#i also cannot think of anymore tags

[dutifullycolddeer]

What does the new year mean to you?

I've personally understood the significance. That is, really until now. I'm in that weird transitional period of my life we call the teenage years. Before now I've never had to think about growing up, getting a job, going to university, learning to drive or really anything about my future.

But now that time has come. And it's scary. I can't wait to be an adult, but I also have an intense longing to stay this way, in this very moment forever. I don't want to think about that fact that I'll be [REDACTED] years old in just 3 months and 9 days. I don't want to think about how next year's school is going to be. I don't want to think about anything that may or may not happen.

However, I have to. It confuses me. Before now, the new year has always just been that, a marker of time passed. But now, I sit in my dark bedroom, far too close to my withering laptop screen, one of the kittens sitting behind me - though I can't tell which - and I'm forced to think about it differently.

In 59 minutes (It is 11:01pm EAST currently) it will be the year 2025 all across Australia. Does this really matter? No. It doesn't. Nothing is going to change in the next hour except a number on a computer. But as people, we give that number meaning. That change from a 4 to a 5 has weight because we say it does. Isn't that magical? I mean, seriously, that's crazy.

We have so much power as humans. Use it.

Do more good this year. Be a decent human. Be the best version of yourself.

In me writing this, that is a promise I make. I will be better. I will do better.

Thank you, and happy new year you wonderful motherfuckers!!

[mrmeepsmadmind]

i love when ppl draw bumblebee like the happy little creachure he is but also i love when people draw bumblebee like he's had 500 beers in the last 1 hour and still the pain won't even ebb

[ministarfruit]

"my oshis graduated" outfit swap

[deadchannelradio]

my fanfiction abortion morgue is gaining another jayroy victim that is not long enough to clean up for ao3. this was going to be a very long and meandering noodle about in the river that is jason's mental health and trauma and relationships of all types and healing and the asexual/aromantic spectrum (not that that's the verbage jason would use or language hes even aware of) and low sex drives all that beautiful muck and mire but i have not put a single word on it in well over a year now. so i'm letting her go. be free little fish.

-

They’re better now, anyways, better than they ever were before. Jason had a crisis a few months back, stopping himself from reaching reflexively for his phone to give Dick a call about- nothing important. And then he had realized that he had reflexively gone to call Dick about nothing important, and had gone and stared out the window for 15 minutes, trying to work himself into a different, less horrifying conclusion than the one gathering in his brain like an avalanche. Roy had come home in the middle of it, taken one look at his face and dropped his bag on the floor with a thunk.

“Holy shit,” he said. “Who died?”

“I like him,” Jason said, somewhere between incredulous and horrified. “That cunt, that motherfucker- he made me actually like him-,”

“Who?”

“Dick!” Jason had shouted. “That piece of shit, I want to spend time with him, hours out of my actual human life that I can’t get back-,”

Roy had proceeded to laugh in his face for a solid ten minutes, positively gleeful about Jason’s horrible emotional crisis. “He does that to you, man,” he said once they’d settled in, still chuckling as he cracked open a can of soda, posted up on their couch with Ethiopian takeout in his lap. “One minute you’re sitting there thinking oh my god, this guy, he’s so loud and annoying-,”

“And he never fuckin’ stops moving,” Jason groaned from his spot laying on the floor below him. “His body or his mouth. And he chews loud, he’s obnoxious on purpose, and he’s a model and dated Kory but half the time he dresses like something a goodwill dumpster threw up-,”

“Have you seen his new shoes?” Roy asked. “I dress like dogshit, man, but those things-,”

“Wally got them for him,” Jason said, and then immediately slapped his hands over his face, horrified that he knew that. Roy laughed again. “He’s constantly in your fuckin’ business! Constantly! Last time I saw him he knew the social security numbers of the baristas in the coffee shop I’d been going to-,”

“He gets enabled,” Roy muttered, shoveling injera into his mouth.

“He gets enabled!” Jason said. “Everyone enables him! I enable him! And god, his fucking- puns, man, his quips, we’re all guilty of it but this is a fight, not comedy hour, and even if it was you’d get booed off the stage-,”

“He texted me what he said to Mr. Freeze two weeks ago and I wanted to eat my phone,” Roy said. “It’s amazing no villains kill themselves after he hands their asses to them, I would be humiliated.”

“He sucks!” Jason snapped. 

“He sucks,” Roy agreed. “And then you look around one day at your life-,”

“And you go oh shit, I think this motherfucker’s alright!” Jason mimed hitting himself in the face with Roy’s abandoned house slipper. “Fuck! What’s fucking wrong with me?”

Roy laughed at him, again. “Dick Grayson Derangement Syndrome gets us all in the end,” he said. Jason curled a hand around his bare ankle, and Roy looked down to smile at him, the smallest touch making his whole face bloom open like a rose. Jason had to look away from it, wanting to say: stop. No. You know I’m not enough. You know I’m not like you. You know I can’t give you enough.

He’s been wanting to say that a lot, these days. Toss Roy off the sinking ship with a lifeboat before he has to wake up one day, years on, and realize he’s wasted years with Jason, who can’t love that loud.

He wanted to call Dick about it, which was another horrible realization. Hi big bird, I’m having boy problems. Dick would probably tell him that it means more that Jason has to try, that wanting to try for it is selfless, makes it more significant, which is the kind of thinking that lands a motherfucker in bed with Barbara Gordon, who is enough like Jason to warrant a comparison, but not enough to call her and ask what he should do. Babs loves like the Bolton Strid, and sometimes Jason isn’t sure he loves at all. Not like that.

Jason isn’t nearly as selfless as Dick is convinced he is, not deep down. Because he doesn’t want to let Roy go at all.

It’s late, well into the witching hours, and they’re laying in bed in what was formerly Roy’s bedroom but now holds them both, blinds cracked to let the streetlights through. Jason doesn’t like the dark. Roy’s threatening to buy an eyemask. Jason thinks it’s stupid to blind yourself to potential attackers. Neither of them have brought up going back to sleeping separately. Roy’s nose is pressed between Jason’s shoulder blades, breath humid through his shirt. Not asleep yet, but close. Jason’s books are proliferating on Roy’s shelves, his boxers in Roy’s laundry basket, garrotte wires coiled next to bow strings on the desk that has framed photos, past-Jason’s mouth a little white slash in the bar of orange streetlamp.

Something is clawing at the inside of Jason’s chest, scrabbling like a wild little animal. Trying to dig its way through his spine, into Roy. It hurts.

He shifts, turns over, pushes Roy over onto his back and rolls on top of him, propped up on his elbows to look down at him. Roy grunts, half-awake and confused, but takes his weight. He blinks blearily up at Jason, a crease between his eyebrows- Jason must look intense right now. “Jaybird?” he starts, quiet.

Jason knows this feeling- as all-consuming as it is- is fleeting. It’ll be gone in the morning, and he’ll forget it was ever here. He won’t be able to recall its bite until it comes back around again, like Halley’s comet. He should say something now, while he has it. While he feels it. So Roy can know it’s real. He just doesn’t know how to describe it.

“Jase,” Roy says, sounding more concerned, “Jason, what’s-,”

“Something in here,” Jason interrupts, putting a hand on his own chest, a thudding sound of muscle on muscle, “Wants to eat you.” God, he feels dumb. He’s not good at this, he sounds so much better in his head. His words come out of his mouth sour and curdled and stupid, there’s a reason he doesn’t try to talk about this shit-

Roy lights up, slow at first, then all at once, his face creasing up in his smile like old paper, following familiar folds. Jason feels his toes curl next to his calves, his feet pointing and flexing in excitement. Jason wishes he could make himself smile back, anything other than the dead-eyed concentration he knows he’s wearing right now, but the weight in his ribs is too real and too wild for that- if his teeth come out this might get literal. He wants to crack open Roy’s sternum with his bare hands, climb in like a contortionist and slam it shut behind him.

“Really?” Roy asks, small and soft and giddy. Jason nods, serious. Roy’s teeth dig into his bottom lip, smiling so wide his nose is wrinkling up, little inky lines in the artificial twilight. “Cool,” he says. 

Jason’s hands spasm in the sheets next to Roy’s head. “Roy,” he starts, “Can I-,” stops. Doesn’t know what he wants. Maybe just to look at him until the sun comes up, just to watch the light turn his freckles from a smear in the dim to pinprick-sized marigolds. Maybe to go to sleep on him like this, the thunder of his heart under Jason’s cheek. Maybe he wants everything. Maybe he wants to be the greediest son of a bitch in Gotham. 

“You can do anything,” Roy promises, and the sincerity in his voice makes the thing chewing on Jason’s lungs shake. “Anything you want. I’ll let you do everything.”

Jason drops his head against Roy’s chest with a grunt like he’s just been punched, unable to choke it back. He pushes himself up- Roy makes a quiet, sad noise, grabbing for him- and fumbles the bedside lamp on. He wants to see everything. Roy’s pupils are huge, even in the light he’s flinching from, irises that strange half-color, too dark for blue or green and too flat for hazel and too light to be brown. His cowlick’s sending his hair in every direction at the left temple, and he’s still smiling at Jason, like he can’t help it. Jason doesn’t know what to do, now that he’s here. A restaurant with an infinite menu. What he wants is strange, probably. Not how normal people want things, not what they want. Jason is off-putting, sometimes on purpose, frequently not, and he doesn’t know how this will come across. But Roy said he could have anything. Whatever he wanted. Giving up all of himself, for nothing. For free. 

Jason should take it. Roy will stop him, if he needs it. He puts his mouth on the cowlick, not a kiss, tucks his nose into Roy’s hair and breathes in deep. The nothing-smell of hair that’s not clean but not dirty. Roy’s hands are pressing into his lats, his legs spreading and crossing behind Jason’s thighs, holding him there. Jason curls both his hands around Roy’s skull, presses gently, cradling his head- all of Roy is in there, somehow, and he needs to be careful with it. His skull feels too small to hold something so important, too fragile. 

Jason drags his thumbs over his eyebrows, presses a thumbnail into the scar bisecting the left one- string snap, Roy told him, nearly took that eye out. Roy’s looking up at him still, and they’re close enough that Jason could count his eyelashes, if he wanted. He runs his fingers over Roy’s ears, feeling the cartilage, gently pinches the flesh of his earlobe, over the hole where he used to have gauges. He moves down to Roy’s neck, puts his hands around his throat, doesn’t squeeze. He feels it when Roy’s breath hitches. Roy shuts his eyes, swallows, his Adam's apple moving under Jason’s palms. 

Jason bites him where his neck meets his shoulder, hard. He thinks about being normal, trying to make it a hickey- but Roy jerks hard beneath him with a strangled noise and that thing in Jason’s chest makes him hold that position until Roy stops moving, until the bolt of his jaw aches. He lets go, spit shining around the deep purple indents in Roy’s skin. Roy lets out a shaking breath, eyes still shut.

Roy already knows he’s an inscrutable freak, Jason decides. He’s going to do everything he’s ever looked at Roy and thought about doing, everything he thought might be weird that he’s ever refrained from. Roy won’t run.

If he does, well. Jason will chase him. Roy is the one who said he was locking Jason down, said nobody in or out. He can’t get too mad if Jason takes him up on it.

He presses his nose near Roy’s armpit. The sharp, live smell of his sweat in Jason’s lungs, muted by whatever axe deodorant he uses that always makes Jason think of a cold wet morning. He rubs his mouth over Roy’s deltoid, teeth dragging. Jason pushes up and kneels with his thighs on either side of Roy’s torso, picks up an arm, runs his hands over Roy’s bicep, digs his thumbs into his elbow. Puts Roy’s thumb in his mouth, tastes skin and salt, bites the draw calluses on his fingers, gentle. Does the other arm too, to keep it even. Roy’s breathing slow and even, looking at Jason again as he shoves his mouth into Roy’s wrist until he can feel the pulse against his lower lip. Roy’s trying to caress his face with that hand, can’t quite manage more than a brush of his fingertips against Jason’s ear. 

Jason knows what he should say here. What he hasn’t been saying, because he knows it’s not the same as how Roy will say it, thinking that it will somehow be a lie because the meaning’s different. But it’s words, which are only stories. There is nothing in a story that is a lie, and no analysis that is wrong, with supporting evidence. Which Jason has, which Jason has always had. Roy at his right shoulder. Never wanting anyone else at his back. Saying to Dick: if there wasn’t Roy, there wouldn’t be anybody. The way they keep finding each other at the lowest of lows, facedown in bottles or looking down barrels of guns to see if they can spot the bullet. Standing there feeling stupid in the holes they’ve dug, pickaxes in hand, before turning and finding the other, just as deep as they are. Saying: gimme a boost and I’ll give you a hand.

Even if he doesn’t mean it in the same way, he means it. I want you, I want you, I want you. The inflection changes the meaning, but only by the barest degrees. 

“I love you,” Jason says, and he’s not lying, because he means them, even if it’s not always how he thinks he should.

[thebrainrotsreal]

Based on that trending photo shoot I saw! Anyways successfully have killed art block with my bare hands, I stay winning. Nolan fans accept my offering <3

[goldkirk]

hey this isn’t aimed at anyone in particular but I’m saying it for the record here: if I tell you no, please stop messaging me about fundraisers and mutual aid.

I get enough messages that it’s impossible for me to keep up without devoting at least half an hour each day, when I’m not even on tumblr that long most days. Me having a boundary about this isn’t a moral failing, it’s a lifeboat for me on my own blog.

In my personal life I’m already advocating and donating literally as much as I can spare. This is not me not caring, it’s just me not willing to interact with that on the one place I go online to not interact with irl news and world events for the most part.

I cannot be upset all the time. I cannot be upset everywhere. I cannot use all my emotional and mental energy fielding my own upset from ongoing events. My options are to hold boundaries about this or stop coming online at all.

I’m all for sharing information and signal boosting to reasonable extents, but the scale of it this year is so large and so enduring that it is literally not possible to for me to participate on every account I have. I’ve previously shared links to Gaza eSIM donations and a major hub of verified Go Fund Mes here and elsewhere online. We, the online humans, know how to look those things up ourselves by now. There are many, many people choosing to do advocacy work, and right now, I can’t be one of them.

If you’re extremely upset when I tell you I can’t share/donate right now about a Gaza family or personal fundraiser you ask me to share here, just unfollow and block me. That’s what those buttons are for. Protect your own emotions and energy and get me off your feed instead of staying upset and continuing to engage with online people or content that upsets you.

Please don’t send repeated angry messages based on manufactured purity politics and moral outrage into my messages and inbox when I exercise the right to run my own blog.

[missggullet]

babe you're so quiet what's on your mind?

[nebravsky]

i didn't think i'd end up posting this here since i don't exactly feel comfortable identifying making sims at 3 am before a workday as fanart but my artblock is strong as ever and i yearn for some silly fandom interaction. so yeah, have some of my hermitcraft sims i've made, starting with grian

cc list under the cut!

please let me know if i forgot to link something!

eyes by simsenshi

face overlay by mousysims

lashes by kijiko

freckles by glutenfreesims

eyebags skin detail by miiko

teeth by wistful castle

hair by clumsyalien

lips overlay by sagittariah

blush by virtygo

head wings by valhallan

hand details by pralinesims

glasses by pralinesims

sweater by serenity

wings by natalia-auditore

cas posepacks 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

shadow overlay by joshseoh

[skitskatdacat63]

For @sansebastinae and @boisinnot, my fellow saint seb truthers :)

+ the usual

Yayyyy finished a drawing! Haha only took me...2 weeks. I kept going back and forth on whether I could finish it tonight, and I really wasn't going to. But then I looked at the unfinished version on a different screen and was like oh? Not too bad actually?? So I finished it :) First of all, ofc, here is the process. Kinda weird seeing it for smth like this, it makes me feel like I'm the painter in rennaisance au, not Mark dhjfkf

Ah I was gonna draw a silly renaissance au comic to accompany this(read: lighten the mood), but it's 5 am and I've still not really drafted it well, so! I'd like to finish it at some point bcs I wanna draw more chibi comics, but when I finish smth, I can't help but immediately want to post it, so part 2 will have to wait. I'll show you the outline though so you can at least imagine 😭

^ So many renaissance and beyond paintings of Saint Sebastian are always the most horny thing ever. Like pre/early rennaisance, yeah he was naked and all that, but they were pretty chaste, and uhhhhh suffering?? Well the newer paintings are suffering, but in a different way, if you know what I mean.

So I feel like Mark's the type to be overly pedantic about it, and refuses to make borderline porn of a saint, I mean, god forbid, Seb!!! But then he just. Does anyways. Because he can't control his lust for Seb even when drawing him half dead. I just imagine him holding the paintbrush in a death grip like "must not be horny. Must not draw him sexy. Must make him chaste." And then he ends up with the one seen above. Seb is all smug about it. "Wow you'd wanna fuck me even while I'm all bloody and dying? 🥺"

Mark: "oh I'll make you bloody, alright."

But god so funny to imagine Seb doing all these different slutty poses, like arching his back as much as possible, the cloth nearly falling off at all times, etc etc. And Mark finally lands on this pose bcs he hopes the suffering will outweigh the horny. It doesn't. Also Seb is genuinely serious once he actually gets into the pose, focus mode on. And honestly that's even worse for Mark, bcs it's so much more arousing to see Seb in his element, focused. Tbf I think Seb could be drinking water, and Mark would still find some way to sexualize it. Don't look at his sketches!! They're just filled with Seb doing all kinds of random activities.

Also! Here is the painting I referenced this off of, must give credit where credit is due ofc

The Dying St. Sebastian by François Fabre

Also this isn't really relevant in the context of this drawing specifically. But I looked thru a bunch of Saint Sebastian paintings while trying to find one I could reference, and I came across this middle ages one that actually looks so much like boy king seb 😭 I guess it really is meant to be!

St Sebastian between St Roch and St Peter by Pietro Perugino

Lmao but do you see the difference between early rennaisance and later work???

[necrotic-nephilim]

Tell me why Kara Zor-L is one of my your favs! I'm been meaning to make the jump from the CW show to the comics. Any recommendations?

- @cicero-in-gotham

@cicero-in-gotham oh i would LOVE to!! Kara Zor-L is my darling beloved.

firstly for suggestions, i'll be honest Kara can be... a hard character to read for. you have to slog through a lot of really shitty "male gaze" content to get scraps of interesting stuff. the top comics i'd recommend are

Power Girl: Power Trip

Power Girl Returns

Power Girl (2023)

some people like Harley Quinn & Power Girl. i'll be honest... i did not. and Power Girl (2009) has... ups and downs, is the nicest way i'll say it. but it's also solid for what it is. certainly better than her New-52 content so i can't really complain.

anyhow, i always am enamoured by characters who are disconnected from their "family", especially due to trauma. bc no one really counts Power Girl as part of the Superfamily. and even within the Superfamily if people are talking about the "outcast" of the family, they always say Kon. (which, eh? maybe New-52!Kon but i wouldn't say the main Kon is an outcast, his issues are internal) but to me, Kara far better suites that role. it's one thing to be one of the last survivors of Krypton. it's another thing to be one of the last survivors of your entire *universe* as well. she lost everyone, *twice*.

i adore characters who feel like imposters and Kara is *peak* imposter syndrome. everything about her identity is constructed around not feeling like a "real" Super, or a "real" Zor-L. she has to live with knowing she's on an earth that has Supergirl, meaning they don't need her. she didn't wear the S crest for so long even on her own earth, because she felt like she didn't server it.the only thing she feels like she has going for her is her sexual appeal and so it's so amped up she lacks a personality outside of it. she has been isolated again and again by her trauma and she struggles to face her grief, masking with humor and oversexual appearances. i find that to be so interesting. she lost *everything*, twice. and now she's an imposter who will always hold herself at a distance from the Supers because she doesn't want to make them uncomfortable with her existence. she has to live on an Earth and know everyone is... slightly off. she has Clark, but it's not *her* Clark. she has the Justice Society of America, but it's not *her* JSA. and she doesn't have her best friend, Helena Wayne at *all*, because this earth has Helena Bertinelli as Huntress. (unless you count New Golden Age stuff but that's future timeline nonsense)

i find Kara's lack of identity interesting, and the way she just sort of drifts. she has done a lot of things, but lacks a sense of self importance bc she will never view herself as a "real" Kryptonian of this universe. she's just so neat to me. i also love the JSA personally, they're one of my favorite superhero teams, so i love any character connected to the JSA, they're always so underrated.

the Power Girl Special (which is collected in Power Girl Returns) is like, genuinely one of my favorite single issues ever. that comic just lives in my bones. it also has one of the *best* internal monologues i've ever read. something something comics are art. this is cutting some stuff out but just to show you have beautiful the writing is, this is an excerpt from that comic

people tend to think of hatred as love's opposite. but i disagree- i think hatred is just love's sharpened edge. it's the same passion. the same potency, the same intensity. just a different flavor. so no, hatred isn't love's opposite. grief is. grief is the void left behind after something you once loved was violently ripped away. grief is what happens in love's sudden absence. love is when your cup runneth over. but grief is hollow. a chasm. there is no negotiating with grief. it does what it wants to you, when it wants. you will never outgrow or outrun it. but... you can find ways to grow around it. i never got to say goodbye. i was loved, once. i was once loved so much that my life was prioritized above all else. i will never feel worthy of that love or sacrifice. but i'm realizing now that to freeze or falter in the shadow of that love is the only way to fail their sacrifice. i have to live in the light. i can step out into the sunlight, and still carry them with me.

like that is??? so Character to me. she is Everything. i'm just. so unwell over her internal struggles and how she faces the world, i cannot recommend her enough. she means the world to me and that comic has stuck with me since i read it for it's conversation about handling grief. i am begging everyone to be a Power Girl fan i know she's confusing but once you get the hang of her backstory she's so cool i swear-

[ahalliance]

how do i turn qantoine’s spontaneous marriage proposal to qetoiles into evidence of his early-days fear of qfrench drifing away and keeping secrets from one another

[lesbiansanemi]

I hate self proclaimed “queer theorists” on this stupid fucking website because 90% of their posts are like “All lesbians are terfs because gender can change which makes sexuality obsolete so that means lesbians automatically hate trans ppl <3 What about gay men you ask? No, it’s different, don’t ask me to elaborate <3 Haha I love trans women so much *insert most insane transmisogynistic take three lines down* And this is all real and true because I am a boygirl fagdyke and I said it is !!!!! Btw if you argue or point out any flaws here it’s because you’re an awful evil gate keeping exclusionist >:( Peace and love go firebomb a Walmart” and then somehow the post has 563782922992737228 reblogs of ppl agreeing

[mothbeasts]

i miss posting and making and engaging with ieytd content but I will be honest sometimes it feels alienating. as a lesbian.

[rxkuyo]

"Ahaha Daemon is so dumb for believing the old man is the one actively poisoning him when the weird goth witch giving him weird concoctions is right there."

May I introduce you to a beautiful concept known as sleep deprivation ? Man's only gotten poor quality sleep (if any at all) for weeks for all we know. Mood swings and paranoia are bound to go hand in hand with that one. Logical thinking ? Nope. Not happening. You add the fucking hallucinations further messing up his mind to the mix and you get exactly what we see.

[retrogradedreaming]

I need to start thinking of ideas for the prompt list I made to get myself to sketch more in October, but instead I'm drawing self-indulgent comics about cats 😭

[thegaywarden]

I'm not a fan of removing Vox from the consequences of his own actions. I've seen a lot of folks put the "complicated and sad" aspect of Vox and Al's relationship on the Vees, like Velvette and Val are the problem, and I just don't think that's 1) true and 2) fair.

I think this stems from some parts of the fandom wanting a "soft" Vox, but you don't become an Overlord of Hell by being soft. Sure, you might have some soft spots, like Carmilla and her daughters or Rosie and Alastor's friendship, but being soft is not a personality trait that I'd give to any of them.

Vox is a bad man. Period. And I hope that whatever happens in S2, it's because of Vox's own actions, and that if we do get to ever see the fallout between Vox and Alastor, that it is a direct consequence of Vox and Al being awful people.