#i like your thinking though

[paulmccartneyprostateorgasm]

Could George be inseminated and if yes, by who, and how would his decision to keep the baby vary based on who impregnated him I personally think his hero worship of them alone would lead him to keep a John or Bob Dylan baby only to end up doing all of the rearing and growing resentful, but he’d abort Paul’s child no questions asked and think Paul did this on purpose (meanwhile Paul has being trying to get John pregnant for months and failing). Idk what he’d do with ringo

You'll have to consult with george harrison insemination dot tumblr dot edu alas

[aleatoryw]

getting blazed as fuck in public, thinking "boy I sure hope no one knows how high I am right now", and then having the jumpscare of your life when duolingo gives you this notification

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF Michael refuses to be gaslit on “THE BITE OF 83”

[shinobicyrus]

I've seen a lot of posts about Batman using his Bruce Wayne alter ego for the good of Gotham: job programs for felons released from prison, orphanages, charities, high wages for his employees, ethical business practices...the legendary post where Bruce Wayne goes to Wal-Mart.

Thus far I've never personally seen anybody really dig into the persona of Bruce Wayne the Billionaire Playboy. A handsome, rich, powerful man who always is seen at fancy galas, art openings, charity dinners, and wild parties with at least one beautiful woman on his arm.

We know Bruce Wayne is the mask, and its Batman who has a...complex love life, depending on the iteration we're talking about. Talia, Catwoman, sometimes Wonder Woman.

Bruce Wayne's dates, on the other hand, are all "normal" people. Maybe they're an aspiring actress, a supermodel, a prima ballerina, the occasional reporter...and every time there's that bit of nervousness at the start.

Sure everyone knows Bruce Wayne. Everyone knows the story with him. Sometimes his wilder parties make the news, but there's never really been anything nasty reported about him. Never...allegations. But he's a billionaire. He's one of the most powerful people in the whole city, nevermind the country. If he did have some skeletons in his closet. Well. Men with power have a way of making those kinds of stories go away, don't they?

As time goes on the Date's fears dissipate pretty quickly. Bruce Wayne is nothing but polite, kind, and at times charmingly awkward in an 'raised by his butler in a mansion' kind of way with his dates. Some of them can tell he's holding back, of course. Maybe the more perceptive Dates notice he's smarter than he lets on - playing the himbo or hamming up the "know-nothing rich boy" act to the cameras or some of his wealthy peers.

He also listens, is the thing. He's always listening to what they're saying, is interested in hearing about their careers, their hobbies, their lives. Really listens, too. Might refer to something a Date said weeks later off-hand. Buy out the whole museum for a private dinner date with a famous painting from an obscure artist they like, or a private performance with another's favorite band.

He has anecdotes and funny stories for days that somehow says very little about his personal life. The Dates know he has kids (it's practically a running gag in the news that Bruce Wayne has adopted yet another orphan) and maybe she might spot one of them at the mansion, but Bruce seems very keen to shelter them from any intense spotlight and scrutiny, and they all seem happy if a bit weird like him.

Eventually, there's drifting. He's a very busy man, with a very busy schedule. On more than on occasion his nice old butler will call and extend apologies that Mr. Wayne will not be able to make it this evening. Sometimes it's virtually impossible to get a hold of him over the phone. After a while they stop trying. None of them feel quite surprised by that. In the end, it just doesn't work. Sure, he's a little distant and doesn't make himself emotionally available...but he's not a bad person.

Especially when the so-called "exes" of Bruce Wayne start networking. Gotham isn't a small city, but the social circles Bruce Wayne travels in aren't as big. They don't quite gossip or complain about him. More like...who else would get it?

(I touched his side once and he winced...like he'd been hurt real bad there. He laughed and said it was tackle polo. How does that even-?)

(Somehow, after two dates, he saw right through me and listened while I told him what that casting director tried to do. He nodded, gave me the contact details of a law firm, and said not to worry about the legal fees.)

(I don't know for sure it was him, but it can't be a coincidence that my building got bought out from under my shitty landlord and we were all able to buy our apartments under market value.)

(He got my brother in the best rehab program in the city after his relapse. It probably saved his life. We'd stopped dating months ago, I still don't know how he found out.)

(He gave me a card with a phone number and told me that if I was ever in trouble to call it. Said one of his cars would come to pick me up, any time, any place, no questions asked. The one time I did have to use it after a bad party, it was Alfred.)

I think any tabloid reporter digging around for salacious stories or dirt about Bruce Wayne's love life would be completely and politely stonewalled when they try asking his former Dates. Even when money is offered. Every single one of them.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Trapped in a vicious cycle of pining? Try gay sex! (More things to learn over at Tiger Tiger!)

[thankstothe]

this show rewires you fundamentally in 60 seconds and then just goes on to have more seasons. audacity

[egophiliac]

What do you like about the Diasomnia boys if I may ask?

I always love hearing about the different reasons people enjoy characters.

I mean, c'mon. he has split custody over Sebek okay

also, Lilia in particular has maybe the best timeskip character development of all time

[lazylittledragon]

DID ASTARION GET A TATTOO ON HIS RING FINGER TO MATCH DORIAN+HIS FAM?!?!?!?!?!? I'M DYING

YES OF COURSE HE DID <33

[tofixtheshadows]

This is one of my favorite minor details in Dungeon Meshi, firstly because what in the femme fatale, but also because it's one of those little things that raises so many questions about worldbuilding.

The Occam's Razor defense attorney in me says that Ryoko Kui gave Kabru a boot knife because she wanted him to escape from his bonds here. And Kabru is a very competent swordsman, why wouldn't he have a boot knife, sure. He's already got a dagger, he can have this too.

And yet: the implications. Kabru, why do you have that? That is not remotely something that could be easily accessed or used in combat. Nobody is pulling out a pen knife from the heel of their boot during a fight with a monster. It's useless in the dungeon ... unless you're the type of person who isn't just worried about monsters.

I've mentioned this before, but I consider one of Kabru's functions in the narrative as being the character who fully brings the idea of human ecosystems into the story. There's a reason why he's always connected to large groups of people (Toshiro's party, the Canaries). He (along with Mr. Tansu, briefly) introduces the reader to the social and political forces working on the dungeon, showing us that none of this is happening in a monster-filled vacuum. His confrontation with the corpse retrievers, who very nearly kill Kabru's party permanently with their reckless murder-for-money scheme, reminds us that monsters are not the only things that prey on humans. Kabru understands the ways the dungeon causes people to put profit over human lives.

We only get hints of it in the story, but like any gold-rush-style economic boom, it's implied that there is a lot of crime and corruption surrounding the dungeon.

So yeah, it really makes me wonder why Kabru keeps a tiny knife in his boot, meant to be carried on him even in situations where he would otherwise be unarmed. Stored exactly in the place where it's easy to reach, even if, for some reason, your hands are tied behind your back.

[intotheelliwoods]

Here it is, the 2 Arms Left Collaboration Comic!

Big thank you to everyone who participated! This was such a cool project! There was so much talent put into this thing and I am amazed by the results

Enjoy the finished product everyone!

=-=-=-=-=-

=-=-=-=-=-

The wonderful artists, in order of their panels appearance, go check them out!!

To help count without eyes getting lost, the people highlighted in orange were a part of the black and white flashback sequence!

1 @tangledinink

2 @roquog

3 @sunnyyyteaaa Sun!

4 @apollo-not-in-space

5 @wraenata

6 @abbeyofcyn

7 @dianagj-art

8 @rbtlvr

9 @vangh17a

10 @avidlylivid

11 @butterfilledpockets

12 @thegunnsara

13 @manga-toons

14 @idiot-mushroom

15 @centerofleesmind

16 @sunnyyyteaaa Tea!

17 @volcanicsleep

18 @phykoha

19 @princesskkfish

20 @cokowiii

21 @y0unginhumans

22 @bluesgras

23 @karmacomesaround

24 @heckitall

25 @sad-leon

26 @blue-star-doodles

27 @teainthesnow

28 @cartoonhostage

29 @hatchi-matchii

30 @last-hourglass

[vagueconfusion]

Feeling real ridiculous for not having realized that Baron's "stark father" was the Nightmare King until now

[0fps]

JANE DOE ❖ undercover r&b

The big bad daddy who cussed you out every day is gone and yet you still miss him. What are you, a bunch of daddy's boys?

[chloesimaginationthings]

Okay, but Elizabeth being an absolute savage girlboss isn't something that's talked about enough.

Love how you're spitting facts for our girly pop. 💪💪💪

TBH I go off the personality baby has, and gotta assume some of that sass is definitely Elizabeth

[meii-jasmine]

We stan Filipino Miku! 🇵🇭

She has her own Mikutoda tricycle, eating kwek kwek before the rush hour

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Overindulgent father Astarion who tells his children they’re allergic to any kind of jewellery that isn’t made of the highest grade Dwarven crafted gold. 

It’s not even because Astarion might have a certain aversion to silver, no, he just raises his children to have standards, thank you very much. 

And it doesn’t end with shiny things, oh no… 

The Ancunín brood is known to be dressed in perfectly woven cotton, silk and soft leather clothes, no matter the occasion.

They’re seen playing with expensive toys, reading artfully illustrated books that certainly belong behind thick glass, not in children’s sticky hands. 

There’s even talk that one of the children is not as naturally inclined to music as his parents claim him to be, surely his lyre must be enchanted—the instrument certainly looks extravagant enough! 

And then there’s always this air of effortless haughtiness surrounding the Ancunín children whenever their nannies and servants are parading them through town as if they were perfect little dolls; objects to show off the wealth their parents acquired in quite the mysterious ways. 

So, it’s no secret that Astarion and Tav are pampering their children—some might say they’re even spoiling them rotten. 

And maybe they are, especially Astarion.

But he doesn’t see why he should raise them any other way, nor does he want to.  

When it comes to his children, Astarion has his own standards, and as long as Tav agrees with him nothing really matters. 

Because, these people, they don’t know anything about the Ancuníns. 

They don’t know that it’s not unusual for Astarion to wash out dirt and mud and strawberry stains from comically small finery, leaving behind only the memories of a day spent playing in the garden, chasing after ducks, picking flowers, lazing in the sun…

That any holes and tears the children’s clothes might suffer are quickly mended, making them look as good as new in no time. 

Nor do they know that Astarion doesn’t mind fashioning a brand new dress to match that of a favourite doll, either. Or to embroider a pretty vest with the likeness of that stray cat the children seem to adore, although their father would rather they don’t touch the mangy animal. 

No, those people know nothing at all...

“Not tired!” Astarion’s youngest cries; the vehement denial of her father’s earlier accusation is cut short by a telltale yawn.

The room still smells of fragrant lavender oil and peaches even when the bath water has already grown tepid, just one or two degrees above what Astarion would consider too cold to be enjoyable. 

Amused, he raises an eyebrow at the protesting toddler before he lifts her out of the copper bathtub with little effort. 

By now, he knows every step of this game.

“Tut-tut, my dear child, what did mama and I say?” Astarion kneels, quickly wrapping a soft towel around the child to keep her warm. “We only tell lies outside of this house.”

Unfazed by her father’s gentle scolding, the girl crosses her arms that haven’t yet lost their puppy fat across her chest, reminding Astarion a little too much of a very displeased Tav. 

Suppressing a sigh, he leans back to consider the pouting child, wondering what could possibly be upsetting her this time—the list is growing longer by the day, after all. 

“What’s the matter, dear?” Astarion asks gently, hoping it’s something easily fixable as it’s growing rather late. 

“Want apple!”

Decades ago, Astarion might’ve rolled his eyes—he knows exactly which stupid apple the child wants, it’s been haunting him all day—but once he started to treat his children’s problems as if they were his own, his life has grown somewhat easier. 

“Why, let’s get an apple on our way to bed, then. Would that be alright, Your Highness?” 

The girl promptly nods her head, allowing Astarion to pat her hair dry before dressing her in a clean night dress. 

She rests her cheek against her father’s shoulder as he carries her first to the kitchen to grab a fragrant apple and a knife, then to her bedroom where they settle on the cosy window seat, just like they do every night.

Soft moonlight is pouring through the windows; the child giggles at the way the knife’s blade is catching the silver light as Astarion peels and cuts the apple into even pieces.

“Here you go,” he finally says, giving the slice of apple one last examining look before surrendering it to the impatient little hands reaching for it. “A sweet treat for my little sweet. Doesn’t it taste so much better when we don’t eat it off the floor, darling?” And when it’s not crawling with ants…

The appeased toddler nibbles at the juicy fruit as Astarion carefully combs through her still-damp curls. 

Her hair’s getting long, he notices, knowing that taking care of it will become more time-consuming each day. 

Once, Astarion would’ve thought this task tedious, brushing out hair that’s not his own, oiling and braiding it for no other reason than knowing his children enjoy him doing it. 

But that’s why he loves doing it in the first place, he supposes.

Astarion can tell by his toddler’s heartbeat that sleep is about to claim her. 

The half-eaten slice of apple is still clutched in her little fist as he cradles the child to his chest, slowly rising from the window seat to put her to bed. 

He’s just about to lay the child down that the fruit drops to the floor, his daughter’s tiny hand clutching at his shirt instead.

“Thank you, papa,” she mumbles, more asleep than awake.

Astarion pauses.

He breathes in the clean, yet unique scent of the little girl that is forever engraved in his brain, the same way he knows under which exact constellation she was born. When she took her first steps, what her first word was. Soon, he will have to memorise her favourite colour, and what she likes to eat when dirty apples won’t be that appealing anymore. 

By now, Astarion knows this game by heart, knows that with every year that passes, he has something new to learn about his children.

And sometimes he wonders what it’s like to grow up with clean bed sheets and full bellies. Sleep filled with naught but warmth and happy memories. Ever open doors and tears that are dried by tender kisses. Living in a house where mistakes and anger are welcomed, safe. 

He wonders what it’s like for his children to know that their father’s love comes without conditions. Not now and not ever. 

Sitting down on the bed, Astarion holds his youngest a little closer to his chest, unwilling to let go of her, yet. 

He’s often accused of spoiling his children when most people can only just grasp the very surface of his love for them, the bare minimum of what he feels for his one and only, precious family. 

These baseless accusations are as unimportant to Astarion as the people voicing them.

He’s raising his children to have standards, wants them to take their father’s love for granted, to accept nothing less but pure devotion.

It’s the only way Astarion knows how to love them, the only way that comes most naturally to him. 

Astarion looks down at his little girl, now fast asleep, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. 

After all these years—all these children—he’s still in awe watching them sleep in his arms as if no harm in the world could ever befall them.

And it won’t—not if Astarion can help it. 

“No, thank you, my heart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the crown of the toddler’s head. 

When it comes to his children, Astarion holds himself to the highest standard.

[hedgehog-moss]

Help me settle a debate with my friends! If it seems difficult to choose that's normal, we've already dealt with the animals that are easy to sort (e.g. goats and mice are the two extremes on the spectrum of animal civility) and these are the more dicey choices that are on a similar level of perceived politeness.