He is wearing a white workout shirt, stained deep brownish red in too many places to count, and ripped jeans. The footage is incredibly blurry and grainy due to the time of night and the quality of the camera, but the man’s arms are behind his back in an awkward position which indicates that they are being forcibly kept there. Two of the people wearing black press close to his sides, adding credence to this theory. 

Over his head is a black bag. 

Barbara isn’t one for fits of emotion, but the past few months are driving her to extremes. She pauses the video. Breathes in. “Please be real,” she repeats. “Please.”

A mantra that reveals her worst fears: if she’s hoping that this kidnapped, endangered individual is one of the Bats, what’s the worst-case scenario? 

4:35 am. The hooded man suddenly drops to the ground and rolls backward. His arms flash to the sky. They contort out of something bright and silver. Dislocated joint, Barbara thinks while the horrible, fearful hope mounts. His hands slide around his neck until they find something. A moment later, the bag is off his head. His feet are carrying him backwards. 

But the people in black are coming. And the man’s blind, backwards flight has carried him into a brick wall on the opposite side of West Murray Road. His head scans the street. His eyes find the camera, which the people in black missed, and for one dreadful moment Barbara’s surveillance footage has a perfect 480p view of his face. This is the moment that flagged the searches currently running on every camera that Barbara has access to. 

Jason’s mouth makes the very distinct shape of the letter O. The people in black pile on him like wolves on a wounded deer. He goes down fighting. 

4:54 am. The people wearing black drag him across the street and disappear into a building on the east side. 

“Oh God. Oh my God.” Barbara pauses the footage and allows herself twenty-three seconds of resting her face in her hands and just breathing. Then she gets to work. 

The basic problem is as follows: Barbara has no idea who has Jason. 

The building on West Murray Road is an abandoned liquor store; Barbara can find no sign of legal use since 2019. She can, however, find a long history of mysterious white vans dropping off mysterious customers at that very spot, for at least a year. Clearly, it’s an organized crime group that has Jason. But most Rouges of Gotham are leaders of organized crime groups, including Jason. Red Hood’s band of merry men are slowly falling apart with the sudden disappearance of their leader, but that’s the least of Barbara’s worries. Hell, even the Bats fall under the category of “organized crime.” 

The underlying problem is that Barbara has absolutely no support. She is the last Bat left in Gotham since Jason disappeared. Before that, it was Barbara, Steph and Jason. Steph disappeared on an ill-fated solo rescue mission to save Cass. Right now the best Barbara can hope for is that she’s still alive. 

If Barbara runs a rescue operation now, it’ll be blind, alone and chair-bound. If she fails, she will be exposing the last remaining hidden member of Gotham’s Bats–Oracle–to the criminal world. To date no one has come looking for Oracle, which means none of the Bats have given her up. 

She doesn’t know who has Jason, what state Jason is in, or what obstacles she can expect to face. These are the exact reasons why she and Jason told Steph not to rescue Cass just yet. Now the situation is even worse: Barbara is the last one left free, the last one still in Gotham. 

But what other choice does Barbara have? 

--

Izzy stumbles upon the package on a dismal Sunday afternoon. It’s a black box large enough to hold a pair of shoes, resting in a suspiciously-colored puddle on the side of the street. The surface is shiny, and when Izzy pokes it, she can’t tell what the material is. Izzy turns the box over, ignoring the suspicious liquid running down the sides. It’s not poisonous. Probably. There’s a button built into the bottom side of the box. Immediately, Izzy is suspicious; nothing this nice sticks around the Bowery for very long. 

Against her better instincts, Izzy presses the button. She leans back as the lines appear along the sides of the box and it hisses open. Inside the box is mostly empty, save for a small pile of cash in $20 bills, and a tiny metal something.

“I have a job offer for you,” says a mechanized voice.

Izzy grabs the cash and kicks the box away. Heart pounding, she stands up, backs up, and watches in morbid fascination as the box bumps harmlessly against the curb. That’s good, right? There’s no person, just a voice and an empty box which is far enough from Izzy that she could probably run away if gas starts coming out of it or something. She turns over the wad of USD in her hand. Maybe it’s coated in a poisonous substance. Anything could happen in Gotham, and Batman hasn’t been seen in months. The villains are getting bolder and bolder. 

“It’s just cash,” says the mechanized voice. Whatever filter that voice is using makes it clear that the voice belongs to real person, but also obscures any identifying features. 

Izzy’s head jerks up from the cash. She narrows her eyes at the box. “Are you watching me?”

“Yes,” says the voice, refreshingly honestly. “It’s just upfront cash. If you take the job, there’s a lot more on the other side.”

The thing is. Just because Izzy knows better doesn’t mean that she doesn’t need money. 

“What’s the job?”

“Let’s take this inside,” requests the voice.

Izzy glances up and down the street. On one side is an abandoned dock house where Izzy spends too much of her time. On the other side are a couple of run-down buildings which may have real stores or may have fronts for less-than-legal businesses. Who’s to say. 

“What’s the job?” Izzy repeats. She approaches the box again, lying innocuously open on a cracked Gotham curb. Gingerly, she reaches into the box and picks out the tiny metal thing. When she puts it in her ear, the mechanized voice speaks up again.

“Delivery,” says the voice succinctly. It is much quieter in her ear. Izzy supposes this is one way of making sure no one is eavesdropping. 

“What’s the catch?”

“It’s dangerous,” the voice says promptly, continuing the trend of suspicious honesty. Izzy sincerely hopes that this honesty is not a cover-up for a worse truth. “Both the handling and the drop-off.”

“How much you offering?”

“Ten thousand grand.”

$10,000 just for an errand. Izzy thinks she might be sick. Surely this is too good to be true. Really, she just needs some medical bills covered. The problem is that she doesn’t yet know how much money she’ll need. If she tells this mystery person, maybe she can get all her expenses covered rather than get $10,000 in cash. On the other hand, that’ll hand her identity over to this person. Who has already admitted to watching her. Ah, screw it.

Izzy picks up the empty box. She brushes her hair in front of her shoulders, so that it covers the earpiece. “Can you cover medical bills or does it have to be in cash?” 

Familiar Gotham sewage smells follow Izzy onto the next street. She hears the very faint sound of typing from the earpiece. So there really is someone on the other end.

“I can get someone to lend a hand.” 

Izzy squeezes her eyes shut and pictures it. Every inch of stress that’s been weighing her down, every worry, down the drain, wiped away. It’s ridiculous. This is Gotham. Even it it wasn’t, it’s too good to be true. Izzy knows better than this. She had her dumb teenage years but this would be the stupidest thing she’s ever done. 

It is an unusually warm November day, but Izzy pulls her fuschia sweater in tight. “What do you need me to do?”

--

Brian doesn’t believe in second chances or coincidences. Nevertheless, he’s taking this thankless, illegal guard duty grunt work because he’s fully out of options. They say his employer doesn’t give second chances. It’s also awfully coincidental that this off-the-books guard duty has him loitering outside some run-down storefront off West Murray Road. He used to live on this street, though much further north. 

“What d’ya think we’re guardin?’” Asks Rocky, Brian’s fellow guard who named himself after the movie. 

“None of our business.” Brian throws some sort of pebble at Rocky, who only looks at him in some mixture of boredom and disgust. 

“Heard someone screamin’ last night,” Rocky continues. 

“Shut the fuck up and don’t ask questions if you wanna live,” says Brian, keenly aware of how Rocky’s voice echoes through the abandoned street. West Murray Road doesn’t get much love from Gothamites, and even less at night. The most entertainment Brian has seen all this time is two rats fighting. 

“Alright, calm your tits, I’m just bored as hell, man,” Rocky defends. “Nothing interesting ever happens–”

“Hey.”

Both Brian and Rocky jerk out of their distracted, half-asleep slouches. There’s a woman with a purple(? Pink? Red?) sweater standing right in front of the door they’re supposed to be guarding. She’s wearing a mask, but that’s pretty normal. It’s Covid-19 season, after all. They fail to look down and see the small package at her feet. Their attention instead falls to the black box in her hands. 

“I have a delivery?” The woman motions with the box in her hands. 

Rocky and Brian both jerk back, hands fumbling for weapons while they attempt to get a clearer picture in the near total darkness. 

“This some kinda joke?” Brian snaps. 

“Uh.” The woman backs up a step. Maybe Rocky took out his gun. “Listen, I–”

BANG.

A horrible, indescribable scent slams into Brian’s nose so hard it shoots all the way into his skull and rattles his brain around. Vaguely, his eyes observe the woman adjusting another mask, a gas mask, under her K95 mask as he collapses to the sidewalk. Then he blacks out. 

Barbara is moving her drones before the two guards hit the ground.