#i dont remember who yall ARE

[trashbaget]

seeing a moots post screenshotted in the wild is like that umbrella academy meme where they pass each other in the cars except one of them’s in a tv

[dapper-lil-arts]

Happy pride from the changeling kingdom

[shit-talker]

I like to think that Bernard runs a conspiracy youtube channel, and he's actually really fucking popular - his video essays are notorious for any curious college student - but when he starts dating Tim, he just...doesn't tell anyone.

Like, he offhandedly mentions a boyfriend and goes off on little tangents, and his audience is thrilled for him. They think it's adorable the way Bernard talks about his boyfriend, and this goes on for at least the first 6 months of their relationship - probably longer. Bernard's audience calls Tim "Red" because that's what Bernard sometimes calls Tim on camera, because that's what all of Tim's friends call him (Young Justice).

And then Bernard goes to a gala with Tim at some point, nothing big. It's literally just because Tim didn't want to go on his own and Bernard's audience freak the fuck out.

"What the fuck do you mean Red is Timothy Drake-Wayne??? Bern, that's a fucking millionair, where did you get that???"

And Bernard just tweets something like; "Thought you guys knew about this soz" and moves the fuck on because he genuinely thinks it's not a big deal.

Cue, his little section of the internet never forgiving him

[bibewilderedandbuck]

Imagine Buck saying “i love you” first and for the first time Tommy feels behind. He feels like maybe they are moving too fast.

Then he has a talk with some of his team. They’re not AS close as the 118 but they put their life in each others hand’s on the regular and that counts for something.

Andy asks Tommy about last week, when Buck was complaining about his apartment being so far so they started talking about moving in together? Aubree mentions how much he jokes about buying a ring for his beau, and Tommy sits back because he does joke a lot about (he hasn't spoken to Evan directly about it but anytime the kid does something sweet he asks him his ring size). Lucy mentions the time they spend talking and texting, she calls it nauseating with a wink, but Tommy doesn't remember the last time he wanted another person in contact with him at all times and who returned the feeling tenfold.

And after all, with their job they could die any day. He sits in his kitchen and replays the moment Evan said it again and again: "I know I'm dragging you through milestones like a cat with a mouse, and I want to let you know that you don't have to say it back. But I love you, Tommy. You mean a lot to me and I'm so happy we met."

Nine months is the longest relationship Tommy has ever had. And he still wishes he could spend every waking second with Evan.

By the end of the night he's barging into Buck's apartment and sticking his tongue in the younger man's mouth. He stands back and pushes his chest up and smiles and says "I love you too, Evan."

Buck is laughing, he's smiling and kissing his boyfriend back and hugging him tight. He can feel Tommy's heart racing when he puts his hand to Tommy's chest. He expected it to take longer. He'd heard about all the ways Tommy had been hurt before. But in the end it only took a day

then they hear a flush and Eddie walks out of the bathroom. He's smiling because Buck's loft is Not Big and he might have heard every word. For just a moment, they all stand in silence not uncomfortable per say but definitely charged.

Then Eddie says "I love you too, bro." Buck lovingly rolls his eyes and Tommy is cracking up. If it were anyone else he'd probably feel embarrassed but Eddie has shared friendly declarations of love before and its not uncommon for the L word to be passed around a 118 dinner party like hors d'oeuvres.

[anonymouscheeses]

They are everything to me.

[youngpettyqueen]

people being legit annoyed being like "RTD wrote the Harold Saxon arc but he's forgotten about it because the MASTER was the most dangerous prime minister in the UK this is such bad writing" are so funny like. yall remember that that entire year was The Year That Never Was right. they undid that entire year and reset the timeline. the only people who remember the year where the Master killed 1/10th of the population are the people who were literally in that room. for the rest of the planet that year literally did not happen. of course he doesnt bring up the Master, Ruby would've had literally no idea what he was talking about??

[hyolks]

as a thank you for 10k, i am holding an art raffle!! ✨✨

the rules are simple: you must be following me (hyolks) and please tell me a strange dream you've had!! thats it!!!

i await to hear your weird dreams o7 you have until december 1st!!

[employee052]

this is your reminder to make ur cringy n self indulgent art bc cringe is dead and you gotta live life (I say, despite the fact i still feel a bit cringe but im being so brave abt it)

lettin myself post n do more art for myself so apologies for the more selfshippy art than usual

[relaxxattack]

my shitass memory makes it so i cant tell the difference between mutuals i gained on a random tuesday because they had nice vibes versus mutuals i fought tooth and bloody nail to gain because they were so out of my league

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

Cant sleep so im thinking about ayhalo

I think its like. one sided. qaypierre WOULD smooch that demon and take him on dates. qbad would not recognize anything as a romantic gesture. aypierre could throw a bouquet of chocolate roses at him and bad would just be like ! thank you :}

like they love each other, absolutely. they TRUST each other, to the point where i’d even say it gets in the way of bad seeing aypierre as anything more than a good friend. that’s his guy. The dude always in his corner. Friend resource label: team mate (coparent) (down to help kidnap people). bad doesnt do classic romantic relationships- all of his relationships are INCREDIBLY queer, but the closest he usually gets to what others read as romance is a classic chewtoy4chewtoy dynamic. He LOVES to fuck with people and he loves to get fucked with and if there’s a nice jawline or pretty muscles included?? huge bonus !!

he’s got something- not kinder, with aypierre? not calmer, either, but stable, maybe. pierre has proven, over and over again, that he’s on bad’s side. Spying on tubbo, encouraging bad’s pranks, the kidnapping- i can’t call it a reliable dynamic, not with how paranoid bad is, even when he trusts, but there is still a feeling of understanding that, wherever pierre’s limits are for when he cant support bad (or genuinely turn against him), it hasnt been reached yet

aypierre, on the other hand, i dont know enough about to be absolutely sure but there are some Vibes. ironically, i think hes feeling like his relationships are unreliable. max was going to have their baby, and then he wasnt, and then he left him, then max fucking died. plus whatever is happening with him and ayrobot, which probably leaves him feeling like he cant rely on Himself. like he had, if not a little crush on bad, at least some Interest in him, before. as well as several islanders. i remember the days of the Bed Threat.

but thats part of it, too? because those flings didnt have that emotional connection, and i always got the sense that he started looking for that with maximus, to Love and Be Loved rather than pure lust. To care about someone, genuinely, and be cared about in return. but he didnt get that with the flings, and We know that max was using him, but i dont know if he did, but maybe he had a feeling about it and maybe he also had a feelinf about maximus’ feelings towards bad and maybe- there’s something about that? A little push of not-spite-not-projection onto bad.

because bad IS that reliability, right now. he’s a fucking gremlin. a bastard. a prankster silly guy. he trusts aypierre and aypierre trusts him and they dont share everything but so often, when it comes down to it, it is them against the world. them in the corner, caught, aypierre shouting about kissing as a cover for their crimes while bad runs giggling away from him.

[mekha-draws]

Oh yeah I forgot to upload these here lol

Bunch of varying quality drawings from the DTDAY thread be upon ye 🤗

[thetomorrowshow]

learning curve

empires superpowers au masterlist (not up to date)

this story takes place during chapters 10 & 11 of ‘poisoned rats’.

cw: anxiety, blood and injury

~

Scott calls out that he’s home as soon as he arrives, careful to close the door softly.

It’s been nearly a month, but it’s still weird to have another person living in his house. Particularly since that person is Solidarity.

He doesn’t get a response, but he doesn’t expect one. Solidarity is just as quiet as the day he’d arrived. Scott tries not to think about that too much.

Scott’s ashamed to admit that he doesn’t notice for a while. He goes about his afternoon, doing laundry and his post-work stretches and watching TV.

It’s not until he’s getting ready to prepare dinner that he actually approaches the closed door of the guest bedroom, knocking lightly on the door.

“Jimmy?” he calls quietly. “Would you like to help with dinner?”

No response.

Scott chews on his lip. “Okay, um. If you don’t want me to open the door, say something. I’m just coming in to make sure you’re all right.”

After another moment’s pause with no response, he eases the door open, sidles in.

Jimmy’s not there.

It isn’t hard for him to tell—there’s barely anything in the room, all the clothes put away neatly and the bed made. The spot between the bed and the wall that Jimmy likes to wedge himself into is empty as well.

Okay, no need to panic yet. Jimmy’s fairly new to using the home gym, so maybe he’s just checking out the equipment.

A glance in the gym tells him all he needs to know.

Still, it doesn’t mean he’s—he hasn’t been kidnapped. He hasn’t been kidnapped. He’s safe.

Scott heads into the kitchen, checking around for evidence that Jimmy’s been there. And once he’s looking, it isn’t hard to find.

The lunchmeat is out on the counter. The dishes cabinet is open, but there’s nothing new in the sink or the dishwasher. Scott looks around, checks the fridge, the other cabinets, the trash—

There’s something in the trash.

There’s shards of china in the trash, some of them dark with something red and wet.

The pieces fall into place.

Jimmy had broken a plate, panicked, and ran. Scott knows it with a certainty that surprises him, so he checks the shoes by the door just to make sure and immediately notices that Jimmy’s are missing.

His phone is plugged in at his bedside. His shoes are gone. There’s blood on the china in the trash and Jimmy is missing.

Scott’s tearing out the front door practically before his mask is firmly on his face.

It’s luck, more than anything, that at the end of the street he picks the right direction and within minutes can pull up to the side of the road, where a familiar figure in a grey hoodie is curled up against a lamppost.

“Jimmy!” Scott calls out the open window, trading out his mask for a beanie without even checking to see if anyone’s watching. Traffic’s bad at this time of the day, and already there are people angry about having to go around his car, but he hops out anyway and jogs around to the sidewalk.

“Jimmy,” he says again, and he doesn’t grab him by the arms but almost does— “Jimmy, are you all right?”

Jimmy flinches away, his hands curled loosely in front of him—and they’re absolutely covered in blood—

“Get in the car, okay?” Scott says, glancing around. Nobody’s paying much attention to them, they’re still in the wealthy part of the city with less folks out on the streets, but he’s pulled over on a major road so he needs to get Jimmy out. “We can disinfect this and wrap your hands up, all right? You’re not in trouble, I promise. Can you get in the car?”

Jimmy nods after a moment, allowing Scott to lead him back to the car. Scott buckles him in and shuts the passenger door, taking only a moment to rub his face. It’s okay. He found Jimmy. Everything’s going to turn out fine.

He keeps telling himself that on the silent drive home.

“Sorry,” whispers Jimmy when Scott sits him down in the bathroom, snapping open the first aid kit.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s all right,” Scott says absentmindedly, unscrewing the cap of the rubbing alcohol and dousing a cotton ball with it. Jimmy sniffs, eyeing him carefully, his face streaked with tears and his hands still held gingerly in front of him.

“I’m going to clean your hands, then wrap them in gauze. Is there anywhere else you’re hurt?”

Jimmy shakes his head. Slowly, he uncurls his fingers, splaying his hands out for Scott to see.

It’s not as bad as he’d feared when he’d first seen blood streaming down his knuckles. There’s one large gash in the center of Jimmy’s right palm, and a couple of smaller ones with little slivers of china stuck in them, but all the other cuts littering his fingers and palms are tiny and shallow.

Scott disinfects first, telling Jimmy everything before he does it. He’s going to be patting it with this cotton ball first, and it might sting a bit, but it’s going to help, okay? Now that that’s done, he’s going to press a little harder to wipe away the blood. Is everything still all right? Does he need to slow down?

Forcefully, Scott’s reminded of a night from so long ago, when a heavily bleeding and injured Solidarity had collapsed on his doorstep. He’d been less gentle in his administrations, then.

It keeps Scott up at night more often than he’d like to admit. If he’d let Jimmy stay longer, would he have learned more about Xornoth’s abuse? Would he have felt motivated to track down the villain and take them out before more damage could be done? Could he have saved Jimmy so much unnecessary pain, just by being a kinder person?

“I’m going to use tweezers now, okay? There’s some splinters I think I can get out.”

Jimmy nods, and as Scott watches, his face . . . settles, in some strange way. The tears brimming at his eyes vanish, his mouth sets into a determined line.

It’s unsettling, and Scott’s not quite sure what it means, but if it helps Jimmy brave the treatment, he’s fine with it.

Jimmy’s hands flinch back a couple of times as Scott digs into the cuts with the tweezers, plucking out slivers of porcelain until he has a small, bloodstained pile of them on the corner of the sink. Once the wounds look totally de-splintered, he wipes them down again with rubbing alcohol then wraps them in gauze.

“I’m sorry,” Jimmy says again when he’s almost done. Instead of his automatic response of earlier, Scott pauses to consider that.

“What are you apologizing for?” he asks eventually, because while he’s pretty sure he knows what it is—breaking the plate—he’s not sure Jimmy understands that it’s something forgivable.

But Jimmy, surprisingly, doesn’t mention the plate. “Lying,” he says, and his face doesn’t break. His eyes don’t water. But something changes in the quality of his voice, some terrified edge to it. “I lied to you. I’m sorry.”

“What did you lie about?”

“I—I told you I could control it,” says Jimmy. “Back at—at the hospital. That my powers—I could control them. But I can’t. I—I wasn’t even touching the plate, it just—I don’t know what happened—”

Scott tapes off the end of the gauze, then sits on the side of the tub, doing his best to look into Jimmy’s eyes without forcing him. Jimmy’s biting his lip, hands shaking, looking for all the world like he’s about to bolt.

“It’s just a plate,” Scott says, trying in some way to convey the fact that he doesn’t care what Jimmy breaks, he’s not going to kick him out.

Jimmy shakes his head, quick and repetitive. “It’s just a plate today. It’s—it’s the doorknob tomorrow, and your car the day after, and then it’s your leg or—or—” he cuts himself off, swallowing thickly. “It’s—it’s nothing. Forget it.”

And before Scott can stop him, Jimmy rises on shaky legs and leaves the room, arms clutched around himself.

-

It’s times like these that Scott really misses Aeor.

He’s never taught anyone this kind of thing. He’s never even seen anyone else be taught—and his lessons in control had been far later than most might receive them.

But he decides to start with Jimmy the same way Aeor had started with him—proving that his mistakes aren’t harmful.

Scott’s hand hovers over the dishes in the cabinet. A stack of nine dinner plates, once ten. Five bowls. Eight dessert plates. Four mugs, four saucers.

He never uses half the stuff, particularly not the mugs and saucers—he’s bought his own, more casual mugs in recent years. And a quick internet search shows him that he could replace the entire set for relatively cheap, though they wouldn’t be identical.

The main issue is that these are dishes that came from Aeor. Dishes that he used.

It only takes a second for Scott to come to the conclusion that Aeor would prefer these dishes be put to use to help someone, rather than gather dust in the cabinet.

So Scott piles all of the dishes in the backyard, just beyond his little flower garden. He’s got a decent-sized backyard with a privacy fence, which he thinks will do quite nicely. If they stand on the patio, the fence isn’t too far away, yet not right in their faces. Still, a bit of protective gear is in order.

He manages to scrounge up two pairs of safety glasses and three pairs of work gloves in the garage, all of which he sets out next to the dishes on the patio. Then he turns the oven on, sets a frozen pizza to cook, and heads upstairs to find Jimmy.

Scott knocks gently on the door. “Jimmy? Can I talk to you?”

What feels like ages passes with no sound. Scott’s poised to knock again, mind racing through various possibilities—did he run again? Is he hurt?—before he hears movement inside.

It’s still another full minute before the door opens, revealing a rather miserable-looking Jimmy.

His hair is all rumpled, like he hasn’t gotten out of bed all day. His t-shirt is half tucked into his jeans, half sticking out under his hoodie. The constant shadows under his eyes have only deepened, ringing the redness that rims them. The tip of his nose is red to match, and he sniffles as he stands there, waiting for Scott to speak.

Scott clears his throat, takes a slight step back (he doesn’t want Jimmy to feel like he has no personal space). “Um, I started on dinner, but I was hoping I could have your help with something? In the backyard?”

It’s an agonizingly long moment that Jimmy takes to think it over, but eventually he bites his lip and nods, rocking back on his heels as he waits for Scott to lead the way.

Scott does so, pausing by the front door so that Jimmy can slip on his shoes, then leads him out the back.

“I don’t want you to ever feel unsafe here, all right?” Scott begins, putting on a pair of safety glasses. Jimmy stares at the glasses, the gloves, and the dishes, before cautiously taking the other pair, eyes flicking up toward Scott every so often.

“I accidentally froze something when I was seventeen, and my parents kicked me out. I always thought that was just the way it was—I had to be perfect with my powers, always, and my lack of control was . . . well, I spent a long time hating myself for those accidents.”

Scott pulls on his work gloves, still stained with dirt from the last time he tended his garden. Jimmy surveys the two remaining pairs before choosing the larger ones, biting his lip as he gingerly pulls them on over his bandaged hands.

“I didn’t figure out until—or, Aeor taught me—” Jimmy flinches at the name, but Scott carries on— “that you’re expected to make mistakes. Nobody knows how to control their powers at first. It’s a . . . it’s a learning curve, see?”

Jimmy shrugs. And that’s fine—Scott’s fairly sure it’s a quiet day. It’s just difficult to work with at the moment. He just barely restrains from pinching the bridge of his nose, remembering at the last second that he’s wearing dirty work gloves. How had Aeor ever managed this with teenage Scott?

“From what I understand,” says Scott, “you couldn’t control your powers until . . . recently. And now, you’re thinking that maybe you can’t, because you used them accidentally?”

Jimmy looks away, throat bobbing. He shrugs again.

“Right. So, first of all, this is normal. It’s sort of like—like you’re going through puberty again, okay? You’re going through the learning-to-control stage for the first time, so you’re going to mess up. It happens. I messed up so many times—I used to freeze over the floor when I was angry. I used to be terrible at control, but I just needed someone to help.”

Hopefully that part of the lesson has gotten through to Jimmy. He’s observed, in the month that Jimmy’s been here, that even on quiet days he’s listening more often than not. Scott sucks in a breath, hoping that some air will loosen the stressed knot in his chest, and picks up a bowl.

“So, mistakes are really common. And, Jimmy, I don’t really . . . understand your power, I guess, but things are going to break while you learn how to control. And I just . . . I want to make sure you know it’s okay. It’s okay to break things, okay?”

And with that, Scott chucks the bowl at the fence at the other end of the yard.

It collides with a smash, shards of porcelain flying apart at the impact. Jimmy takes a startled step back, reminding Scott wildly of a spooked horse.

He acts like he doesn’t notice, though, instead handing Jimmy a dinner plate.

Jimmy glances at him, unsure, as he takes it. Scott smiles in a way that he hopes is encouraging, points to the fence.

“Go for it. Don’t hold back.”

Jimmy’s certainly holding back when he throws the plate, but it breaks anyhow, snapping in half against the fence. Scott hears him gasp, but when he looks back at him, Jimmy’s as stoic as ever.

Scott picks up another dinner plate and tosses it, feeling an odd sort of satisfaction echo through his bones as it breaks against the fence. He hands Jimmy a bowl, and with noticeably less trepidation, Jimmy throws it at the fence.

It’s a weird bonding activity, to be sure. Not the weirdest—Scott can remember some of the bonding stuff the theatre folk he worked with in college got up to—but it definitely ranks up there as something probably socially unacceptable.

He throws the next dish even harder.

“Things are going to break,” Scott reiterates, handing Jimmy one of the mugs. “I broke things. You’ll break things. You’re not going to be in trouble for it—you’re an adult, and I plan to treat you like one, all right? And I plan to help you learn how to control it. You’re not alone in this.”

Jimmy hurls a saucer with all his strength, and Scott thinks he sees a shadow of a smile when it shatters against the fence. He does it again with a dinner plate, then steps back, allowing Scott to throw a few more.

When it comes down to the last dish—a dinner plate—Scott hands it to Jimmy, gestures for him to take a good stance. Jimmy doesn’t hesitate; he sends the plate flying into the fence, and this time he definitely smiles a bit when it breaks.

“Jimmy,” Scott says seriously when the man, panting a little bit, turns back to him. “I want you to know—there is nothing in this house that you can break that will make me stop caring about you. As your conservator—and more importantly, as your friend, I place your health and happiness above anything that I own. I want you to remember that, okay?”

Jimmy nods, and Scott’s struck by the sudden, overwhelming urge to hug him. He doesn’t, of course—Jimmy doesn’t really do well with touch, and that’s fine by Scott. He really, really wants to, though.

Instead, he tugs off his gloves and jerks his head in the direction of the backdoor. “I put a pizza in the oven, it should be done soon. Want to find something on Netflix and just hang out for the rest of the night?”

Of course, Jimmy doesn’t say anything. But he offers a small smile, shakes off his gloves, and places his safety glasses on the patio table. Then he steps around Scott and heads inside.

That night, they eat pizza on paper plates while watching an episode of a new suspense show. When the drama peaks, the light in the living room fizzles and goes out—and while Jimmy flinches hard and hides his face, Scott reassures him that it’s fine until he reemerges, forcing out a raspy apology, but agreeing to finish the episode.

It’s not perfect, but it’s progress. And somehow, Scott feels almost proud—and he thinks, really, Aeor would be as well.

[zrllosyn-art]

Iharu I drew for @mosshroomish!

[girlboss-malewife-gauntlet-melee]

FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT OH I AM SO EXCITED TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS

(BUT PLS DONT ACTUALLY KILL EACH OTHER LOCKWOOD FANDOM, REMINDER ITS JUST A POLL)

propaganda:

SHOW

the buttered toast scene in ep 5 (pollrunner note: for those who dont know, lucy orders toast, and lockwood takes it and butters it for her wordlessly, than looks at her like "wasnt that great?? pls love me" - 👾)

lucy is one of the most powerful listeners there ever was while Lockwood cheers her on and compliments her on national television even though she absolutely didn’t want that in a very “that’s my wife” way

lockwood owns his own agency that he founded, has perfect rapier technique, thinks he’s gods gift but even with all of that he still makes anything and everything about lucy with a proud and admirative look on his face while lucy is out there being the most powerful listener there is chilling with her pet type 3 ghost

BOOK

Lockwood is a homeowner at age 15 and he wanders around it drinking tea and charming people into giving him yhings. Lucy carlyle is a hotheaded aggressive and EXTREMELY powerful agent in his ghost hunting company. They both get shit done but in OPPOSITE ways. They have an interes5ing way of rejecting traditional gendered tropes- the sensitive dude and the bullheaded girl- that is both simple and INTENSELY complicated within their narrative, which i think qualifies them for the title.

she is the protagonist of the series, a once in a generation prodigy, the most powerful listener since Marissa Fittes, the list goes on. He likes to drink pulpy orange juice and strain it throught his teeth to pretend to be a blue whale

Imagine a buff kind of irritated teenage girl with a sword. No, shes even cooler. That's better. Now imagine a rich preppy guy. No, thats too much like Patrick Bateman. Think Artemis Fowl. Ok youtr there. Hope yhis helps :)

they are PERFECT for each other. she recognises the subtleties in his smiles and he allows himself to be vulnerable in front of her

[sematarygirls]

tell me WHY i just read a rafe smut where he referred to himself as "dad" NOT EVEN DADDY (still revolting) BUT DAD (absolutely rancid) I AM SICKKKKKK

[froschli96]

you know, i always find it really funny when dudebros complain about syndicate and odyssey being too "jokey" or not "taking its characters seriously" or whatever…

like, did y'all collectively sleep through "it's-a me, mario!", "i meant besides vaginas", ezio inventing the latte, bartolomeo's... just... *gestures vaguely* entire character, etc?

like, it's fine to have preferences of course, i myself prefer a more serious and grounded tone, but these are usually the same people who tout the ezio trilogy as "peak assassin's creed", call ac1 a glorified tech demo and hate on connor for being "too serious and boring", like? make it make sense!