#i actually died writing this

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Not beating the allegations.

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[thatpunnyperson]

According to NBC here in the US, the missing titanic sub has been found. As debris. Off the bow of the Titanic wreckage.

And it looks like the sub suffered what we all suspected, and what was undoubtedly the more merciful of the two options: a catastrophic implosion from the pressure.

Also, more info has come to light about the fishing trawler with the hundreds of migrants that sank cataclysmically off the coast of Greece, indicating that the greek coast guard knew about the vessel AND how much trouble the vessel was in, and were towing it at a speed that made it capsize, at which point they unhooked the tow line and watched the trawler sink without helping the passengers to safety. Despite a bunch of other ships trying to help as well throughout the whole ordeal.

So a lot of people are dead, all because of regulations (and the lack thereof) regarding sea-faring vessels and rescue protocols. People shouldnt be allowed to make a business charging a ton of money for a ride on an uncertified, unsafe, un-seaworthy ship going deep into the ocean with no distress beacon or tether to the mothership. People also shouldnt be allowed to enact laws that criminalize the ferrying of refugees, which then force the refugees to hitch rides on fishing trawlers, and which also prevent people from helping those fishing trawlers full of refugees due to fear of legal consequences.

Hopefully BOTH of these events spark changes on an international scale in terms of what is legally allowed to be sailed, who is legally allowed to be the passengers, and what the rescue protocols are in the event of disaster for any seafaring vessel, illegal or not. It shouldnt be just the global 1% who get 24/7 search parties and remote-operated submersibles helping rescue them.

[wishchip106]

i’ve been using my brain more than its used to

gonna think about gay mutant road trip hope my brain doesn’t explode

[tempfrangit]

doe-eyed

Johnny x F!Reader, 1.4k, 18+ smut summary: You're going to let some alpha fuck you because you're broke and just happened to get the call. Thank you for your service. inspired by @syoddeye's rut kinktober fill cw: a/b/o, breeding kink, technically dubcon because heat/rut? banners by @/cafekitsune

The alpha’s scent sends a tingle straight down to your pussy. It was clean and sharp, like pine, but charred at the edges in a way that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end deliciously. Your pre-heat is finally settling. You'd been able to smell him from the first moment you stepped out of the SUV, totally thrown off by your surroundings.

Like a fox let loose for the hounds to chase.

Of course, you'd been prepared for this, even if it was your first time being called. You'd willingly chosen to sign up for this job after your degree left you in debt past your means, even after graduation, while you worked two jobs.

Still, you don't expect the door to rip itself open as you approach the cabin, spine stiff as an iron rod. A gasp escapes as you freeze. The entire speech you've been coached through leaves your head in an instant as you blink up at him owlishly.

He's big, stocky like a rugby player with a surprisingly straight nose for the energy he exudes. A real alpha, not like the ones you'd messed around with in uni, testing the waters but never taking the plunge, not wanting to be just some omega. Part of you wants to run. But most of you can't help how your heartbeat quickens. How you can feel yourself get wetter.

You don't even know when he'd slung you over his shoulder, trudging back to the cabin like this was the same shit every day. And for all you knew it was.

Once the door's shut, you're set onto your feet and pressed against the hard wood. He grinds against your clothed pussy like a beast, hot breath puffing against your protective collar with an edge of distaste as his hands snake up the skirt of your dress.

An ice rock of unexpected shame forms in the pit of your stomach, and you've never been more embarrassed in your life. You’d assumed you’d been chosen because you were close to your heat, but the lack of approval cut deep.

“Off,” he snarls, and before you can even to offer to remove your panties you feel the pinch of them being pulled and digging into the soft meat of your hips before the fabric tears.

This time you stop yourself from gasping, swallowing it back. You force yourself to lean against the door, bracing against your forearms, doing your best to present like this, deep arch already making your back ache dully. To be the perfect little submissive omega.

His approving rumble of a purr makes you shiver, pressing your cheek against the cool door as you ease back into situation. Or maybe that's your heat finally rearing it's head, as his scent washes over you. Vaguely, you hear the rustling of fabric, but even the thought of the sound leaves your brain as you feel the tip of his cock slide against your slit. Your slick helps the glide of his next thrust. The feeling of his thick cock fucking between your pussylips has you shudder. A soft whine leaves your lips, properly needy as you grind against him.

That earns you a swat, a slight growl of appreciation. "Tha’s right, doe. Ya want it, don’t ya?"

And you nod, face burning at the admission. Of course, you can't turn down the opportunity to peek over your shoulder to get a better look at the guy who's gonna be fucking you.

If you'd run into him at a club, you would have let him take you home. His eyes are the prettiest blue you've ever seen, thick dark lashes framing them, and near feverish with his rut. Thick dark hair shaved into a mohawk, stubble growing on his jaw. Part of you kinda hopes he’ll knock you up. Oh — oh you’re definitely thankful your heat's hitting you but you do not want to entertain that. Still, you can feel slick dribbling out of you, know that your scent flares.

A sharp inhale is your only warning before he tilts his hips, notching the thick head of his cock against the opening of your pussy and burying himself to the base.

The air leaves your lungs in a rush, brain blue screening as you try and fail to comprehend how utterly full you are suddenly. When he begins to thrust without giving you a moment to adjust, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming his hips back into yours like a rutting beast, you can’t help the sound you make. Something guttural, animalistic in response as your body is rocked into the wood.

He wasn’t holding back at all, warm breaths huffing against your neck as he fucked into you. Again, you're trying to tilt your hips but this time it's to get him to thrust against just the right spot. He was good. He had to know he was good, because holy fuck.

You don't even realize the high pitched whining sound that you'd been hearing was coming from you, until another crack of pain on across your ass shocks you back into your body. You'd been too focused on all the places he'd been hitting inside you, as he jackhammers his hips, and your face is burning.

No, you were burning up in general. The delicious heat that licked through you each time he thrust into you entirely made your legs feel weak. The hot breaths panting against the base of your neck, the wispy curls hairs there, sends electricity down your spine. The edge of a tooth presses against your jaw and it startles you so much you come.

And even spasming on his cock, he doesn't stop.

“Johnny," Johnny growls into your ear, thrusts turning urgent, "call me Johnny and tell me to knock yer cunt up.”

You're pretty sure you follow his orders as he keeps fucking you.

You know you beg him for his knot, and that earns you a snarl. Pain rips through your pleasure as you feel the soft skin of your back break. Just below your collar. Your thighs are shaking as you come again.

You're too hot.

Blinking awake groggily, you realize you don't remember making it to the bed last night.

Johnny had fucked you against the door upon your arrival, then on the floor after he caught his breath, cradling you on your side as his knot had kept you close to him. Then he'd seemed to have calmed down enough to come to his senses. He'd gulped down water, pressing his lips against yours to force some into your own mouth, and keeping yourself hydrated hadn't even occurred to you. You hadn't realize how thirsty you were as your heat ebbed slightly, still feeling like you were warm to the touch as you panted against his chest. Then he'd fucked you over the arm of the couch. Which you'd surely ruined after squirting down it. You hadn't even known you could squirt like that.

At the thought of water, you untangle yourself from the human furnace that's wrapped around you. Prying his fingers off your arm as gently as you can before you practically fall out of bed.

You're not too proud to drink out of the bathroom faucet, too relieved by the cool liquid pouring into your mouth to care. Blinking at yourself in the mirror, you twist slowly, trying to get a good view of your back. Your collar was still safely in place, but the skin around the edge was decorated with marks, nips where he'd buried his teeth in you.

Why did that make you so wet?

You don't even notice him in the mirror, before thick arms are wrapped around you and you squeak, jumping but being held firmly in place by the alpha you'd spent the night getting your brains fucked out by.

“Fuck, you smell better than I remember,” his breath tickles your ear as he sniffs at you, rumble in his voice as he begins to rub his stiffening cock against the fat of your ass.

“Better?” You breath the question, spreading your thighs enough that you can grind back against him. While you don't fully understand, you're not about to let the warmth that's sparking in your belly.

“When I picked you months ago,” Johnny breathes between tracking kisses along your jaw, “knew you were it fer me when they gave me yer scent sample. Take this fuckin' thing off, bonnie, lemme bite you 'n' breed you 'n' give you everythin' you want.”

Maybe you are like every omega, pleased to be chosen by a big alpha who can pick you up like you're nothing, fuck you full. What's wrong with that?

You're fingers pull desperately at your collar, trying to work it loose as fast as you can.

[starry-bi-sky]

No.

No, no, no, no, NO!

He's shaking. His heart is burning in his chest, pounding like a jackhammer against his ribs, and there's a trembling, aching rage building beneath his tongue and pressing against his teeth.

In his hands, his fingers tense and wrists locked, the article reads in big, black font: JOKER LOCKED IN ARKHAM ASYLUM AGAIN!

Danny shouldn't feel so angry about this, this is a good thing. Gotham doesn't have to deal with him for another few months at the least. He should feel relieved, a little more at peace.

He is not.

He cannot swallow the fury thudding behind his eyes, the burning white heat searing a deeper hole in his chest. A searing green filling static in his ears in the way only the rage of the restless dead can have.

How is he going to kill him now?

Arkham may be the only asylum in America made entirely of tissue paper, but it's still an asylum. There are cameras, guards, other patients resting inside. Danny can think of a million different ways to sneak in and kill Joker, but someone will hear his screaming.

It'd have to be rushed.

He doesn't want it to be rushed.

It's a cruel thought. Cruel and cold and merciless, but Danny doesn't feel an ounce of shame, not an ounce of guilt, for it. He wants to be alone with the Joker when he kills him, that's all he wants. In Arkham, you are never alone.

He forces his anger to bubble back down into his chest, stuffing it between his heartstrings and his ribs like a blanket you're trying to bunch up into a corner. It sizzles and burbles. The static begins to fade out into a high-pitched ringing; it sounds like distant screaming.

Danny is still trembling, but he can think a little clearer now.

He can wait.

He can wait. He can wait. He can wait. He canwait. Hecanwait. Hecanwait.

He can wait.

He's waited five years for this. He can wait one more week. One more month. One more year. However long it takes for the Joker to break back out, Danny can wait.

And when the Joker does, inevitably, break out.

Danny uncrinkles his fingers around the edges of the newspaper, loosens his limbs just enough so he can pay for it.

He'll be waiting.

The dead, after all, have all the time in the world.

[mediumgayitalian]

Nico wakes up to gagging and a soft glow coming from the bathroom.

His first thought is, bizarrely, that Hazel’s home. But her bunk is still empty, and her shoes aren’t by the door, and she didn’t wake him when she came in. She always wakes him when she comes in, even if it’s four thirty in the damn morning, because nothing makes her cackle quite like Nico choking back curses and tweaking under her smothering pillow.

“Shit,” comes a small voice from the bathroom, followed by more retching. “Shitshitshit, no —”

Nico bolts for the door.

“Hi,” Will says, or tries to. His scarred knuckles clench with every gag, wrapped too tightly around the rim of porcelain to tremble like the rest of him.

Something about the wobbly smile he keeps trying to form in between gags. Something about the sweat that has drenched his t-shirt, something about the deep circles under his eyes, something about his spot in the bed completely cold, wrinkled.

Something is not adding up.

“You’re not sick,” Nico murmurs, pressing the back of his hand to Will’s forehead. Will mutters something about bliss, leaning into Nico’s hand; he smiles again, but it is strained, and at odds with the glassy look in his eyes. The sharp, rapid breaths.

“Just don’t — feel good.”

Every word is punctuated by a big, heaving gasp, like he’s trying to breathe through heavy cotton. On a hunch, Nico slides his hands down Will’s face, brushing the goosebumps on his neck, the irritated, pulsing tendons, and rest flat against his chest, over his heart.

His heart that is pounding, so quickly it is actually challenging to recognise as a beat rather than a buzz.

“You’re having a panic attack,” Nico says quietly.

Will shrugs. He gags again, but clamps his mouth shut before it goes anywhere, breathing deeply and carefully through clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. His heart pounds faster, and the rapid movement of his chest grows shallow, but he manages to choke back his bile, swallow down whatever nausea is plaguing him.

“I’m — fine.” His laboured breathing is the loudest sound in the cabin. In the camp. “I’m handling it.”

Nico watches him. Watches him clench his jaw and squeeze his eyes shut and make a noise like he is being betrayed, like he is being sold for thirty silver by his own body, his own mind; watches him flex his muscles rigid and hold himself still like he can stop the nails and thorns from coming. He thinks of wide smiles and far away eyes and mental health pamphlets and cheerful slogans on infirmary walls.

“I think one of those things are true.”

“I don’t need —”

Whatever he doesn’t need is forgotten, because he is heaving again, only this time his body finds something to dredge up, even if that something is stomach acid and he cries as it burns its way up his throat, and in between heaving he wheezes, horrible whistling gasping noises, and his hair plasters to his forehead, and his body slumps into Nico’s hold and jerks away from him like rocky waves against a lakefront.

“How long have you been here?”

Will just shrugs again, and he cries, and he says “Leave, please,” and Nico wraps an arm tighter around his waist, and presses a kiss to his sweaty temple, lingering, holding, tasting salt from Will and from his tears both, and squeezing his eyes shut, and holding back the anger. Gritting his teeth and softening his hold, deliberately, resting his fingers delicately on the dip of Will’s hip, the raised pink of the stretch marks along his ribs.

“I hate it when you run from me,” he murmurs, and Will sobs again.

“I can’t breathe,” he says, and Nico squeezes and promises he can. “I’m dying. I’m dying, I’m gonna —”

“I’m here, Will.” He doesn’t say you’re not dying. He doesn’t say you’re fine, because this is the longest they’ve sat together in five days, because it is the the quiet middle of June, because yesterday Kayla spent half her shift screaming at Will to get out and ignoring him when he shouted back. Because the bandage around Will’s wrist has been worn to threads, because Lee’s hoodie has not been washed in weeks, because there is a newcomer named Michael and Will cannot even look at him. Because it has been bad. “I’m here.”

It is as much a reminder as it is a plea as it is a reprimand as it is a fruitless nothing, because when Nico struggles he gets angry, when Nico struggles he gets mean and biting and violent, but when Will struggles he wants the world to kill him. And for all that Nico is halfway to the grave he has clawed and chewed and fought his way to survival. And when Will scratches at the skin around his ears and screams into his hands and opens the chapped over scars on his lips his palms his fingers, Nico can only hold him, Nico can only gently pry his nails from his flesh and tell himself that one day they will get to the point where Nico wakes up. Where Will wakes him up, where he burrows into the place between his arms and his chest and hides in someone else for once. Where he trusts someone outside of himself enough to bare his back.

“I’m here,” he whispers again, and he presses his lips to Will’s hair and holds him as he sobs, “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

[bluerosefox]

"Daddy! Mommy's is having Ellie!"

Everyone in the Batfam knows Jason keeps secrets.

Secrets he'd take to his grave a second time if he had to.

But to think one of those secrets would be about the fact he had a secret family.

And the only reason the Batfam found out was because apparently their secret (grand)daughter/sister-in-law Jazz/Jasmine was in labor and their (great)grandson/nephews Danny (Daniel) and Dan (Dante) called him while on a Red Hood job with the rest of the Batfam to panicky tell him their baby sister Ellie was on the way early.

Red Hood books it away from the fam to his bike while asking to put Kori or Roy on the phone.

Oh boy.

[ainasobsession]

Jeremy Allen White as Lip Gallagher for Shameless, S09 EP09.

[lizzybeeee]

DATV explaining the 'Regret Prison'

A REGRET PRISON IS STUPID AND I'M TIRED OF PRETENDING THAT ITS NOT

TL;DR: a prison can serve as a metaphor but it shouldn't be entirely comprised of a metaphor.

From what I understood from what the game gave us: Solas has made a new prison to move the God's too - since bringing down the veil would free them from the Black City. This new prison is separate(?) from the fade or so far removed/contained that bringing down the veil would not compromise it...apparently. We interrupt his ritual, Solas gets sucked into the new prison he made, and the elven gods are free.

When Rook gets kicked into the fade they're physically there - which means it's a physical place in the fade, like how it was a mixture of physical/thought when we entered it in DAI. Which makes sense - the gods are real and living beings, they need to be in a place, there must be some aspect of physicality to it.

Alright, cool, it's a Black City 2.0 - I assume it's better defended to prevent people breaking in/out again?

NOPE.

We get there and it's a 'regret prison'?? It's tied to the regrets of those within it? Composed of regrets??? Solas had to wait for the right moment for Rook to be sufficiently 'full of regret' that they could switch places?

So is the prison tied to Solas's regrets? If so, how can Rook escape? The prison seems to work around the idea that it relies on the regrets of the person it's holding to work - which is how/why Rook was able to be trapped and later free themselves (along with whatever remains of the team apparently being able to do something on their end, not that we hear about it).

WHICH IS STUPID!

Are you telling me the prison intended to hold to megalomaniac elven gods was going to imprison them based on their own regrets? Is Solas assuming that Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain are as self-pitying as he is? They'd break out quicker than Rook did! He made a time out corner for the elven gods to sit in and gave them an out if they reflected on their emotions/regrets or decided that they don't regret what they did. Elgar'nan, a spirit of tyranny, is not going to 'regret' his actions - he is going to justify them by telling himself and others that he knows what's best.

We can come across some of Solas's regrets in the prison if you run around a bit and explore:

Remnant of Failure - talking about the orb from Inquisition.

Remnant of Parting - talking about Mythal

Remnant of Reflection - more vague, talking about the Titans I believe.

So maybe he altered it - maybe he intended the prison to be 'locked' with his own regrets because after a millennia of having a pity party he still can't bring himself to self-reflect and look to the future. But what if Solas died? Or if his guilt lessened - would it diminish the strength of the regret prison?

We already have pre-established lore (though DATV has shown they don't really give a crap tbh) that once the being that has claimed/altered an area of the fade is slain, it's influence diminishes both in and outside of the fade. So if the prison was tied to his regrets then it would require Solas to basically live forever to keep it stable - especially if he brought down the veil and removed the one barrier that kept the world and the fade apart.

Rook and Solas needed some assistance to exit - but it doesn't seem like it was much! Solas used his dagger and Rook just...got out through a fade tear? This is Solas's 'more secure' second prison? It has a worse track record than the Black City! If Rook - who is not an elven god - managed to escape the regret prison what is to stop anyone else from breaking in and out of the prison?

And what did Solas intend to do with the blight - the bulk of which is apparently in the black city?? If bringing down the Veil would free the gods in the black city doesn't that mean that the blight would also be released?! Did he have a plan? Why does he go fully ahead with bringing down the veil at the end if the black city is still there and filled with blight?!

I get it: the 'regret prison' is a metaphor for how Solas holds onto the past and how Rook can move past their regrets and grow. He's trapped by the past - it's a prison. Cool. But this prison is supposed to by a physical place to contain the gods - not just to solely contain Solas. The mission is literally called 'A Cage for Gods'.

The Black City is an actual place that's so far out of reach of anywhere else in the fade that no mage can ever reach it while in dreams - let alone physically, which was only done once and took tremendous effort/blood sacrifices. It made sense - it was cool to see floating in the sky in DAO!

Though it's not said specifically, it's strongly implied that Arlathan is the Black City. You can see in the concept art that floating elven city is exactly the same as the black city in DAO! It's this foreboding thing just lurking in the sky - a constant reminder of the sin that led to the horrors of the blights and darkspawn. A real place with lore and history that also serves as a metaphor for the hubris and destruction of those who call themselves gods and act as tyrants -> for both the evanuris and the magisters.

I WANT TO UNDERSTAND THIS BIOWARE!

WHAT IS THIS KINGDOM HEARTS NONSENSE???!!

[spooksier]

head in hands, on my freaking knees. the running theme of dopplegangers and other selves in protocol both textually and metatextually is going to send me to an early grave. like. beyond it just being cool as hell, its such an interesting way to take a sequel/side-quel/whatever of a story where even the most minor character has a whole fanbase behind them because yes! we’re all waiting to hear from our faves after so long and here they are! but not really. the voice is the same but the person is not, at what point do you stop being you and start being someone else? is that you?

and ! ☝️ id argue that sam and alice as characters play into this theme because they are both completely different from jon and martin but also exactly the same (sam being very friendly and personable in a way that hides his obsessiveness, alice being loud and sarcastic to hide her loneliness/jealous streak) (also erm. theyre actually canonically south asian and trans this time. win.) (we also get this with gwen (literally a bouchard) and celia (literally from tma)) the whole team is meant to ring the archives alarm without any fire. similar but not the same yknow?

idk man playing with expectations and familiarity like this is so cool to me. like yes ill trust the voice in my computer telling me to dig myself deeper! it sounds like my friend jon!

[thriftybruce]

3 pg. comic about an AU where both Stan and McGucket work on the portal together in the 80s

(Script for those who need it, or can't read my handwriting);

Page 1:

Caption: In an alternate universe, where Stan and Fiddleford worked together on the portal in the 80s...

Page 2:

Fiddleford (in his head): Huh...what is that racket? Huh? Oh!

Fiddleford: Well, I think I'm in need of a good, long break...

Do tell Stanley, I didn't think you'd be the kind to like David Bowie!

Stan: Well, I don't! But he's catchy...I'll give him that. Also... he was always playin' on the radio. It was nice havin' someone else on the road...

Fiddleford: Well, Lee, now's your chance to move your legs and get loose!

Page 3:

Fiddleford: C'mon Stan!!! Shake what your mama gave ya!

Stan: Alright, alright Fidds! Just this once though!

(after the dancing montage)

Stan: Okay okay! None of that now, c'mon we gotta get back to work.

Fiddleford: Woops! Sorry Stan, but I haven't felt this good in a long, long time. I got the jitters! The good kind, that is! But oh alright!

[johnconstantinesdick]

I get the criticism of the Hunters of Artemis from a narrative perspective—it sucks that it essentially boots interesting female characters out of the story—but it always baffles me when people viciously hate Artemis for *checks notes* doing damage control.

Like. Thalia explicitly goes with Artemis to avoid the prophecy, and I definitely think that’s the reason Artemis tried so hard to get her to join—hell, you can view the hunters trying to recruit Annabeth as a way to get Thalia to join. And Bianca? You can’t convince me that Artemis didn’t guess there was something up there and react accordingly.

If Percy or Nico were even a little bit girl-adjacent you bet your ass she would be all over them to join. No one actually wants to risk the Great Prophecy happening, and Artemis is doing a hell of a lot more to stop it than anyone else.

[a-sea-with-no-shores]

you may be familiar with the first strip of "Pirates" (I always think it's called "Nemesis") by the inimitable Kate Beaton

well

I shamelessly ripped it off

[beatcroc]

there's no way the bathroom at peppino's pizza is actually that big but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . hey ummm anyway.... i care them...... anyway there's a lil ramble on my take on fake pep's like psyche or whatever in tags on the og post if ur into that kinda thing :y

hey! it's a series! fake peppino world tour: [noise] [noisette] [peppino]<- u are here [gustavo] [gerome] [noisette again]

[mintypsii]

guys i love them i promise i just have the urge to put them through the grinder sometimes

umm on the bright side here's the alternate good ending version lol!!!!!

[bonefall]

The fandom making fun of a character for disabilities reminds me of when people made aus where Rainflower became disabled as “karma” for how she treated Crookedstar. If the character is “messed up” enough some people in the fandom will have no problem with treating them as if they deserve to be disabled as if it’s a punishment.

The leftism LEAVING people's bodies when they think that a person deserves to become disabled as a punishment. The leftism being downright EXORCISED from people's bodies when they can frame a baby being born disabled as a consequence for the sins of their parents.