#idk if that worked out but OKAY

[wadesart]

in the absence of the klingons

[civetcider]

it's almost summer y'all!! time to draw my butches fishing instead of going fishing myself (she/her for both)

[foolsocracy]

he forgot about UV

[deoidesign]

I'm so mad that post was misinformation because there is actually an EXTREMELY important conversation to have about the production schedules artists are forced into. There's no need for exaggeration, the conditions are bad.

I work for webtoon. My publication schedule is weekly. While publishing I'm required 10-15 pages a week. Fully colored.

This means I'm finishing a 150 page fully colored graphic novel every 10-15 weeks.

When my comic is not updating, I am not getting paid. Any time writing, editing, or off is out of my own pocket. I don't get healthcare. They do not provide any assistants. They expect me to promote myself; they chose to deprioritize me before I even launched and gave me an end date half a year in. I never had a chance.

And this is the industry standard! Every company has artists forced into crunch hours, overtime, and burnout. Artists are literally dying early due to it. So many of my friends can't afford to go to the doctor.

It's unsustainable and untenable, and it's also the expectation our audiences have.

If we want to have this conversation, there's plenty of conversation to be had with the realities of the situation. It's bad as is.

[raycatzdraws]

I saw an opportunity to make a meme and I took it.

Turtle shirt!

[ottermatopoeia]

Hello from my tits to yours

[destructo-range]

dumb tma fic idea: when michael becomes the distortion it's still technically bound to the eye because his contract never ended with the institute/the eye. and he has to come in like once a week to do paperwork or he'll feel ill

[sevenines]

i saw this tweet and found it interesting for two reasons. one is that some people base how good cartoon network would be to toh by how it treated su, and despite the fact that su’s treatment by the network was considered poor at the time, now its thought to be exceptionally good in comparison to modern shows.

two is how exactly su got impacted by a limited budget. a common criticism is how characters like connie, peridot, and lapis are left out of missions. but balancing a lot of characters is not only hard but also costly (extra animation, extra voices—it’s been revealed that the show is limited to a set number of characters per episode otherwise they’re over budget). animation mistakes are not uncommon since retakes cost extra. the entire reason the original show got cut short was due to loss of funding!

[weskie]

Forgiveness (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

2.9k words | giving wesker his first injection, minor hurt/comfort, pining, mutual pining, fluff, part of the lover, leader, liar series | Fic Directory

'With Love - Albert Wesker'

The side effects of his newfound abilities come in waves.

For a time, Wesker was… himself, really.  Something in him had changed after the mansion.  Your former Captain was certainly still the stoic man you’d worked for.  The same one that wriggled his way into your heart in all those special ways. He was just a little more angry now.  Some days were worse than others, but god help you if he dwelled too long on Chris’s disruption of his plans.  It seemed like a lifetime ago…

But now you get to watch him seemingly deteriorate.  “Unstable,” he’d told you.  Whatever it was that granted him superhuman abilities wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be.  It comes in waves.  First he’s simply irritable, lashing out at you and others for even the smallest of perceived slights.  Sweat would bead at his brow, trickling over the bump of a vein in his temple.  Those red, cat-like eyes you’d come to find less uncanny would grow brighter too, as if his fury were fueled by hot coals that lit them just as easily.

Next he’s sluggish– weak, even.  He reminds you of someone stricken with the flu with the way he sweats and tosses and turns uncomfortably in his bed.  Only once has he ever let it slip that his body aches terribly during such times.  You do what you can for him in those moments, patting cool cloths to his brow, fetching medicine to relieve his fevers, bringing him meals that he typically turns away, and even drawing blood samples to be analyzed later… It’s difficult to watch him suffer, even after everything he’d done to you and your comrades. 

Between such spells, he found a solution.  An injection synthesized from the very strain of virus that brought him back from death’s door.  A stabilizing agent to keep him right in the sweet spot.  On the night everything was finalized, he’d staggered down the hallways of the compound to your shared living quarters, knocking at your bedroom door with shaking hands.  

You can see the pain of his wounded pride as he rasps his request.  “I require your assistance…” he all but mumbles, feet dragging as he walks to plop gracelessly onto the edge of your bed.  He runs a trembling hand through his hair and the other extends to offer a syringe, an alcohol wipe, and a pad of gauze.  His head drops into his palm.  

Your heart tugs at the sight before you.  Despite everything, it’s still him.  Still Wesker, still the man you’d grown so fond of in your time as a S.T.A.R.S. officer.  You reach for the syringe, taking a seat on his right side, thighs just shy of flush to each other.  Wesker extends his forearm to you and you ready it with the wipe.

“In a vein?” You ask, nodding to acknowledge his weak hum of approval.  It isn’t at all difficult to find a good one and you slip the needle in with ease.  With a gentle draw of the plunger, a trickle of blood floods the suspension and you inject slowly.  You thumb gently at his skin, an act meant to soothe him in his fragile state.  He watches with hooded eyes as the black flecks pushing through the tube disappear into the needle, breaths a little heavier than his normal decorum would permit.  A glance to his face reveals deep-set exhaustion.

“Captain?”  You announce, peeking into his office.  You find him hunched over a case file, sunglasses tossed aside on the desk.  

Wesker acknowledges you with that signature hum of his, though it carries none of its usual firmness.  You’ve never seen him so tired before.  Even the icy blue of his eyes seems dimmed.  He motions for you to enter and you close the door behind you.  “Blinds,” he instructs.

Once they’re shut, you make your way to his side.  Your eyes fall to the document at his desk, recognizing it as the most recent missing child case that had cast a sorrowful shadow over the city. Your lips quirk into a smile when he yawns, unable to find the display anything less than precious.  You bring a hand to rest at his shoulder, rubbing softly.

“It never ends.” He sighs.  Such an act was rarer than rare from him.  Anything less than perfect composure from the great Captain Wesker was unheard of, but not for you.  Not anymore.

“Can I do anything?”  You ask softly, increasing the area of your ministrations to his upper back, further testing those boundaries that seemed to be falling away more and more with every private interaction.  You swear he pushes into your touch.  

Wesker’s gaze flickers to you briefly, almost as if he was considering even asking whatever was on his mind.  “Coffee would not be unappreciated.”  

You smile at him, turning to fetch a cup from the break room when he snags you by the wrist.

“Bring… two.  And some of your own work.”  He murmurs.  “I could use the company to keep me awake.”

His head rests against your shoulder as you press a tiny piece of gauze to the puncture wound.  For a time you simply stay there, thumb caressing the firmness of his forearm in your lap.  You’re unsure of whether or not he’s watching, but you imagine he’s probably got his eyes shut.  At least you hope he does, anyway.  

You signal to him to lift his head and kneel to the ground, untying the laces of his dress shoes.  You hear him hum above, whether in curiosity or complaint is unclear, but you continue anyway.  “Probably best if you get some sleep.”  You tell him as you tug his shoes free.  He relents without any grief, stopping his descent to the bed only to place his sunglasses atop your nightstand and free himself of his black dress shirt, leaving him in a black tank top.

He regards you with another hum as you stand, arms wrapping around your waist.  Your hand falls to his hair, gently pushing strands back in their perfectly styled place while he buries his face against your abdomen.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Leaves crunch under Wesker’s determined footsteps.  You two must have been walking for an hour now with no sight of, well, anything really.  The Arklay Mountains are huge but not overly populated.  It would take a while before you found a home with a vehicle to ‘borrow.’ 

His arms beneath your knees only tighten, signaling to you that your piggyback ride was far from over.

“C’mon, lay down.” You murmur, fingers scritching at his nape, occasionally trailing down to dance over the curve of his back.

He’s never slept in your bed before.  It’s strange to have him here, but you wager it’s no different than that night you’d fallen asleep on the couch with him.  Still, you feel no apprehension about crawling in on the other side.

Wesker turns to face you and you scoot the littlest bit closer, just until your knees bump his.  You can’t help but smile at him.  After everything, he still has that effect on you.  “So,” you say, “do you feel any different?”

He answers you with a slight nod, looking away briefly as if to contemplate his answer.  He holds his hand in the air for a moment.  You lift yours to entwine your fingers with his.

“That was to show you that the shaking had settled.” He says, pulling your hand closer.  His lips press to your knuckles and you can feel the burn in your cheeks at such a gesture.  “But this is not unwelcome.”

He’s never done that before.  In fact, for all of the times you’ve both danced near the line of such acts, neither of you has ever crossed it.

Wesker holds a hand over your mouth, pressing you into the peeling wallpaper of whatever dark room he’d tugged you into.  He removes it only once he’s sure you won’t make a peep, hand falling to grip your shoulder.  Outside, the sound of snarling growls and the rattle of chains war with one another.  The shriek of a girl, nearly inhuman, follows every loud thud until whatever monstrous beast opposes her becomes little more than fleshy splats.

Your heart hammers in your chest as if it meant to break free.  You wish you’d never set foot in this cursed place.  Had you known such horrors existed in this mansion, you’d have never stayed in Raccoon City to begin with.  To know something like this was in the mountains…  

You want to cry.  The only thing keeping you from giving up entirely was your Captain.  He’s pressed so close to you, practically nose to nose.  His eyes are locked on the doorway, completely focused on the sound of whatever creature slaughtered her way through the hallway.  As petrified as you are, he somehow makes it all less frightening.  His presence has always made you feel protected, whether at scenes of heinous crimes or in a mansion from hell.

“We’re clear.” 

His whispered words ghost over your lips.  Despite all of the fear coursing through your veins, you still find it in yourself to imagine bridging the gap.  But now is neither the time or place

You wonder if you’ll live long enough to see such a moment…

You two stay like that for a while, shifting only to come closer.  He watches you with those inhuman eyes of his, though you can’t help but grin when you see how wide his pupils have gotten.  That was one thing in particular you’d found quite enjoyable about his ocular mutation.  Though perfectly composed in every way, he couldn’t stop his eyes from dilating and giving away how he truly felt.  Well, unless he had his glasses on.  But that was different.

As your mind wanders back to the most traumatic night of your life, you can’t help but settle on that one question that had never quite been answered.  It slips from your lips faster than you can stop it.

“Why did you save me?”

Wesker’s eyes shut and a small sigh escapes him. You briefly wonder if he’s frustrated with you having asked.  After all, the small handful of times you’ve brought it up had been brushed off or the subject changed entirely.  His hand leaves yours and for a split second you think he’s going to throw the covers off, grab his clothes, and leave.  But he doesn’t.  Instead, he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, eyes unfocused but still somehow locked on you.  

“I meant to fire you,” he murmurs, voice low as if the confession were a sin.  “Before the mansion.  Before any harm could befall you.”  His thumb catches your lower lip.  “I…  You weren’t meant to be there.”

But that only leaves you with more questions.

“Do you remember the first time you ever brought lunch to my office?”  

You nod, though you fear he must be changing the subject again.

Knocking makes you exceptionally nervous, though not for the same reasons the rest of the crew feel.  Normally knocking on Captain Wesker’s door means you’re in trouble, but you’re far from it.

He looks almost surprised when you enter with cups of coffee and a bag of sandwiches.  Rumor was that he enjoys the ones from a shop a few blocks over.  Gossip was all the S.T.A.R.S. teams had to occupy themselves sometimes, and seeing the elusive Captain in public was akin to seeing a shaved bear.  The grapevine quickly spread the word that Captain Wesker had stayed overnight at the precinct on two separate occasions this week alone, so you figured you’d do something kind.

He seems almost taken aback that you would do such a thing.

“I had to uh… guess what you might like.  I hope this is okay.” 

Your fingers brush against his as you hand off the wrapped food.  This, as usual, makes your cheeks burn.  For as often as such a thing happens, you’ve never really gotten better at keeping that particular reaction at bay.  In fact, you almost suspect he does it on purpose.  Ever since the first time it happened when you’d handed him a heavy stack of paper, it seemed like every time you gave him something resulted in the same graze of skin.

“I appreciate you.” He says, which sends a wave of warmth right to your chest.  Wesker’s always had such a unique way of thanking you.  Not once have you heard him utter those words to another.

“You seldom left my mind after that.”  That edge to his voice is nowhere to be found in the softness of his confession.  “Even when you should have.”

You chuckle through a wave of emotion that you can’t quite name.  Your hand grips gently at his forearm, thumb rubbing softly just beneath the band of his watch.

“I had planned to find you afterward, though I imagine you would not have been pleased to see me.”  He continues, eyes still locked on you despite how distant they seemed. “Earning your trust back would have been difficult, but I would have done anything.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He confirms, grip growing a little more firm on your chin.  “You mean a great deal to me.  Far more than I ever imagined you would.”

How you wish you could’ve heard those very words back then.  Maybe instead of being hunkered down in some random facility owned by one of Umbrella’s rivals, you would be walking beside him in the park while he tells you all that you’ve longed to hear.  Or maybe you would have been out at some restaurant, or even having dinner at either your place or his.  But no.  Here he is coming down from one of his episodes, courtesy of whatever virus had brought him back from death’s door, confirming that he feels the same for you.

It’s not at all how you imagined it.  You used to lie awake at night picturing the moment one of you confessed and something more than longing gazes and tender touches could finally come to be.  Your heart doesn’t explode and fill your chest with confetti.  Your knees don’t wobble– not that they could, given that you were laying down.  It’s nothing like you imagined, but it’s so much more.

With bravery and joy in your heart, you finally lean forward and press your lips to his.  There’s none of the fanfare or romantic music you used to daydream of, just the occasional sighed breath from him and the gentle pecking of kiss after kiss.  It feels so natural.  It’s as if you’d done this a thousand times without having ever known it.  It’s slow and soft, precise in a way that could only make sense for him.  

The fingers gripping your chin leave.  Instead, Wesker moves his arm to wrap around your midsection and pulls you closer.  Between the intoxication of kisses and your hand smoothing up to his bicep, your mind becomes foggy.  It’s only when he breaks the act that you realize you’d foregone breathing in exchange for losing yourself in him.

You tangle a leg between his and nuzzle against his chest, pressing one more kiss to the exposed skin of his collarbone before letting your eyes flutter shut.  You feel his chin come down to rest against the top of your head and the arm around your waist tightens.

You thumb gently at the bent corners of the card.  On the night before Alpha Team deployed to the mountains, you decided it would be your good luck charm to get you through the mission.  You weren’t entirely sure if it had brought you any luck, but those words meant so very much to you.

‘With Love  - Albert Wesker’

He’s at the other side of the room, picking through a shelf of medical supplies while you sit on a makeshift bed.  You’re so lost in thought that you hardly notice when he’s in front of you again. He kneels before you, thumb slowly rubbing a sticky gel across the cut on your cheek.

“You’ll want to get that cleaned properly once we’re out of here,” he instructs.  “But this will be good enough for now.”

You huff a weak laugh.  “Think we’ll actually make it that long?”

“We will.”  Wesker says matter-of-factly.  He begins to rise, nearly turning from you once more before he halts.  In a rare act, he slowly removes his sunglasses.  It’s then that you see his line of sight.

The card.

“I– Call it dumb, but I brought it for luck.”  You stammer.  “Sorry…”

His hand falls to your shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze.  There’s a pained look in his eyes, one you’ve never seen before.  “You and I have got plenty of a future beyond these walls.”  

You pray he’s right.

[territorial-utopia]

Huzzah! It's birthday time! I'm slowly accumulating more and more things I like (latest additions this vest I made and a travel typewriter! Still need to fix the latter one though)

Sure has been a year.

[yeisiko]

All the flowers turn to look at you

[jenny-purr]

I kot not resist. Grindr Mayhem Vol.2

[Grindr Mayhem Vol.1] (TikTok)

Now also on TikTok if you wanna interact with it there! ♡

Edit: Ya'll guys' notes making me kick my legs in air and giggle ♡ Kiitos / Takk fyrir!

[shepscapades]

GLAD EVERYONE ENJOYED THE ANDROID INFO UPDATE ABOUT INTERFACING DFGJNDGKGNMXGHNCBNM

[localgardenweed]

They are taking over

[blackbatcass]

listen I know it’s kind of corny and inaccurate to act like every single person in the dc universe knows each other and is besties but it IS endlessly funny to me to follow the web of connections and see how many degrees removed from each other everyone is.

like look at the arrowfam okay. ollie and dinah are together, ollie is homoerotic best friends with hal, dinah is homoerotic best friends with babs. roy is dating dick, has a kid with jade, and is basically an adoptive father to both grant emerson and rose wilson. connor is dating kyle and is constantly followed around by eddie fyers. mia is friends with a lot of the second gen teen titans kids, had an on-again-off-again thing going on with steph for a while, and is currently dating sienna. emiko is besties with courtney and some of the other recent teen titans. sin has a small army of protective aunts from the birds of prey. the real question is how far does it go before ollie puts a cap on the number of people who are invited to family brunch on sundays

[irishmammonagenda]

"Mams...you okay?" You grin tiredly and teasingly ask your First Man, who is currently in the process of tearing up, his lips wobbling silently as he attempts to keep it in.

He looks up at you from where you lay exhausted in the hospital bed, attempting to blink back his tears. "Oh aye..." He replies shakily. "I-...I've never bin 'appier....Y-you should g-get some sleep...MC...get yer strength back..."

You grin stupidly at him, eyes closing sleepily as he watches you from the seat beside your bed, his attention drifts to you and his eyes water even more, the sheer lightness of the small weight in his arms making him dizzy as he leans further back into the armchair.

He looks down at the sleeping newborn in his arms. His baby girl. Her little yellow hat sitting perfectly on her little tiny head. He's sure she could fit on just on of his hands.

His bottom lip trembles, heart so full of love for the tiny thing in his arms it feels like it might burst. He holds her to his chest, bringing one finger up to gently caress her tiny tiny cheek. He sniffles, holding back happy sobs as he whispers gently. "Hiya little baby....I'm yer papa....I'm gonna take well great care of ye...I-I..I promise...Íosa Críost...yer tiny..."

Mammon looks over to your sleeping form in the hospital bed and slowly inches his chair even closer to you, so as not to jostle your daughter too much. He grabs his phone off of the nightstand and makes an order for your favourite food to be delivered for when you woke up. He chuckles softly as he texts the groupchat, telling them that you and the baby are okay.(albeit slowly seeing as he's only able to use one hand)

He asks for Lucifer to send over the cake he made with the horrible icing saying 'Congradulation COngratulations, MC, Your You're so amazing' so he could celebrate with you when you woke up from your much deserved nap. He turns off his phone and sets it back on the bedside table next to yours which is charging.

He could celebrate with you after, you could laugh at how he looked like a deer in headlights when the nurse asked him if he wanted to hold his baby for the first time. He could spoil you more than he ever has before (which isn't humanly possible considering how much he spoils you.)

But that could all wait for when you woke up, right now he was content just watching over his favouritest girls in the whole wide world, making sure you were both safe and sound.

But you should never trust a scheming scumbag, MC.

Oh no, fuckhead was already coming up with plans to spoil your daughter silly. That was his little princess, God dammit! She deserved the three worlds combined! And even then she deserved more! And don't get him started on you, you weren't going to even think about doing chores for at least 6 months. You just preformed a miracle. You get rest time. No buts.

In the softening light of the sun through the windows, Mammon holds your baby girl with so much gentleness, as if she'd crack at the smallest touch, his loving gaze flickers from you to her with so much tenderness, you would've thought he was an angel.