#i actually don’t know what any of these drawings mean

[tsbs-shipfessions]

Hear me out…Nexus/Solar’s Sun.

Nexus exacts his revenge on Solar by reviving Sunrise (Solar’s Sun. I couldn't think of another name to differentiate between the OG Sun) and rizzing him up.

Oh, the mental anguish Solar will experience from the overwhelming joy of having Sunrise back, but also the red hot rage and misery of learning that Nexus is fucking his mom.

The funny thing is I started shipping it as a joke, but I quickly fell into the ‘shipped it as a joke, but now it's unironically one of my favorite ships’ boat.

It has the potential to be such a tender, yet hilarious ship, your honor! 

Sunrise being able to recognize all the anger and lashing out is just the product of a hurt individual, since he probably experienced the same with Solar when they first met. 

Sunrise cradling Nexus’s face, wiping away his tears as Nexus comes down from a really bad episode. Nexus refuses to admit that there is any true affection between the two of them, that Sunrise is just a tool, a means to enact his revenge on Solar…

But then Sunrise mentions he is cold and Nexus not only gives Sunrise his coat, but his shirt, a heating pad, multiple blankets and draws up the schematics to alter the Earth’s orbit to make it spring in their hemisphere.

----

[Everyone sitting at the table enjoying dinner]

Dazzle: Solar if you're Sunrise’s baby why do you call him Sunrise and not Mommy? I called my mama ‘mama’. Solar, flustered: I’m not his- He’s not my- Listen, Dazzle, I’m not going to call Sunrise ‘mommy’. I will NEVER call Sunrise Mommy. Or Mama, or Mum, or mother. Can we stop talking about this?

Nexus: I don’t see why you’re throwing a pissy fit over something as small as calling Sunrise Mommy.

Solar:HE’S NOT-

Nexus: I mean, that’s what I called him last night >:)

[Que everyone trying to hold Solar back from vaulting over the table to throttle Nexus]

Nexus deserves love and wacky family dynamics again.

Anon, I just want you to know this is one of my favorite confessions I have ever received. The "Oh, the mental anguish Solar will experience from the overwhelming joy of having Sunrise back, but also the red hot rage and misery of learning that Nexus is fucking his mom." actually made me laugh out loud.

[mysticeclipses]

Call Of Duty Modern Warfare Catverse

So, I've been sitting on this thought for a while. There's something about hardened military people with cats that just tickles me, and imagining the COD men and women having jobs that center around taking care of cats in one way or another has taken over my mind completely. And as such, why not have them own and work in cat cafes, rescues, pet hotels, the whole shebang? And yes, you'll notice that Kate, Valeria, Farah, and Alex are missing because I haven't narrowed down exactly what I think they'd be doing in this universe, so if you have any ideas don't be afraid to let me know! Same goes for names for their businesses, as I haven't been able to think of anything that fits. I'll probably expand more on this at a later date, but in the mean time, if you have questions, ask them! I'd love to ramble about this little idea of mine.

Jonathan Price: Owner of the first of the big three cat cafes in London, John’s cafe has become his second home, a place where he takes care of any cats that are found injured or are older than most. John provides the less fortunate felines a place to relax and become acclimated to humans, heavy war-torn hands developing a gentle touch for the felines. He retired from his position as Captain years ago, the stress of his military career and countless near-death experiences feeding into unhealthy coping habits that were heavily affecting him physically and mentally. Now, he feels at peace with himself and is happy with where he is at life, no longer wondering if he’d live to see tomorrow. His cafe has adoptable and non-adoptable cats, so they will often host special promotions for their adoptable cats, though he had to ban Nikolai from coming to those events. They already have 10 cats at home, they don’t need any more, but John always finds it funny seeing his husband disguise himself to sneak in to the events. Nikolai stands out like a sore thumb every time, and John always unmasks him, planting a kiss on his lips before sending his husband on his way.

Nikolai: Husband to Price and rescuer, Nikolai stops by at least once a week with new rescues to be integrated into the cafe, sometimes stopping by just to see his husband and his team. Often wandering the streets of London and even traveling to other cities when needed, Nikolai seems to draw the attention of cats wherever he goes, which thankfully makes his job of rescuing much easier. With John’s help, he turned the basement into a recovery space for cats that couldn’t immediately be taken to the cafe, having learned some basic veterinary work for cats with basic injuries and ailments, though he’s still a frequent visitor to the local veterinarian office. He was the one that managed to convince John to retire in the first place, as he couldn’t stand seeing his boyfriend at the time kill himself slowly, and actually proposed the idea of starting the cat cafe after they had gotten married. He is also the reason behind why they now have 10 cats, and whenever he finds out John is having another adoption event, he tries to sneak in. It always fails, but it brings a smile to John’s face every time.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick: The solo barista and self-appointed DJ, Kyle was the first to join John’s cafe only a month after it had opened, falling into his role the quickest out of all the employees. Charismatic, sassy, charming, and stubborn as a mule at times, he picked up on the recipes and techniques for making coffees and teas like it was second nature. Kyle gets people in and out of line at a record pace, and has the best recommendations for drink and pastry combinations for newcomers. Kyle was medically discharged from his role as Sergeant after an accident in a church during an operation, where a helicopter shot the floor apart from under his feet, sending him tumbling several feet too many to the ground before a chunk of what remained fell on top of him. Three of his lumbar vertebrae were fractured, his left sciatic nerve was damaged, and his right femur was broken. It took months of physical therapy before Kyle was able to walk without assistance, and even now, he still deals with intermittent back and leg pain. There’s a chair behind the coffee bar for him to sit on and John keeps his spare back brace in his office, along with plenty of pain meds and heat pads. Kyle’s found comfort and brotherhood with his boss and fellow employees, and when he’s not busy making drinks, he can be found chatting with Soap or cuddling many of the cats.

Simon “Ghost” Riley: Quiet and reserved, Simon is the lead baker and pastry chef for the cafe, having joined the team around two months after Kyle did. Often clad in all black clothing and sporting a black mask that covers his face from nose to chin, Simon prefers to stay in the cafe kitchen, working quietly on new pastries and making sure the display case is always fully stocked until the end of the day. Cakes, cookies, croissants, donuts, tarts, macarons, eclairs, cinnamon rolls; you name it, Simon can bake it, and he finds it very therapeutic too. Simon was also medically discharged from his role as Lieutenant after an incident involving a man named Manuel Roba, having been tortured physically and mentally before he was tossed into a coffin and buried alive, and while he managed to get revenge on Manuel, it left him more broken than he wanted to admit. After many tough sessions with a therapist, Simon knew he needed to start trying to do something other than rot in his apartment alone, so he took up baking as a hobby. Baking taught Simon that he was capable of more than destruction, that he could make beautiful things despite the dirt and blood that stained his hands. And when he landed his job under John’s watchful eye, Simon was able to put the pieces of himself back together with the help of his newfound brothers and some loving felines.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish: Loud, boisterous, confident, chatterbox, all words used to describe one of the later additions to the cafe Johnny, who joined the team seven months after the cafe opened, is in charge of taking care of the cats directly. Whether it be organizing a feeding schedule, clipping their nails, giving them baths, brushing their teeth, or grooming their fur, Johnny is always busy. He’s also the only employee that’s allowed to use John’s credit card, seeing as he often has to go out shopping for food and treats and toys and whatnot. On top of all that, Johnny has also taken over as the cafe’s handyman, quickly fixing any problems that may arise; whether it be behind the coffee bar, in the kitchen, in John’s office, he can fix almost anything on his own or with an extra pair of hands. Johnny chose to leave his Sergeant role after taking a near-fatal shot to the side of his left temple, though some profound hearing loss from all the explosions he created certainly didn’t do him any better during his recovery process. It took Johnny a while to get used to his new hearing aids, and for a while, he detested wearing them because they reminded him of what he lost. Only after getting hired at the cat cafe did Johnny start to become more comfortable with his hearing aids, letting his newfound brethren decorate them to better fit his outgoing personality, and fitting himself effortlessly into their dynamic without disrupting it too much.

Gary “Roach” Sanderson: The youngest and newest addition to the cafe, Gary is the resident nightguard and secondary handyman to Johnny, having joined about a year after the cafe had opened. Gary is the quietest of all the employees, often only communicating through BSL or writing on a notepad that he keeps in his back pocket, but he’s the most expressive of all the employees despite that. He wears a tan face gaiter that covers him from nose to chin, and can sometimes be seen with two homemade antennae secured to his hair with small clips, which the cats love to play with. More often than not, Gary is only seen at night when he comes in to watch the cafe, but if Johnny ever needs a spare set of hands, he’ll come in to help when Nikolai isn’t available, albeit rather sleepily. Gary also chose to leave his Sergeant role after being betrayed by his general, getting shot in the chest and nearly burning alive before someone in his squad managed to save him. He was left with many burn scars and damage to his vocal chords after so much smoke inhalation, making his voice gravelly and painful to use for long periods of time, so hearing him speak is considered a privilege, along with a sign of trust among his fellow brothers in arms. After so long of feeling undervalued, underappreciated, and unconfident, Gary has found a place that sees his importance and makes sure he knows it.

Alejandro Vargas: Co-owner of the second of the three big cat cafes in London, Alejandro’s cafe takes in cats that are rescued from abusive or neglectful homes, spending countless hours of his time gaining their trust in order to get them comfortable around other cats and humans. He also took the time to put higher perches and hiding spots into his cafe for the cats during their adjustment periods, so he always lets patrons know that some cats are more skittish than others and to let those cats come down on their own accord. Alejandro is not afraid to confront patrons who disregard the rules that are set in place and has banned several people from coming back, though it isn’t something he particularly enjoys doing. Alejandro is still Colonel of Los Vaqueros, and now that they’ve finally started cracking down on the Las Almas Cartel and getting closer to putting El Sin Nombre behind bars, he’s allowed himself to take a step back and explore what else he wanted to do with his life. Still, every few months, Alejandro will fly out to Mexico to be back on the field with his team and even offers them jobs at his cafe for when they finally clean up the streets of Las Almas. When he’s not busy with the cafe or working in Mexico, Alejandro often visits the other cafes with his boyfriend, Rodolfo, who gives Alejandro a reason to stay safe while he’s away.

Rodolfo Parra: Co-owner of the cafe alongside Alejandro, Rodolfo, or Rudy as he’s better known as, is an everywhere all at once presence in the cafe, often floating between areas to help wherever it’s needed. Whether it be behind the coffee bar, in the kitchen, at the register, with the cats, or in the office with Alejandro, you’ll rarely not see him working. He also seems to be a cat whisperer, at least that’s what the patrons believe, as he’s the only person certain cats feel comfortable enough with to come down from their perches. Rudy’s clothes are also constantly covered in cat fur since there’s always a cat following him around, and they even enjoy climbing onto his shoulders like he’s their own personal chauffeur. Like Alejandro, Rudy is still Sergeant Major of Los Vaqueros, he’s just on a more extended leave per Alejandro’s request, or rather demand. After a building fire nearly took his life while they were searching for Hassan, Alejandro basically made Rudy take a break from work and join him as his cafe, and Rudy honestly found it both adorable and annoying how much Alejandro fussed over him. He’s finally being allowed to join Alejandro and Los Vaqueros in their pursuit of El Sin Nombre, and as annoyed as he gets with being under Alejandro’s watchful eyes, he wouldn’t change a thing. Reminds Rudy that he has someone who cares right next to him.

Phillip Graves: Owner of the last of the big three cat cafes in London, Graves and his cafe takes in exclusively black cats, giving the most misunderstood felines a second chance to find a home. A cat person at heart, he started his business in remembrance of his childhood pet, Speck. Speck was a grey ocicat that had garnered the nickname ‘Shadow’ thanks to how it would follow Graves around like his shadow. Graves created his business a few months after leaving the MARSOC Raiders, unable to stomach seeing so many men lose their lives while the Generals and Commandants sat pretty in their offices. He hires fellow ex-military men and women, and after a week of working for him, they become one of his ‘Shadows’. He cares very deeply for his employees, pays them handsomely, makes himself a part of their support system, and often hosts parties or celebrations at his home for holidays and birthdays. Graves will and has dropped whatever he’s doing in order to be there for his employees when they need it. When Graves isn’t busy working, he can often be found at the other cat cafes, simply acting as an annoyance in the corner booths he likes to inhabit. He’s a bit of a pain in the ass, but with his suave charm and southern accent, it’s impossible to stay mad at him for very long. Especially not when he breaks out his cat eyes or magically pulls the cutest cat from his cafe out from his jacket as a bribery tool.

Vladimir Makarov: Located near the heart of London is an upscale yet affordable pet hotel, owned by the passionate Makarov, that takes in a high amount of cats compared to any other pet, so much so that it’s now considered a cat hotel instead of a pet hotel. Makarov wants to give any pet that comes in through the doors a relaxing and lavish experience while staying, so he makes sure the rooms are furnished to a tee, the food is of the highest quality, everything is clean, and there’s always someone around to play with the cats so they don’t get too antsy. He also has a bit of a love-hate relationship with John and Nikolai, as while they’re some of his best and well-paying customers, their 10 cats can be such a headache at times. Sure, they can be the sweetest angels when they want to, but there’s something about being at Makarov’s hotel that turns them into the biggest menaces he’s ever seen. And they can act so spoiled, so Makarov has required the two men to bring food and toys from home so their cats will behave more often. Makarov’s business was initially met with some hesitancy, as he could come off as cold and unattached from an outside glance, and he had no issues with taking cats or other pets from owners that were clearly neglectful despite their protests. He has a close relationship with the other cat cafes because of this, and while he wouldn’t consider them friends just yet, Makarov finds himself appreciating his collection of acquaintances and how closely their businesses support each other.

[misskentuckyrain]

Just A Little Bit.....

So what says Happy 90th Birthday Elvis like a smutty one shot?

To be fair I started writing this last week, just a rambling idea that popped into my head!

Warnings: Just a lot of smut to be honest, with a sprinkling of fluff

Word Count: 2.1k

The warm spring air blows through the curtains that hang at the window, the afternoon sun shines through the gap. After such a cold winter it actually felt nice to feel the warmth on your skin.

On a break between tours you and Elvis are spending some rare alone time in your bedroom. It’s early afternoon and post lunch Elvis had suggested you spend a little quality time together.

You thought you knew what “quality time” meant. To Elvis it was a time where he got you both naked, have himself as deep inside you as possible in as quick a time as possible but this time you are wrong.

As you lie on top of the bed covers, eyes closed, you hum along to a familiar song playing quietly on the radio. Elvis is reading next to you, his side pressed gently against yours. The feel of him is always comforting, something about the lightest touch from him makes you feel safe. Letting out a contented sigh you hear the DJ on the radio lining up the next song, as it plays it becomes clear it’s a song, and a voice you know well. 

“I don't want much, Just want a little bit, Don’t want it all, Just a little bit. Give me an eeny weeny bit, a teeny weeny bit of your love…”

You giggle to yourself as the familiar voice fills your ears. Elvis glances side-ways at you, a grin forms on his lips.

“Who’s this guy?” he starts “He can’t hold a tune that’s fo’ sure!” 

Rolling your eyes and laughing you move up and across to straddle his lap, moving the book out of his hands and placing them around your waist.

“Oh I don’t know..” you say as you lean forward to place a quick kiss on his lips

“I think he’s kinda ok. I mean, it’s a catchy tune at least. I bet the singer is cute too….” causing Elvis to roll his eyes at you now.

“Honey, I ain’t been called cute in a long time” Elvis attempts to keep it light but you can see a hint of something in his eyes. A bit of sadness? Perhaps embarrassment. You love him for all he is, even the things he sees as negatives you see as positives but you know he struggles with the way he looks now, compared to his younger years.

You tut at him and make yourself a little more comfortable. Making your way down from his temple you kiss your way down to his lips, singing quietly as you go.

‘Turn your lamps down low, Slip me a kiss….” 

You go in for a longer kiss. As you pull away Elvis grumbles slightly. 

“Turn your lights down low. I won't let you resist…”

Kissing down Elvis jawline to his neck you back up onto his thighs, undoing the buttons on his shirt as you go, pushing it off his shoulders and leaving his chest bare to you.  Continuing your path down his chest you take a second to flick your tongue over his nipples, sucking a little on them as you lean back. Pulling your dress over your head and flinging it to the floor, you sit on Elvis thighs in just your lace panties clearly much to Elvis’ delight as his eyes light up and darken simultaneously.

Elvis’ hands move to touch you but you stop him, firmly placing them back at his sides, as you shake your head no at him with a smile. He lets out a loud sigh in frustration and you laugh.

“I want an eeny weeny bit, a teeny weeny bit of your love…” you continue.

“I’ll give ya an eery weeny bit in a minute Darlin’” Elvis grumbles, clearly still frustrated at not being allowed to touch you. You tut again at him.

“I think we both know there is nothing eeny or weeny about this” Elvis jumps slightly as you wrap your hand around the bulge currently tenting his pants.

Grasping hold of the button you pop it open easily and draw down the zipper, letting the backs of your fingers tease the flesh underneath as you move slow pace.

True to form Elvis is not wearing any underwear so his cock bounces out as you push open his pants, getting Elvis to lift his hips up slightly so you can pull them down his long legs and off of him, his pants destined to join your dress on the floor.

You gaze down at his form for a minute, admiring every inch of it. Still strong, even with a little padding as you liked to call it and still very beautiful. 

Elvis starts to fidget, likely a little uncomfortable under your unwavering stare. You lean forward and gently wrap your fingers around his length, whispering as you pull him into your mouth,

“I want an eeny weeny bit…..”

Elvis draws in a loud breath as you tease your tongue around the head of his cock, swirling it around before taking him fully into your throat, the head hitting the back and making him jump a little with the sensation. Pulling back to the tip you swirl your tongue again before bobbing back down to envelop him in your mouth. You swallow as your nose hits his pubic hair, the action tightening your throat around him.

“God damn baby!….” Elvis yells, sitting up straighter as one of his hands finds it’s way into your hair. A smile forms on your lips as they stretch around him and you feel your pussy start to throb. Nothing turns you on more than giving Elvis pleasure and having the taste of him on your tongue.

Allowing Elvis’ hand to stay where it is you bob up and down on him for a while, letting him guide your speed. Bringing a hand up, you gently cup his balls and play with them, letting your finger stroke the skin behind them as you do. The air is filled with gasps and moans and the odd “Oh honey”. 

A little time passes and your feel them start to draw up and his thighs tense, you know Elvis is close and you are more than willing to get him there but he clearly has another plan for the both of you.

Elvis gently pulls your mouth away from him, a string of saliva still connecting his cock to your lips. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand just as Elvis hauls you up into his lap and kisses you. Hard.

Manoeuvering you so he has you where he wants you Elvis holds you so your pussy is hovering directly over his cock but instead of guiding himself in, he leans forward a little

“Just a little bit…”

Elvis says quietly to you, lowering you enough so just the head of his cock is inside you. 

“Give me an eeny weeny bit…”

He lowers you a little bit more, stretching you out as he moves slowly into you. You whine in frustration and a smug smile crosses Elvis face, he loves to tease.

“A teeny weeny bit of your love…”

With the final word he plunges the rest of his length into you, making you groan loudly, eyes rolling back into your head slightly.

“Oh…god…” you stutter out.

“Nope, just good ol’ Elvis honey” he laughs as his hands wrap around your hips and he begins to set up a hard and fast pace, lifting you and dropping you back down on to his cock. 

Elvis controls the pace for a moment, moving you up and down on his cock, bucking it up into you, the head rubbing directly over your g-spot and your clit rubs against his pelvis as you move.

After a while his grip on your hips lessens and he lets you ride him to your chosen tempo. You slow it down a little as you move on his cock in a more relaxed speed, wanting to savour the feeling for a little longer. 

Riding Elvis, either front facing or reverse, is one of your favourite positions, and you have quite a few. Not only are you able to look at his face the whole time, memorise the looks of pleasure as they cross his handsome features but you get to see how he looks back at you. 

As his crystal blue eyes stare back, although somewhat darkened with lust, you can see the love and need there is between you. So wrapped up in your thoughts you don’t realise you have now slowed to a snails pace. 

A smile crosses Elvis face followed by a hard thrust that has a gasp escaping your lips. 

“Thought I fucked you into a trance for a moment there honey” he chuckles.

“Nearly had me calling the doctor for ya” he continues, moving his hips at a faster pace. You move your hips to try and meet his pace but at this point he is basically holding them and pulling you down onto his cock, fucking himself into you.

“Hmmmmmnnnnnn….” is the only sound you can manage as you wrap your arms around Elvis neck. You can feel your orgasm bearing down, tingling around the edges and you know it is going to be intense, you don’t want to end this just yet but you can also tell that Elvis is getting close.

“Just a little bit…..more…” you whisper in his ear, nibbling at his ear lobe, you tighten your muscles around his cock as you plunge down on him. 

“Oh…Jesus…so…so tight…..so good. Not gonna last baby. Need you to come with me…..” Elvis nuzzles into the side of your face as you both gasp for air and your movements become more frantic, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing around the bedroom.

“Just a lit…….” you are unable to finish that sentence as Elvis pulls you down onto him one more time, his cock hitting directly into your spot and making you explode around him. At the same time you can feel his hips stutter and a familiar warmth spreads through you as he throbs inside you with a loud groan.

As you both try and catch your breath, Elvis holds you close and continues to thrust his hips into you, although at a far gentler pace. You revel in the feeling of your pussy still clenching around his length, the aftershocks of your orgasm still running through your whole body. You slide up and down on what you assume to be his now softening length a few more times and then stop but Elvis movements don’t stop.

You lean back so you can see his face and you see that same smug grin from earlier. Elvis glances down to where you are both joined and moves his hand from your hip to your sodden clit, his fingers starting to move over it in a circular pattern. A gasp escapes your lips, you’re a little oversensitive.  

“Elvis!…..”

You try and move back a little, away from his touch but he stops you by wrapping his other arm more firmly around your waist.

“Just a little bit…” he grins, fingers still rubbing their pattern “I know ya have one more for me honey…give me a teeny weeny bit….”

You hate to admit it but he’s right again and to your surprise you feel another orgasm fast approaching. Leaning forward again you move your hips in a gentle motion aware that Elvis cock is still inside you, not as hard as it was but hard enough to add to the pleasure.

“Oh god… Oh Elvis…I’m going…I’m going to come again…El…..”

Elvis kisses you repeatedly on the side of your face as you nuzzle into his neck, making the space between you humid as you gasp and whine against him.

Your second orgasm is less intense than your first, it washes over you at a slower pace, like a wave crashing on the sand. You feel Elvis’ now softened cock slide out of you as you clench around it for a second time. His magical fingers work you through it until he can feel your body relax against him and your breathing has evened out. 

You sit back, taking his face in your hands and kiss him slowly. Pausing for breath you whisper with a smile

“I want an eeny weeny bit, a teeny weeny bit of your love”

Elvis brushes some hair out of your face and kisses you again, smiling.

“You have it. Always.”

[ayeyoitsauto]

📳

[unriding]

a … a gift from the talented @kruinka 🥹 thank you so much!! ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ)

[blue-eli]

Realised it’s @khoc-week so even though I don’t have the energy to do it daily have this I did a while ago but never posted.

Arxeht my beloved. They came to me in a dream where I was a replica (of multiple people but looked most like Vidar) made by apprentice Nort/Xemnas, who was the fifteenth member of the organisation and also had my knowledge of hit video games Kingdom Hearts and kept getting randomly thrown through space and time.

[sweetandglovelyart]

Knightfall in Dream Land - Page 4

Meta Knight shares what it was like to grow up being raised by Nightmare.

[archersartcorner]

Just a fuckton variety of Skip n Norm doodles. *points* I like the sluge…

[spacespore]

HI TUMBLRR it’s me

[cavity-collector]

i genuinely need to be put down like a dog i cant do this anymore man holy shit

[toxicxsugarxart]

I accidentally melted her hand against the metal pot while hot-watering her hair, so now in my made-up canon she was born with an underdeveloped hand. Even though she’s not the main guitarist of the band, she does play occasionally. Maybe she’s only into singing because she didn’t think she could play with her hand being the way it is, and only recently started learning guitar. ;v; I’ve never seen the actual show, I’m just playing with my dolls here.

Commissions open!

[arolesbianism]

Some au antag doodles

[foxmulderautism]

like yeah dude it’s really cool that you used AI to complete an art piece that was purposefully left unfinished because the artist was dying of AIDS as the government ignored the mass loss of life and health. all you really did was show that technology can bring an art piece into the modern age but why? why do we need to do that? what does it say about us if we feel that a piece needs to be ‘completed’? how are we viewing completion?? can seeing an ai generated “completion” of unfinished have the same effect of seeing the parts haring left blank and the parts where the art drips into the blank? does it aid the narrative of it in any way? can AI understand the levels at which artists used their pieces about AIDS as a form of protest? of begging to be seen? how can it when an AI’s concept of ‘completing’ the piece is just guesswork of what the colours and shapes would look like to match what haring made which is nowhere near the same level of intention that came from him? you said you ‘completed’ the piece with ai because his story is so sad but does that mean we should try to rectify sadness by getting rid of the representation of it? should we not continue to sit in the sadness and discomfort that unfinished and other AIDS inspired art asks us to do because those feelings are only a fraction of what the people who died and lost felt, is that not the least we can do for them? and what good does any of this actually do when we can use technology to ‘complete’ a purposefully unfinished art piece about an artist’s untimely death from AIDS but we can never bring keith haring or any other person who died of AIDS back to life? where does haring, the person whose illness and death lives in those blanks, come into your self fulfilling ai generated completion of his work?

[eat-applez]

Why is it whenever people learn that you can do something they immediately ask you to do it???

“Oh you’re bi/multilingual??? SAY SOMETHING IN A DIFFERENT LANGUAGE.”

“Oh you’re an artist? DRAW ME.”

Like I’ve actually just started saying the weirdest stuff when people ask me to say something in a different language- It almost always goes over like this-“Oh you can speak Vietnamese? Say something in Vietnamese then.” And then I just say something stupid like “Ok! Bạn là con bánh mì ☺️☺️” and they always go “Wow!! What does that mean??” And I hit them with “You’re bread.” And they for some reason get really angry :/

[pallases]

okay guys i have calculated it all out and even if i get a big fat zero on this race i will still earn a b in the class assuming i get 100% on the other remaining three assignments two of which are a given for 100% and the last of which is like. even if we get a 75% on it (which i do not really see happening) i can still scrape by w a b-

[feyburner]

I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app

*

Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.

“No?” he says.

“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”

He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just… well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and they’ll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.

And Clark wants to thank him. He will. It’s just.

“It can’t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”

“Lightyears beyond, actually.”

“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”

He can feel himself flushing. It’s rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.

“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?’ to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”

“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”

Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”

Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”

“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”

There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.

“Sure,” he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”

“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”