#idk what im gonna call this one

[princema-k]

welcome to my evolution...

[phantomskeep]

Sometimes I hate my brain cause it likes to tell me I'm not as funny as I think I am. Then I write gems like this and I am reminded that, at the very least, I think I'm funny.

The Red Hood growled, feeling around his headspace for the Pit Rage he knew lurked. Now would honestly be a great time for a tiny bit of an adrenaline boost, thank you very much. Jason got the feeling this criminal wouldn’t say such things if he didn’t mean it. “You wish, Cat Boy.”

“I am not a cat boy!” The boy wearing a cat skull protested.

“Then what are you, a discount Catwoman?” Jason asked as he prowled closer to the pouting thief.

“I don’t even know who that is!” Cat Boy continued to lie. “This,” he gestured to the bone-colored mask covering his face, Lazarus green eyes narrowing in distaste, “Is a fashion statement. Nothing more, nothing less, I just- I don’t even know why it’s a cat!”

[millionsknives]

talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time!

[sieglinde-freud]

let it be known that i love prince inigo with my whole soul. however sometimes it is SO much fun to think about owain and his two most loyal-est knights you ever seen: worst guy in the world #1 and worst guy in the world #2. i love retainer inigo and severa so much. retainers who bully you and make fun of you and trash on you but they’d leave behind everyone and everything they ever knew to follow you and protect you in a whole new universe. they love you so much that they’d swear allegiance to total strangers but that loyalty pales in comparison to what they’d do for you. and they were all lovers!!!!!!!

[hai-nae]

just vibin'

[liauditore]

he is so so tired please get off his lawn

[potatobugz]

i feel like im going insane

[courtjesterrr]

ok, but WHY ARE WE NOT TALKING ABOUT THEM!?!?!? THEY ARE MOTH/BUG ANGELS WITH MASKS AND CLOAKS THEY LOOK SO COOL

AHHHHHHHHHH FAVS

(Oh yeah- made in ibis paint x-)

Edit: i rewatched the episode a few times and realized i f'd up the designs a bit

Will be redrawing them soon

Also

The council of lämp (credit: @/redactedtimes) 👍

[ganondoodle]

Have you been assesed for adhd?

nope, though im pretty sure i got it ... or its something similar bc although also not officially diagnosed there is no way im not autistic OTL

the only things i have been .. 'diagnosed' with is anxiety and chronic depression, though both of which by a therapist that got arrested for fraud and harassment (hahaha .. ._.) and im not sure how much weight that can hold both bc of .. THAT and bc i honestly have no idea how much a therapist can do (its been many years since then too) and the only meds he ever offered me where like .. drugs ('herbs')

i have been thinking of asking our family doctor about it but im rather afraid of whatever process i gotta go through to get anything that might help since im sure its also not JUST adhd that causing all this (and ... im afraid it could impact how i am treated ... like if they know im autistic are they not gonna take me seriously anymore or stop me from making choices about myself.. welp theres the anxiety ndfjkgndfknvgfdk)

(and a new therapist is pretty impossible bc theres a really big problem of not enough therapists around ESPECIALLY where i live ... also fear bc of the previous one .. haha ._, )

[crowwbones]

Burnt Leaves

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GNC Reader

SFW / Fluff & Comfort / No Dialogue / TW: Drug abuse mentions, mildly unhealthy coping with insomnia, one off-handed joke about dying

Summary: You deal with plenty of bullshit as is, and insomnia is just the straw threatening to break your back. You have your ways to deal with it, though. Seems like the skull masked lieutenant needs a new coping mechanism as well.

I may write more if people actually enjoy this, also i wrote this at like 3 am and i am dealing with insomnia myself, pls excuse if it sucks lmao

Being in the military was probably your best option. You weren't small or weak, you had quite a ways to go, sure, but you held your own. That's what initially impressed your training captain. You had a drive despite being depressed as shit. Which, maybe you lied to your recruiting officer. And the doctor. And your training sqaudron. But what's a little lie compared to staying in that drug den you reluctantly call home?

The harsh drills and tense, full body aching was nothing to you. Not compared to watching your mother be strung out on a stained, burned, broken couch while being left in the drug dealers care. Hell, or even when you had to help her find a dehydrated vein with a short and dull needle. Perhaps something that you considered a life saving skill, but it made you feel disgusting if you thought about it for too long.

You've been shifted around a few bases when you were needed, seeing as you were sort of an everyman. Excelled in the maintenance of weaponry, one hell of a mechanic, and maybe a few things you knew how to do that were definitely against the Geneva Convention. To be fair, though, if you had to decide between dying and using a makeshift gun that was severely out of regulation, you'd take your chances in court.

But all of this shifting around and half assed childhood you had lead to even more goddamn problems you didn't need. Often, maybe every few nights every single week, you dealt with insomnia. Bad weeks had you trying to fight the uncomfortable disorder every night, but you lucked out with having to deal with it half the time usually.

It was always so uncomfortable. The inside of your skin felt like it was covered in small pyramid-shaped cones that pressed into every nerve where there was pressure. Your eyes were heavy but never heavy enough to induce sleep. Your mind would never fog up the way it was supposed to. And it drove you absolutely crazy.

You had a few ways to deal with it, as most chronic sufferers do. Sometimes you accepted it and laid there until pure exhaustion won. Your worst option.

Most of the time, though, you'd already spent a few hours hoping, tossing and turning in restlessness before getting up. You'd lace your boots and try to walk it off. Speed up the exhaustion process manually. And it worked maybe 50 percent of the time. And you'd collapse back into your bunk, shoes still on and pillow over your head, and get just enough sleep that you wouldn't hate yourself in the morning.

And the nights that even that didn't work, you'd find yourself in the kitchenette of the rec area. You'd stare desperately at the coffee pot you were using to heat up water while you waited to choke down a bland, bitter chamomile tea. You couldn't stand tea on its own. You didn't have a sweet tooth, but you could accept when something needed a little bit of sweetness.

This often settled you down enough. The overwhelming tired made you cry in the barely lit room while your tea steeped, palms pressed into your burning eyes as you wished you'd just fucking sleep. And you'd stop. You'd drink your tea. And get enough sleep to function.

And you fell into this pattern and habit.

Until this one mother fucker.

See, you ended up being called in to aid in the upkeep up vehicles and guns at a fairly large base that served as home grounds to plenty of "real soliders". You didn't pay mind to many of them, but Captain Price's team at least treated you decently since you were the one making sure their guns jammed significantly less. However, Ghost creeped you the fuck out.

That teams lieutenant was horrifying to you. He stood way too tall, was way too broad to move that fucking quietly. He held this awful aura to him that was completely unreadable. And he barely ever spoke to you in a way that didn't feel like a back handed... well, you wouldn't even call them compliments. The man would stare more often than breathe, just watch you move about your job from the doorways and wait for you to notice he was there before declaring that he would have been able to kill you six different ways by that point. You've been able to get that number down to four, at least.

And for some reason. This also included your overstimulated and tired crying time at the coffee pot at 2 a.m. as well. It seemed like it was his third time just watching you when he spoke up for the first time, mostly just asking what the hell you were doing. You'd jump out of your skin, a blessing of a feeling if it didn't shoot unnerving shivers down your spine, and stammer out a half coherent response about tea leaves. And then he just... stood there. Watching you drink your tea and then leave after you were done.

At some point during this routine, he'd started to invite himself to sit across from you at the small table. He never really struck up conversations, though you swore you could see amusement in his eye as you made faces at the bitter tea. He knew you were burning the leaves, but he couldn't tell you that. Listening to another person rip into him about being British was very low on his to-do list.

This became comfortable. You began to tolerate his shadow-like presence. Maybe even enjoyed the silent company. You could guess that he was suffering the same just from how tired his eyes looked past the mask. Maybe he too found solace in a shared solidarity that you two really haven't expressed. It was bittersweet. Two barely functioning and sleep deprived people finding a space to relax, lit only by a half burnt out overhead lamp. Maybe, even if a bit selfishly, you had begun to go a little morr often judt for the company of a man you didn't know the actual name of.

Ghost never left before you, but only arrived after you began heating some water. He never had a cup himself, sat himself in the same chair, and limited himself to a handful of yrs or no questions a night. You didn't mind.

But he once again found a way to disrupt this routine.

You were reaching up to grab a mug from the cabinet above you, your other hand grabbing the coffee pot of hot water. You heard him move, which honestly should have been your que to turn around, and you felt him standing directly behind you. He covered your hand on the handle with his much larger one and practically forced you to let him grab the pot. He grabbed two mugs and moved off to the side, only meeting your eyes when you didn't move.

What ever fucking compelled him to do that, you had no idea. You were staring with bloodshot eyes and still even had your hand vaguely where the pot was. He simply nodded his head to the table and turned back to the mugs.

Guess you weren't making your tea? Deep down, thr angsty teen part of you hoped it was the forever sleep kind of deal. But that was dumb, so you shook your head a little to ignore that.

Ghost set your mug down on the table before sitting himself across from you, lifting his mask up enough to take a drink.

You've yet to see him do that, so your brain was just kind of off at this point. You stared, not that you meant to, as the man replaced his mask and set his mug down, staring back at you with a quirked brow. You looked down in a daz3 before grabbing your own mug, taking a long sip. Did he make a different kind of tea? Why the hell did it taste so... so much better? Your confusion actually earned you a small laugh from the other, a quiet, muffled chuckle from under his mask. That shouldn't have given you butterflies. He still scared you, after all.

He never explained himself, but from then on, you left the tea making duties to him and he didn't seem to mind. You fell into the pattern of getting there before your insomnia got into full swing every night, starting the water and getting the mugs. Then your midnight partner would show up and handle the rest.

As much as the mask gave you the creeps, it was growing on you. Like the previously bitter tea. 

[dawnthefluffyduck]

New game interest unlocked

(crow in bottom right belongs to @patchwork-crow-writes)

[lesbiancarat]

want to give my two cents on the AI usage in the maestro trailer--

i think seventeen doing a whole concept that is anti-AI is very cool, especially as creatives themselves i think it's good that they're speaking up against it and i hope it gets more ppl talking about the issue. i also understand on a surface level the artistic choice (whether it was made by the members, the mv director, or whoever else), to directly use AI in contrast to real, human-made visuals and music in order to criticize it. i also appreciate that they clearly stated the intention of the use of AI at the beginning of the video

however, although i understand it to an extent, i do not agree with the choice to use AI to critique AI. one of the main ethical concerns with generative AI is that it is trained on other artists' work without their knowledge, consent, or compensation. and even when AI generated images are being used to critique AI, it still does not negate this particular ethical concern

the use of AI to critique also does not negate the fact that this is work that could have been done by an actual artist. i have seen some people argue that it's okay in this context because it's a critique specifically about AI, and it is content that never would have been done by a real artist anyway because it doesn't make sense for the story they're trying to tell. but i disagree. i think you can still tell the exact same story without using AI

and in fact, i would argue that it would make the anti-AI message stronger if they HAD paid an artist to draw/animate the scenes that are supposed to represent AI generated images. wouldn't it just be proof that humans can create images that are just as bad and nonsensical and soulless as AI, but that AI can't replicate the creativity and beauty and basic fucking anatomy that's in human-made art?

it feels very obvious this was not just a way to cut corners and costs like a lot of scummy people are using AI for. ultimately it was a very intentional creative decision, i just personally think it was a very poor one. and even if some ethical considerations were taken into account before this decision, i certainly don't think all of them were. at the very least i feel like the decision undermines the message they want to convey

i would also like to recognize that i myself am not an artist, and i have seen some artists that are totally on board with the use of AI in this specific context, so clearly this is not a topic that is cut and dry. but generative AI is still new, and i think it's important to keep having these conversations

[way2gosuperrstarr]

watch my body disintegrate into a pile of ash like a cartoon character who just got struck by a lightning bolt (JOINT PAIN JOINT PAIN JOINT PAIN JOINT PAIN) (just got off work)

[stellardeer]

I know lots of people are pointing this out but it's just so odd to me that it feels like society is more anti kink now than it has ever been.

Like I remember learning about strange fetishes when I was younger and thinking some things were gross or odd but I just kind of accepted that some people were into things that I don't understand and it's fairly normal.

But like that post explaining the back pocket flag culture of gays in the late 20th century was kind of wowing to me, like you mean there used to be a time where people would literally publicly advertise to others in the know that they were into scat?? And now people are getting callouts just for having fairly vanilla NSFW alt accounts?? Hello????

I mean like I wasn't there I might be wildly overestimating the portion of the queer community that was cool with certain kinks, but it's so insane to me to see how demonized fetishes are these days.

[ohbo-ohno]

a place that feels eerily familiar to you, like you knew it in a dream + price !! 🫶

congrats on so many sillies following you!!!

1k game here

this one was kinda hard to think of something for but i hope you like it! also thank you ily <3 i love my sillies

2.2k of john price x single mom reader. this is kinda labyrinth inspired, except i've never see labyrinth so we're going on vibes alone. no smut! this is another one with very little of the character requested, but im gonna get better about not doing that i promise <3

You're gobsmacked as you stare at the scene in front of you.

The walls are painted almost aggressively bright, with rainbows crisscrossing over each other in every direction, random bursts of white you think are meant to be clouds. The colors make you squint a little, you didn't even know paint could be that bright.

It's almost painful to look at. It's also... familiar. You're not sure why, but it is.

You shake off the odd sense of déjà vu, refocusing on your goal.

"Alice?" You call out again, cupping your hands around your mouth and shouting as loudly as you can. "Alice, baby, where are you? Can you hear me?"

Nothing.

It's hard not to fall to your knees and just give up. The only thing keeping you standing is the memory of your sweet baby girl in that man's arms. Her little cherubic face tucked into his neck, tiny body dwarfed by his massive form...

You force a full breath into your lungs, then another, then another. You won't be able to help Alice if you can't keep your head.

"Alright, think," you whisper to yourself, taking another moment to scan the room. "If I were a piece of shit baby-stealer, where would I keep a perfect angel?"

Nothing responds.

The room is definitely meant for a child, but scaled up to your size. The door you'd come in through has disappeared, leaving you stuck in this weird rainbow nightmare.

There's a bed against one wall - not really a bed so much as a stack of no less than six mattress one on top of the other, all with the same purple bedsheets. They nearly reach the ceiling, and on the very top your sure you can see several stuffed animals.

There are bookshelves against one wall, floating shelves styled after unicorns where the books rest along their backs and the unicorns themselves stick out from the wall. It's horrendously impractical - all you can think about is how much dusting they would need, how dangerous they could be if they fell on top of someone.

The floor is a nice hardwood with a large plush rug in the center, stylized to look like a white cat curled up in a little ball.

The room is spotless. Nothing is out of place, there's not a spec of dust anywhere to be seen, and nothing is stained. You wish your own daughter's room was this clean, but three year old's are a very messy species.

This room is clearly meant for a kid, but you can tell it's never been used. No child could keep a white rug so clean.

You sit on the floor in front of the purple bed and try to collect your thoughts, eying the room around you.

The man - John Price, he'd said around a cigar - had been clear about your task. Find your way out of the labyrinth in twenty-four hours, and you'll be reunited with your baby.

Of course the jackass had neglected to mention it's a magical labyrinth. Of course he hadn't told you that the maze would literally reconstruct itself right in front of your eyes.

This room had appeared practically out of thin air too, which is why you suspect that no one's ever been here but you. The whole place has an air of cleanliness that leaves your skin crawling.

The walls though... there's something so familiar about them.

It hits you a few moments later.

You'd had a coloring book as a little girl that was rainbow themed - each page featured a rainbow in a different setting, or a different shape, or an animal with rainbow patterns, things of that nature. Your favorite page had been the one without any design but rainbows, arches crisscrossing over each other in every direction. You spent hours painstakingly coloring it properly, despite the fact that it was nearly impossible to tell where the top of the rainbow was in certain places.

You'd begged your mother to paint your room like that, promised her that you'd help, that you'd never complain about your chores again, all typical little kid stuff. Your mother had refused, and you'd forgotten all about it by breakfast the next day.

That pattern from the coloring book is the same one decorating the walls, complete with the incorrect colors in certain places. That's where you remember it from.

And... and that bed. Mattress stacked on top of one another, purple bedsheets. It's just like an old copy of The Princess and the Pea your father brought home one day. You had been so entranced with the idea of a bed so tall that you'd never even cared about the end of the story. You vividly remember begging for a tall bed like the princess had, and you'd gotten it - you slept in a loft bed for most of your teen years.

It's clear from there what's going on. The unicorn shelves are plucked from your memory too, originating from a years long obsession with the mythical creatures. The rug, now that you think about it, matches one your kindergarten teacher had. The whole room is filled with things that you thought would be great in a bedroom as a little girl.

So.... how do you get out?

There's no door, no windows, no attic, nothing. Just a sealed rainbow box.

You skim your memory as quickly as possible, trying to imagine any sort of escape route you might've wanted. When you were little, you'd gone through a phase of wanting to live in a tower like Rapunzel, but that had a window. You also tried to run away once, becoming very enamored with the idea of living in a tent. You'd wanted to live in a treehouse for a bit, and that....

Oh. That's it.

You'd wanted to live in a treehouse, and your father jokes that you would roll right out of the hatch when you were asleep. You'd proudly said nuh-uh and told him how you'd drag the mattress over the hatch every night.

You glance over your shoulders at the six mattress stacked on top of each other and sigh.

-------------------------

It takes a while, but you finally manage to shove the last mattress away from it's spot.

Not only is there a trapdoor beneath it, there's one singular pea.

You'd laugh if you were any less exhausted.

You leave the rainbow room all but destroyed - the stuffed animals had gone flying and knocked off the books, and the floor is almost completely covered by mattress - but you're far too excited about your small win to worry about cleaning up.

You climb down the ladder in a tiny, enclosed space, breathing slowly to keep yourself from hyperventilating. It's almost pitch-black and you can't fight off the image of the walls shifting around you, deciding you're not supposed to be here and.....

You breathe a sigh of relief when your feet hit the floor.

Your first instinct is to call out for your daughter again, hope that she hears and cries out for you, but this room - dark and undecorated - is dead silent. The kind of silent that feels wrong to break. So you inch forward towards the only door you can make out along the wall.

Your hand shakes as you push it open, tense as you reveal....

A nursery.

A nursery with your baby in it, your little girl all curled up in a crib that she's a bit too old for. She's wearing something different than what you had her in, but she's real and she's safe.

You step froward on instinct, standing at the side of the crib. Just as you're reaching in to grab her and run, a voice speaks up from behind you.

"What are you doing?"

You jolt, spinning around and pressing your back in front of where your baby sleeps.

It's the man again. He can barely fit through the doorway (literally ducks) and he's broad enough to nearly block it. He's almost cartoonishly large, with tree trunk thighs and arms, a soft padding around his body that makes him look both terrifying and nice to hug.

His beard twitches as he frowns at you, thick eyebrows dipping low over his eyes.

"You're not supposed to be here."

You shake your head a little, getting your racing heart under control. "You said if I could find Alice in twenty-four hours I could go home."

He shakes his head slowly, stepping further into the room. The door disappears behind him. "No, I said find your way out of the labyrinth and you could keep her."

Against your own will, you feel tears start to sting in your eyes. "But..."

"How did you get here?" He asks again, shifting back a bit. His face softens just slightly, but that isn't saying much.

"I found a door," you say. "Under the mattresses."

He hums. "You remembered, then."

Now it's your turn to look confused. "Of course I did. It was my dream as a child."

His head tilts to the side as he takes a few steps forward. "You would be shocked how many parents have forgotten their own dreams. It's pathetic," he spits.

You try to push a little further back as he comes within reaching distance, but you have nowhere else to go.

"Pathetic?"

"Yes. How are you supposed to fulfil your child's dreams if you can't remember your own?"

"But... but not all dreams are meant to come true."

He scowls at you, leaning a little further forward. "Really? You don't remember how devastated you were when you didn't get that treehouse? Or the rainbow walls? You cried for hours, I saw it in your memories. Why would you want to put your daughter through that?"

That's... invasive, but you try to move past it. "But my dreams weren't always good for me. I couldn't sleep in the treehouse, what if something went wrong? There could've been a storm, or someone in the woods, or I could've gotten too scared to go inside - any number of things. And I would've been bored of the walls by the weekend, of course my mother didn't spend days painting them just for me to be over it before I even said thank you."

He hums a bit, bringing a hand up to stroke his chin. "You would deny your daughter's dreams because you don't want to create them, then?"

You scowl at that, holding yourself back from poking a finger into his chest. "Are you calling me lazy? How dare you! You know, I work two jobs to take care of that little girl all by myself since her daddy's a deadbeat, I work myself to the bone making sure she can eat, and you call me lazy for not painting the walls the colors she wants?"

He latches onto the wrong part of the sentence. "Her father's not in the picture?"

You glare at him. "That's what you got from that?"

He seems to be stuck in deep contemplation, taking another step forward so your chests nearly brush and you're forced to stare up at him.

"So, it's not for a lack of love, then?"

"What? Of course not. If I could, I'd give Alice everything she could ever want and more. But that's not how the real world works."

"It's how the labyrinth works."

"Excuse me?"

He gestures broadly to the nursery. "The labyrinth is kind to her inhabitants. She gives them everything they desire, because it's easy for her."

You've never been more confused in your life. "Okay? Good for her, then."

You get the feeling he's reached a conclusion that you can't even see in the distance as he nods to himself, leaning to the side a bit to glance at Alice. You fight down the urge to leap over the crib and cover her body with yours.

"Then you will stay here."

That jerks you back to reality. "Wait- what?"

"You will stay in the labyrinth, where she can provide for... what did you call her? Alice? Yes, Alice. You and Alice will be taken care of here."

"But-" you splutter. "But I found her! You said I had to find her!"

He shoots you a slightly exasperated look. "No, as I said before, you had to find your way out. You didn't. And look at that, time's up." A timer appears in the air in front of him, ticking down to zero. "Now you and little Alice are mine. It's been a little empty around here recently, it won't be the worst thing to have company for a bit."

You feel heat rush to your face. "No! Let us go, you can't keep me here on a technicality!"

He smiles - a real smile, brightening up his eyes - and surprises you by cupping your cheek with one big paw.

"Oh my dear, it's my labyrinth, I can do whatever I want in it. And it's not a technicality, though I could keep you based on several of those too."

You fume as you glare up at him, hands curled into fists. "I'll find my way out. You can't keep us here."

He chuckles, patting your cheek once before stepping away. "Oh, yes, I think you'll be fun to keep around for a while, darling. Try your best to escape, if you'd like. I don't think I'll mind finding you lost a few more times."

[camels-pen]

consider sanuso bodyswap where Sanji is of course "admiring" Usopp's body and Usopp is trying desperately to keep himself from getting worked up so that he doesn't light himself on fire.

Luffy and Chopper are not helping. They are in fact doing the opposite of helping. They've ramped up their pranks and are doing anything possible to get Usopp angry so that he combusts, freaks out, and then dives into the ocean to put himself out. They think it's hilarious.

Nami and Brook are Also not helping, since they're conspiring with Sanji to put on a fashion show with Usopp's body. Sanji called it "not wasting a precious opportunity to get him in something other than overalls". Usopp called it mutiny and he was gonna- dive into the ocean, holy fuck Sanji why is it so easy to catch fire?!

Best part about this is that Sanji assured him, several times, that his body doesn't get hurt by catching fire. Usopp still jumps into the ocean every time.

Robin pipes up at one point, asking if Sanji was immune to just his own flames or all flames. Sanji just kind of shrugs and said it depends. Franky, having just been leisurely watching all of this gets an idea. Would his Franky Fireball hurt Sanji's body or just give him more fire to work with?

He tries to coax Usopp into agreeing to test it out and, somehow, he manages it. Albeit, Usopp is all knocking knees and chattering teeth, a very odd sight from 'Sanji'. As part of the deal though, he can only shoot a fireball the size of his hand.

Usopp meant his small hand. The one Franky used for tinkering and fine detail work. He did not, however, clarify this.

So, when a fireball the size of Franky's big hand comes out, well. Usopp runs for his goddamn life.

It takes him a few moments- and the voices of his friends sounding distant and below him- to realize he hadn't, in fact, run to the men's quarters, but rather into the fucking sky.

And oooooh, boy he is gonna kill Sanji one of these days. Why was his body's first fucking instinct when running to go up, what the actual HELL-

Usopp lit himself on fire again.

He curses out Sanji as his Sky Walk fails in the same moment and he plummets towards the deck.