#ill hate this drawing in like two days but whatevs

[erinwantstowrite]

i swear my art style changes depending on the brush i use anyways here's some timkon because im thinking about them

[fanaticsnail]

Oh snail, i know you already have a long list of WIPs (i can't wait to read them) and your Inbox is probably already full with requests, so i understand if its not in the cards right now.

I was just wondering what the kid-pirates would do, or how they would react if ther precious doc-reader is the one that was injured badly or was very sick. Especialy how Killer would react after that romantic tention between them (i need more of that 😩). I don't have a particular song in mind, because the seires already has a vibe to it, hope thats okay.

I wish you a wonderful day/night/evening! 💕Sooo looking forward to your next work, whatever it may be 🐢

I love you for this prompt, @daydreamer-in-training. Thank you!

Sit your ass down, would ya, Doc?

Hey Doc Masterlist here

Word Count: 2,000+

Synopsis: You've taken care of your crew and nursed them back to health from their flus... but now it's your turn. The Kid-Pirates do their best to take care of the worlds worst patient, their doctor: you.

Themes: platonic!kid-pirates, eustass kid x gn!reader, swearing, illness, comforting, taking medication, kid is a bit of a dom, doc is a bit of a bra, you're the kid-pirate doctor: the crew calls you 'doc'.

Notes: I am currently struggling with the flu myself, and this was simply too cute to not write about. Thank you for your ask, it's been fun to write about!

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @sinning-23 @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @sordidmusings @nerium-lil

“Hey, Doc? Did we need any more petroleum jelly from the-...?” the fire breather called beside you, hating when you turned to face him, “...-Shit, Doc. You look like absolute balls today.” 

Rolling your swollen, glassy and red eyes at him, you draw another tissue from your counter and sneeze into it. The silky tissue felt like sandpaper over your leaky nose, the skin splitting surrounding your nostrils and leaving small stains of red on the pale paper.

“Always so full of compliments and kindness, Heat,” you huff out, your voice sounding hoarse and cracking along with every word. Heat cringed, recoiling away from you with eyes narrowed in sympathy. You attempt to breathe through your blocked nose, no air passing through the dual nostrils.

Treating the crew for the past two weeks, and nursing them to health in recovering from the flu, had finally caught up with you. You felt both cold and hot at the same time, your skin both dry and sticky with sweat. Mind swelling and cracking behind the tense throbbing throughout your brain caused a dull ache ringing in your ears and fogging your mind.

“I-... I’m just saying, Doc,” he reiterated in defense of himself, “You don’t look too good. Maybe you ought to sit out from the in-land trip to restock. Stay home on the Victoria Punk?” Heat suggested with a soft smile and a subtle shrug.

“What?” you grunted out a cough, “And leave you lot to restock my clinic for me? Not fucking like-...” coughing into another tissue, your glassy eyes pricked at the corners and began to spill out and down your cheeks, “...-likely.” 

Heat’s smile fled from his face, his lip downturning in sympathy. He shook his head and extended his hand out to you, gesturing you to follow him out through the door towards the deck. You attempt to sniff back another intake of air to reopen your nose to no avail. Following on, you trudge somberly towards the top deck where the crew were all waiting to step foot onto the pier. 

Without drawing attention to yourself, your eyes squinted lazily to compensate for the pain the sun caused your mind. With each achy step, you attempted to bite back the ache your body was going through. Barely aware of your surroundings, you gesture in the medicinal remedy booths at town square for herbs, ointments and aromatic fragrances. 

As you reached into your pocket to pull out your small folder of Berry, a large right forearm reached over your shoulder and paid the vendor before you could. Rolling your eyes, you turn to look at the scowling grimace of your captain, Eustass Kid, baring his rage down at you. Attempting to roll your eyes at him again, you clenched them tightly shut instead as the world became far too bright to process.

“Captain,” you acknowledge him with a clumsy nod, fighting the urge to not to fall over with the vertigo overcoming you. He growled at you immediately, gesturing to Wire beside him to gather the supplies and walk back to the ship. 

“You’re a real fuckin’ idiot, aren’t ya, Doc?” he spat, scolding you with his heavy growl. You laughed at him, shaking your swirling head and beginning to walk beside him. Your overexertion and sleep deprivation caught up with you as you tripped over an uneven divot in the rocky path.

“I'm not into degradation, Cap,” you respond in a half-joking hum, your eyes feeling heavy and weighted, “Not my kink. Might be yours, though, considering the amount of times I yell at you to hold you accountable.” That comment earnt you another low growl from your captain, his face turning a few shades darker than his hair. 

He turned to face you at his side, his lips curling as if to speak. As he opened his lips, he was lost for words as you fell into him, bracing yourself against him to steady your walk. He caught you in his right arm, bringing his face down towards you and brows knitting with concern. Turning towards Wire, he cocked his chin to the side to usher him on towards the ship. 

With no further warning, Kid dipped at the knees and hoisted you up into his chest beneath your thighs. He curled his bicep and hooked your head beneath his chin and cradled you firmly into him. Under usual circumstances, you would’ve fought this tooth and nail.

You do not enjoy being manhandled by the crew, especially by your captain. While you enjoy the embrace once in a while with your more sensitive crewmates, particularly Bubblegum, the Captain has only ever been this close to you when he’s sparring with you.

“C’mon Doc, I'll get you seen to,” he grunted down at your position curled into his chest, “I’ve-... And the-...” his words trailed off, the fever raising your temperature higher and prompting you to seek out sleep against his pectoral. 

Voices and words fade in and out of your ears, a slow drawl and murmurs of several of your crewmates swelling around your assumed resting spot for the day. The room wasn’t physically moving, even though your vertigo suggested it was. 

“When was the last time Doc’s had a day off?” you recognised the feminine voice of Quincy in the room beside you. Several grunts and incessant babbling reverberated around the room, prompting you to flutter your eyelashes open and push through the pain. 

“Doc!” you cringed as a body almost flew into your bed, sitting on the plush sheets beside you, “You’re awake! I’m so happy to see you’re up!” You wince, slowly waving Bubblegum away, swatting at his zig-zagged head.

“Off, off,” you shooed him, wincing as you shrugged your duvet off your thighs and swung your legs over the side of the bed. As you began to wobble to your feet, the booming voice of your captain called over the chatter of the room,

“Sit your ass down, would ya, Doc?” he growled, striding over in intentional steps and giving you a shove from his right hand in the middle of your chest, “The medics here said you need a week in bed to rest. Sit down.” You growled at him, doing your best to gather the strength to growl at him. 

“If I’ve been prescribed ‘rest’,” you began, gesturing to the crewmates surrounding your current room, “Why the fuck are you all here?” Several sheepish mutters surround the room, a few members pinching the scruffs of their necks, a few more wringing their hands in front of their waists. 

Your captain clapped his hand on your shoulder, pushing you to lay back down and wrangling you into your bedsheets. Refusing to go down without a fight this time, you wriggled in his grip and fought both the fever and the strong arm of your captain. 

“For fucks sake, Doc!” Kid yelled at you, pushing and shoving you down into the very comfortable and unfamiliar bed in front of the crew. “Just lay down and rest, damn it! Go back to sleep.” You wriggled harder. 

“No!” you yelled defiantly, kicking off the duvet and fighting each and every time your captain attempted to shove you into your bed. Kid looked around to the crew, angled his chin sharply to wordlessly order them to leave the room. As they left, Kid turned back towards you and crawled up onto the bed. 

“You are more of a pain in the ass than that fucking bullet to the buttcheek,” he growled, climbing over you and baring down his weight onto your smaller frame. Straddling your thighs, he placed his knees on your open palms and successfully pinned you beneath him. He pressed his forearm over your chest and gave you a firm shove to force you to lay down. You had no choice but to thump your head back into the plush pillow behind your head. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you clench your jaw and growl behind your lips. The rumble in your throat hurt the raw swell in your jugular, but you pushed past it to air your frustrations at him regardless. The chuckle from your captain above you only served to propel your anger to rise higher. 

“Yeah, yeah. Growl and groan all you want,” he scoffed at you, pinning your chest with his bicep while reaching his hand between you and gathering the blankets in his fist. Slowly raising it up, he continued his place straddling your thighs until he thought you would no longer fight him. 

“Why are you doing this, Captain?” you snarl at him, finally opening your eyes to gaze up into his eyes. He smirked at you in response, pressing his palm to your forehead and clicking his tongue at the temperature. 

“Because,” he leaned over to the bedside, taking two small spherical tablets into his hand, “We love you, Doc.” He leaned back over you, gesturing with his chin for you to part your lips. You take a moment to snarl at him before complying, parting your lips and allowing him to place the bitter tablets on your tongue. 

He leaned back over to the bedside, finding a glass of water and bringing it down to your lips. Tilting the glass slowly as it brushed with your bottom lip, he carefully fed you a sip of water to take the pills with. Placing the glass back over on the table, he drew his attention to the small amount of water seeping from the corner of your lip.

“Now, be a good Doctor and get loved on, idiot,” he softly huffed, his voice low and husky as he leaned forward. He used the pad of his thumb to gently collect the spill of water from the corner of your lips. Your eyes never ceased its glare up at him. He grinned tauntingly down at you, arching his brow and ensuring you swallowed the tablets. 

“Get off, Captain,” you growled at him, bucking your hips up in an attempt to remove him from your body. He cackled his rumbled laugh down at you in response, shaking his head. 

“You gonna get up again if I do?” he asked, leaning down and caressing your cheek in a gentle stroke. His eyes held nothing but mischievous mockery, but his hand felt like it was gently coaxing you to comply with what he asked. 

“No, I’ll behave,” you snarled at him. His laugh was genuine this time, low and gentle. Slowly backing off you, he slid off your body before adjusting the sheets and smoothing them over. 

“Good,” he nodded, beginning to leave the room by the door off to the side of the room. Halting at the door, he fought with himself for a moment before looking at you over his shoulder and uttering, “I’ll-… I’ll get Kil to check on you in a few hours. Get some rest, okay?”

What he said next was something you weren’t expecting to come from his lips. In all the time you served with him, he only ever called you ‘Doc’, or ‘Doctor.’ You were your title, and you appreciated that about the crew. You were Doc, only ever Doc. But what he said changed all that.

After he uttered the word “okay,” it was immediately followed by your name. Waiting a few moments, you responded in a cadence just above a whisper. 

“I’ll be right where you left me, Kid,” you replied with a soft smile back at him. He closed his eyes, offering you a reflection of your smile in return before it grew back into its usual mischievous face. 

“Good,” he again offered you, scrunching his nose up at you and looking up through his red eyelashes at you, “Otherwise I would’ve gotten your doting daddy to come coddle his whiny baby.” Your eyes went wide, your jaw clenching and your eyebrows shot up to your hairline. 

Eustass Kid just laughed in response, exiting the room and giving you both the time and space you needed to recover. Your recovery was not only the flu, but of the second hand embarrassment that Killer must’ve relayed to Kid what he’d said to you in the consultation room. Either that, or you left the shell of your Den-Den accidentally activated from when you spoke with your captain earlier in the day.

Either way, you pouted as you did as you were told and huffed back into your bed and went to sleep: the paracetamol activating and stilling your swelling head and masking the undertones of pain in your body.

[morphean42]

Falsettos unpopular opinions because two people asked for this and honestly I don’t give a fuck anymore. I want to state this isn’t in response to anyone in particular, though, and if you get offended by any of these think about why. For a good reason? Please tell me and I’d love to debate it, truly. For a petty reason? You’re simply part of the problem.

1. They are Jewish. End of story. If I see anything related to Christianity or Christmas or whatever the fuck with them… shut up. Yes Whizzer is half-Jewish, yes in the revival Cordelia isn’t Jewish (WHICH BRINGS ME TO ANOTHER POINT ILL GET INTO LATER), yes they are most likely secular as evidenced by Mendel’s “religions just a trap” and ‘Days Like This’, no this does not give you the right to ignore their ETHNICITY AND CULTURE.

2. It’s okay to like the revival more. It’s not okay to ignore the original just because you get blinded by conventionally attractive men. Going to my Cordelia point, she’s Jewish in the original, her line ‘Shiksa caterer’ is ‘Kosher caterer’. Again it’s fine if your headcanons and fanfics and fanarts are based on the revival, I love it too, but stop acting like it’s the only version.

3. Whizzer’s entire personality does not revolve around being gay. He’s not a sassy twink. He’s a full grown man with issues that need to be addressed. Again, I reiterate, he is not a twink. Stop. Drawing. Him. Skinny. And. Hairless. I don’t care if ‘ oh but but that’s just my art style!’ Shut up.

4. Correlated to the above point, here are things Whizzer is not: a prostitute, a drug addict, relying on Marvin for everything, a twink (saying that again to get it through peoples fucking skulls), innocent. I’m 100% positive if the people who had these headcanons watched the OBC version of the show they’d never continue to advocate for them… once more I’m begging you guys to look past Andy Randy’s beautiful face and actually use critical thinking skills when it comes to Whizzer.

5. Short but (not) sweet: don’t claim to understand Marvin if you haven’t watched In Trousers. Just don’t.

6. If you flat out hate any character in the show, you’re wrong. Yes I’m still mad about the Mendel thing; if you think any one character is worse than the rest and isn’t just a fully human person with flaws and nuance, you don’t understand the musical as well as you claim.

7. It’s not the ‘gay’ musical. If you like falsettos for Whizzvin and nothing else, please, just… I don’t even know. There’s so much more to it than ‘ooo boys kissing.’ Please grow up, this leads into a whole other point but fetishisation is never okay, no matter who does it.

8. So many people treat Trina as either a perfect angel or just the side character in the way of the gay people. She’s an entire person, an entire character with flaws and hardship and terrible actions done by her and to her. Treat my homophobic queen with the respect she deserves, and acknowledge her faults too. It’s more misogynistic to treat her as perfect when she has issues too than just saying ‘she’s never done anything wrong’.

9. Stop making AIDS jokes.

10. This next one is probably the most iffy on the list. I will never be one to police fandom and creation, you can engage with material in any fucking way you like it literally doesn’t matter to me… but I dislike AUs. Now, I’ll always enjoy a little fun, adding in a twist like lesbian Whizzvin, or enjoying a feel good college AU. But. Especially for Falsettos the canon events are so fucking important and cannot be disregarded as casually as some do. AIDS is an extremely important part of the story, as well as the fact that both Marvin and Whizzer are men. I’m trans myself, but I dislike making them so simply because everything about their characters, all the characters, are so highly specific and important to take these aspects away is to disrespect the message of the musical.

11. It’s very important Mendel is straight. I see some people headcanon him as bisexual or trans or so on, and this just feels so wrong to me. Trina and Mendel are straight and that’s why their acceptance and love for the others in the Tight Knit Family is so important, especially Trina struggles with moving away from the idea that these ‘homosexual tendencies’ are wrong. They are straight but they love Whizzvin and the lesbians just as much as anyone else.

12. This one is so petty and I accept that, but… HIS NAME IS NOT MARVIN GARDENS. GARDEN IS A JOKE CHRISTIAN BORLE MADE BASED ON MONOPOLY. Jesus guys please just stop it it’s so stupid, William Finn didn’t have a last name for Marvin on purpose, and though I can’t do more than theorise what that purpose was, Gardens is so stupid. It’s not even funny. Same goes for Cohen, which just is odd. The only name I could begin to accept is Falsetto, and even then… just work around the last name in your fics.

12 1/2. SIDE TANGENT Jason would never take Weisenbachfeld as his last name. As a child of divorce… no. He’ll never view Mendel as a true father over his own dad, especially after Falsettoland, and he wouldn’t take that name. Hell, I’d known my ex step-father since I was two and I’d never have taken his last name. So, please, I never want to see Jason Weisenbachfeld again. That’s just not how it works.

At the end of the day this is just me alone in my room bitching… I just hope these points resonate with others.

[bbhyeoliskooks]

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 | hnk

kai thinks you deserve better... maybe someone like him.

✥ genre: bestfriend!Kai x gn reader, soft fluff and a pinch of angst, 800+ words

✥ warnings: mentions of infidelity

✥ song rec: Boyfriend -- Big Time Rush

Wrapped up in Kai's silky blue bedsheets, you were mourning the loss of your last relationship which just so happened to end the same day. Immediately after being broken up with, you asked Kai if you could stay over to be distracted; there was no way you would stay in your room, haunted by the many gifts and memories that were made. Although it was on such short notice, the boy agreed nonetheless, hoping that his presence could somehow make things better. He picked up some chicken noodle soup, a comfort meal that may not be the cure to heartbreak but could ease your heart and health a little bit.

Shivering, you cuddled up next to Kai and his many plushies. You relished in his natural warmth as though he was a teddy bear. Silently he let you lay against his arm, immediately drawing circles on the top of your head. You hummed, his presence easing the blow of the breakup from earlier. The only thing that could be heard was your breaths over the shuffling of the bedsheets, but Kai didn't mind. He liked when you cuddled, something that had come to a standstill since you started dating your horrible ex of a significant other.

Yes, Kai wasn't afraid to say it, always speaking his mind whenever your old significant other came up. From the moment you two met, he disapproved, buying into your ex's reputation more than getting to know the person themselves. Plus, he didn't appreciate that you couldn't be as close to him since it'd look weird to the outside world and your ex. Time didn't soften Kai's opposition from your significant other and he always hated them for who they seemed to be. So when you came to him, crying that your ex hadn't been faithful for a long while, he wasn't exactly surprised. But did he say that?

He was unable to criticize your choices in people as you curled closer to his chest, enjoying his comfort. He smiled quietly while you sighed, intentionally ignoring the soup that was specifically bought for you. He may have forgotten to get some food in your system but only because you were physically close to him again like one of his plushies. He also didn't care that you could possibly get sick, willing to become ill as well as long as it meant you felt better from a horrible predicament. It seemed as though you belonged right there in his lap, perfectly molded for your resting and whenever you needed him. If anything, Kai was made for you; how could you not realize that?

Your eyelashes fluttered as you looked up at him, a frown on your face. Probably delirious from the heartbreak and the new cold you were getting (your ex thought it was a good idea to break up with you as soon as possible, even if that meant in the rain), you tugged on the ends of Kai's soft blue hoodie. He looked at you very confused but attentive to whatever you needed. If you wanted him to spin 10 times even if he became dizzy, he would do it. If you wanted him to grab your favorite drink even though it was 30 minutes, he would do it. He waited for whatever you were going to say, gazing at you expectantly.

Your voice faltered as you asked softly, "am I unloveable?"

Kai, now frowning, shook his head. Rage boiled in his blood, flowing through his fingers as he stopped combing your hair. Did your ex make you feel like that? His throat felt parched, too angry that you out of anyone else would be feeling like that. No one should be feeling that, much less you, his best friend that he had come to admire so much.

"Of course not. You deserve so much better, Y/N."

Although you knew that Kai was just trying to cheer you up as your best friend, you couldn't help but feel that it was a lie. Your self-love and confidence was at an all-time low, plummeting to where you assumed it would never recover. You weren't going to pester your best friend for more reassurance though, knowing that he would probably find it annoying- your insecurity and issues that came from a relationship he never approved.

Kai, studying your crestfallen expression, wanted to do whatever to make you feel better. He thought that his words were good at the moment but of course, they were only bandages that covered deep wounds. He looked away, too embarrassed to look you in the eye. His thoughts were rather scandalous, not something that a best friend should think. All the while, he cupped your cheek gently, making you look at him.

You watched him, face heating up as he spoke quietly.

"You deserve better," he paused before rubbing his thumb delicately on your cheek, "maybe... maybe someone like me."

Released: July 6, 2024 (4:28pm CT)

Thoughts: bro I literally need hyuka to comfort me about my cheating ex 😒 I want to be wrapped up in his sheets with him holding me while his plushies watch 😭😭😭 delulu hours open it seems… ALSO LOOK AT HOW FINE HE IS IN THE PICTURES LIKE WTH HYUKA 😞

Tags:

[cloudstongue]

um, a thing (art?)

sooo i decided to TRY and participate in objectober 2024, because these are. good motivators and stuff i guess and good ideas so i dont have to keep cramming ideas in,, thiugh. i do have a lot my heads gonna explode probably…its long so, cut! (also sorry if i seem gloomy or out of it rn im just not in the best of moods)

@apandainoveralls made these prompts, and if im not mistaken wanted to be tagged so—hello!! ^_^

i missed two whole days already, so i might as well post right now. i think. it hink its okay,, a new prompt everyday is tiring!! so. without a further ado

DAY 1: OBJECTSONA grenade counts, right? i think people would just do whatever oc. anyway, angel grenade!!! i love grenade with religious imagery/themes/whatever!! (again, despite my very love/hate relationship with religion,, eapecially catholicism.) did you know that yesterday, when i drew this, waa guardian angel day?? I DIDNT KNOW THAT?? pretty ironic if you ask me!! can you guys imagine grenade as a guardian angel? whom would they guard? okay ill stop rambling now ALSO NO LINEART!!! all my homies HATE LINEART!!! (really only rei and milly but…)

DAY 2: FAVORITE SHIP okay, i dont really have a favorite ship, but i love these two dearly. theyre shoer underrated. the coloring made it feel like i used crayons,, which. i like drawing with crayons btw bcuz im a loser. mop really loves his boyfriend…hes a bit obvious about it i liked the circle btw. it was a good cricle i wanted to keep it ☹️

DAY 3: RECOLOR i didnt know what to do…this counts, right? i mean, each of rubys sisters is a recolor. sorry if this is wonky, i cant draw limbs if my life depended on it!!

okay das it!! :3

yay!! ^_^

[amourlyns]

❛ HEY VENGEANCE. ❜ ➜ ⁽ masterlist ⁾

✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕: in which the reader meets bruce wayne at a gala, the riddler is rampant in the city. and this gala is his next target. part one of two.

✧ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: mentions of alcohol consumption, and drugs. bruce is vv emotionally repressed, he’s got problems ok?

✧ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: 🦦 this is pattison’s batman influenced by matt reeves (the batman.) no use of y/n, pov switches to bruce twice in this fic. listen to 〞thank god for the rain 〞 by bernard herrman for ambiance.

⟡ ⠀ | Gotham is well (…) an odd city. An odd city with slick—tongued alley cats who roam and lurk at each corner, merging with the shadow and watching passerby dance and speak in hypnotic tongues.

You liked to call it the Gotham effect, it comes with the city of sin and crime. It’s odd, like you stated before. There’s the occasional glitz and glamor of wealthy Gothamites, galas laced with cocaine pearls and wine filled bottles (…)

Accompanied by champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvre’s to indulge in for the night.

And within this false sense of normalcy and entitlement, there’s the night. The Gotham better known for its crime and vigilantes. You see, everyone in Gotham is acting. The key to understanding it all in Gotham is the rhythm.

The people are the rhythm, the day is the rhythm. The night is the rhythm. And within this element of rhythmic chaos, there’s always something lurking. Watching the city underneath light polluted skies and charcoal clouds. When the smog seems to clog up your lungs and choke your breathing, there’s always something else to worry about.

The Batman, of course.

If anything, he highlights what Gotham is at the core. A broken city, deeply scarred and angry. Scratching at its surface to be heard. To be healed. Has Gotham always been seeking justice and light? Or is it seeking something much more carnal and sinister (…) Vengeance? A certain greed?

Whatever it was, it spoke to Gothamites. Hate the Bat, or love the Bat. He spoke for the city of Gotham, and he would always be there at every corner, watching.

Gotham is sick and venal.

You hope for the day of a real rain to come and wash off the scum from the streets. For now, it’s the Bat who takes care of the illness. Could 〞 it 〞 save Gotham?

Maybe.

It’s silly thought anyways, Gotham has been plagued with crime for decades. Some masked vigilante wouldn’t be able to stop that regardless. The thought is flimsy and useless. Something made out of hope and optimism, the kind of thing you consume in dreams. Not only that, but the Batman is more of a fable, a myth.

Besides, there was no use in consuming yourself with thoughts of Gotham and its nightly specter. For now, you’re here, at another Gala— with the same diluted faces and the same twisted smiles. Then night moves on in an odd distorted way, a blur even.

The man who snaps you out of this daze is Bruce Wayne. Gotham’s Prince, the man of the hour. You could only wonder what caused this recluse to emerge out of the manor he calls home. Unlike other notable people in Gotham, Bruce Wayne chooses to live a quiet life shrouded in mystery.

When he does remove himself from the confines of the manor, and the tabloids simply go into a frenzy. Like sharks during a feeding. It feels like everyone in Gotham wanted a piece of Bruce Wayne. Craving a flesh they surely don’t deserve.

Something tells you to draw closer to the oddity, like this would be the only time you’d be able to lay your eyes on Bruce Wayne in the flesh. So, you might as well take the opportunity to really take him all in.

Wayne eventually loses the limelight. The audience dies and you decide to pass through the sea of bodies that separate you two. He notices this of course, ever so vigilant. Some part of you expects him to flee and avoid the confrontation all together. Wary hues remain fixated on your figure slipping through the crowd.

Surely he isn't waiting (…) Right ?

Apparently he wasn’t, not like you knew of course. Bruce Wayne was a hard man to decipher after all, you couldn't tell if something compelled him to stay or if that kept him still.

For the first time tonight, you're accompanied by someone else. It'd off to say the least, Bruce is certainly a presence to behold, sure. But he wouldn't even spare a glance at you, you gaze eventually follows his line of sight.

Now? Now, all eyes are set on beacon in the sky now. The symbol of the night.

Batman is called by the city tonight, needed in the shadows once more. You could only wonder what for. You’re not one for new and tabloids but, there has been some discussion about the 〞 Riddler. 〞

Gotham’s newest deranged lunatic villain.

The man was terrifying, you’ve seen the footage. You've seen the terror and heard the screams. So how was the Batman going to save the city now? The thought of Gotham coming to its own demise (…) it was bound to, the city hasn’t had hope in a long time. You knew that very well.

Now what was he thinking? Did the Wayne believe in the Bat? In Vengeance, and his own crusade. Before you can even ask the question, he’s turning away. Maybe he’s had enough of your company for tonight.

❛ MISTER WAYNE, WAIT. Before you go, I’m just (…) curious about this one thing━━ IT’S THIS (…) BAT. VENGEANCE, do you really think he can protect the city ? Save Gotham ? His motives just seem so unclear. He’s menacing, almost reminds me of the Riddler. It’s all about vengeance, no ? Whether it’s about the city or people who’ve wronged you. ❜

Bruce does not turn back around to face you, instead he turns his head. Adjusting his gaze to you and the symbol in the night, it shifts. Once, twice than thrice. His face is unreadable. Typical.

He wants to speak, you know that much. Yet he doesn’t, for whatever reason. Bruce chooses to stare right through you.

You let him.

He doesn’t owe you a response, you know that much. Before you know it, he’s gone.

𝙱𝚁𝚄𝙲𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚈𝙽𝙴’𝚂 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙶𝙰𝙻𝙰. A FEW HOURS BEFORE YOUR ENCOUNTER (…)

⟡ ⠀ | THE CITY IS QUIET TONIGHT. Unlike any another night, the city streets are deserted, emptied if you will. It’s all because of the recent attacks by the Riddler. There’s a few stranglers of course, sticking near the shaded roads and corners.

There’s a gala tonight, Alfred informed me on that. He wanted to me to attend because I needed to 〞 maintain 〞 my appearances for the sake of my family’s reputation and legacy. I only agreed because it would be the perfect opportunity to watch the city through civilian eyes. And give me an advantage.

The suit is less than ideal. Tight, stuffy and constricting.

Alfred is in the middle of fixing my tie when he tells me I look like my father.

I do not reply to that.

I stare into the mirror. Taking the time to analyze my polished appearance, Alfred fixes my tie and hands me my father’s cuff links once more. Now he’s watching me closely, too closely. Like I’ll break and shatter because he mentioned my father.

My face must’ve given my thoughts away, Alfred is quick to place his hand on my shoulder. Giving it a squeeze. My eyes dart between his hand and his face.

There’s that (…) sympathy again, or was it regret? Sometimes the two emotions blur and mix, all into one.

I should be kinder to Alfred.

If I could vocalize it, I would. But it comes out all raw, sore and achy. Like I’m forcing the kindness out of me. If only I could— could verbalize this gratitude. I would—

My chest throbs at the guilt. I grimace. Alfred seems to get it somehow, he can see the apology in my eyes. He lets me go for the time being, I insist to drive myself. He obliges.

The arrival is dreadful. The lights are too bright and there’s too many eyes on me. Voices ring out, calling out my name— Gothams Prince, Wayne, Mister Wayne, Bruce Wayne. They chant to me. The media swarms me like flies, and questions flood after.

I hardly keep my head above the water, I’m practically drowning. The only thing that keeps me going is that light in the sky.

The signal.

The media disperses, shifting towards the beacon of light that brands the sky tonight. From my peripheral view, I see something moving closer to me. Slipping through the sea of people. Their destination is to me. My gaze remains fixated on the bat-signal.

I have to go.

The figure besides me shifts, eyeing me down every now and then. I decide to take my leave.

❛ ❛ MISTER WAYNE, WAIT. Before you go, I’m just (…) curious about this one thing━━ IT’S THIS (…) BAT. VENGEANCE, do you really think he can protect the city ? Save Gotham ? His motives just seem so unclear. He’s menacing, almost reminds me of the Riddler. It’s all about vengeance, no ? Whether it’s about the city or people who’ve wronged you. ❜ ❜

Their words capture me for a few moments. I still. Letting the words settle into my mind. I can’t find it in me to look at them.

WHEN I LEAVE, it seems like the city mocks me. It feels like the rain corrodes my kevlar. The frigid rain seems to sink through bone marrow and nip away at skin. There’s a ferocious wind in Gotham tonight, the rain drenches everything in a torrential downpour.

Storm drains are filled and plugged, creating miniature oceans in the road.

When I arrive, the commissioner informs me on the recent developments of the Riddler. He has plans for tonight, and another letter written for me.

An explosion goes off that night.

[rinstrumental]

ellie gf headcanons

# modern au. im in luv with her. this is so long oh my god its an illness

did karate from 1st grade all the way up to high school and basically considers herself your bodyguard

immediately offers you her hoodie without a second thought when you show the slightest signs of being cold. she lets you keep it too, of course. what kind of girlfriend would she be if she didn’t ???!!!!

she needs either your hands on her or her hands on you at all times. sosososo touchy and BIG on pda her kisses are inescapable. constantly has an arm around you or resting on your waist… the whole world needs to know. she’s actually insufferable i’m sorry but in the most endearing way ever how can you resist

“would you still love me if i was a ____???” she wants a serious answer too

genuinely thinks ur the prettiest person alive. which is kind of the bare minimum but she worships you truly

happy with any sort of date as long as it’s with you. fancy dinner? this is the only reason she keeps a suit and tie. staying in? what movie do you want, babe? running errands? she’s already waiting for you in the car!!!

speaking of cars she drives an old station wagon which used to be joel’s. ellie used to moan about how lame it was until you said that the back was perfect for sitting together during camping or stargazing…. and other activities too ;) wink wonk

gets flustered when she makes you flustered because you’re telling her that SHE did that?? she made u nervous??? shit man now shes blushing too

her love language is gifts she loves to spoil you with your favourite snacks and soft toys and even homemade gifts. she just wants you to see her in your room and have her on your mind as much as you’re in hers!!

it’s no secret that she’s an artist and it’s also no secret that her favourite subject to draw is youuu!!! her favourite thing to do is just have you sit across from her and draw what she sees

of course naturally that means she takes tons of pictures of you… to study for her drawings… and keep in her special photo album of you… and to look at when she misses you. Ofc

makes fun of you/teases you sometimes. she can be a mean bitch to other people but she would never actually hurt your feelings and you know that

ellie hates goodbyes. even if it’s after spending a full day together and you’re going to see her soon anyways… i just know she’s the kind of person who feels empty after hanging out with someone.

calls and texts about everything… and it’s always so cute :( she definitely has autocaps on

ellie: I drew you again!!

ellie: Hey babe I saw this funny bird it reminded me of u

ellie: I miss you so much. When can I see you again?

ellie: These cats r like us lol

keeps a pet gecko or something like that for sure. it’s you guys’ baby

her top two movie genres are horror and romance after that. the only reason romance is that high up is because it reminds her of you

does stupid romcom shit like hold a boombox outside your window. makes you mixtapes even though CDs are basically extinct (joel has a player thank god). corny pickup lines. asks you to be her valentine publicly. runs to your house in the rain. dances with you in said rain.

when she gets sick it’s like the end of the world omg… she needs u to be at her side 24/7 and hold her and keep her company and give her get well soon kisses, it’s essential to her recovery. doctors orders. he said it not her!

gets along so well with your friends and family. she does her research and takes this shit seriously! whatever it takes to make you happy because what’s better than watching your girlfriend get along with the people you love

she also takes her own family seriously - family time is important to her and she spends a lot of time with joel. it’s even better when you can join, some of her best memories are with the two of you

“i’m happy as long as you’re happy”

pet names galore. her personal favourite is just babe (classic) but when she likes others too (sweetheart, honey, darling etc she’s so cheesy it’s awful)

in conclusion she’s just a clingy sappy lesbian who’s absolutely head over heels for you. and you wouldn’t have it any other way <33

bonus: (these tweets that are so ellie)

[bulbabutt]

Thank you for being a bastion of sanity amidst the growing "but proshippers! But incest! But RPF!" purity culture's nonsense.

I'm so tired of being afraid to admit that I've even read a fanfic/fancomic because that same person might have a DIFFERENT ACCOUNT where they indulge in a problematic ship. And therefore they are "bad" and by association, I could be labeled "bad" for having looked at something completely unrelated and tossed on a block list.

It's asinine. Yet I'm too afraid to even get off anon because I know I don't have the mental fortitude to survive a potential online witch hunt.

So thank you, I wish you all the strength to keep screaming the words I cannot.

honestly youre not the first person to send me an anon about this, i just tend to feel just as afraid of responding to them as much as you are afraid of coming off anon. i think because while ill post things in vague context, it becomes another thing when someone says it out loud, yknow? but i appreciate it, knowing im not just screaming into a void where no one likes what i have to say.

i think what i will say is im not the only one who THINKS like i do, but i am just dumb enough to be loud and annoying about it. its kind of a thing where i'd never say anything specific because like... some people are so vicious and will demand blood if they get a whiff if i mention anything vaguely. the fact i have to be afraid to say 'people dont mind' for their own safety is crazy, huh?

i think that thing youre saying about being worried by association from association was the same first time i had this thought. i was reading something so good so deep something that effected me so deeply from how well it was talking about the realistic effects of incestuous abuse, and then i went to see what else the author had written and i was like. oh. theres just regular incest in here too. and that was kind of a moment of hm.. perhaps i need to think more about what really matters here. the fact i can engage with what i want and just say 'oh i see what else you do, thats not for me so i will just not engage with that'

so it hurts worse when theres the idea of someone engaging with art they like that has nothing 'weird' going on, then suddenly getting hit with screaming that that artist has a side account theyre not advertising where they make weird art that they are keeping FULLY separate from the account in question. like i do not see how that helps anybody in that situation.

then theres the generalization of it. the idea that maybe all you did was draw like. 19 yr old versions of two 15 yr olds kissing, and suddenly that gets you put on a list of people who will draw literal children in sexual situations, gets you put in that same boat without question. that shit is so cruel to me, that these things all get painted with the same brush. equally as bad, equally as deserving of being ostracized. or the idea that you get put on that list for not caring about if strangers ship things on the internet, makes you just as bad as someone who makes it. i really just hate this entire culture.

idk im... old school i guess? back in my day youd watch a shitty cartoon that had over 20 characters in it so you could smash them together in whatever ship suited you. crack ships were the bread and butter of me and my friends, shit that made no sense but in your own head. the idea of being anti... shipping at all is so... thats very weird. shipping as a thing is very much what fandom was ever made for in the first place? like. im not kidding, learn your history if you dont know that (middle age women shipping kirk and spock)

back when i was a kid i watched this tv show called kim possible, and i was a kid who didnt know shit about themselves seeing a pretty villain lady for the first time who called the main character who was a girl princess. i didnt know what to make of that, i didnt know the age difference between them i was a dumbass child, they were both drawn the same way! then im like 12 years old on the internet, i see theres a ship of the teenage girl and this like 30 yr old villain woman. do you think my 12 year old self saw the problematic nature and thought deeply about the morals of said ship? no. i was like 'holy shit i wish i was the teenage girl dating shego. why do i like this? oh god im a lesbian'

again. i was a child. what are you gonna do, go back in time and arrest my 12 year old ass for looking at pg rated fanart of women kissing on the internet? we didnt HAVE real representation yet! there was no korrasami, no rupphire, no bubbline, no lumity! shipping was the only place you could see stuff that was gay! and it being GAY would get you in more trouble than it having an age gap!

the fact is people WOULD cancel me now for that, wouldnt you?! thats where we're at. that IS a problematic ship, id be put on a blocklist in todays internet for being a child who crushed on villains. i didnt make it, i didnt create for it, i just looked at it and that would get you in trouble now!!! thats crazy.

i know thats a random tangent to go off on, but like..... hhhhh i dont know man. sometimes it seems like people want the internet to pass by broadcasting standards and practices and thats!!! bad!!! let people experiment with their weird shit as they figure themselves out, its so fucking normal. youre not a bad person for looking at things on the internet, youre not a bad person for engaging with things, youre not a bad person for being horny online! especially if you make your own fucking space for it?? a space easily blacklistable, with trigger warnings and EVERYTHING... we didnt have those when i was a kid, so some things are better, but culture is just worse.

i dunno. i just think i would not have thrived in this environment as a teenager. im glad im old and know better, but i worry about the lessons kids are learning from this. to feel ashamed, to bottle shit up, its not good for you. be kind to yourself, be kind to others. we're all working through shit in our own ways.

sorry for another long annoying post

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Self-Indulgent HCs

pairing(s): Frank Castle x fem!Reader, Matt Murdock x fem!Reader, Michael Kinsella x fem!Reader

summary: How each of the boys would care for you when you were sick, headcanons bc i am tired

warnings: non-graphic, general descriptions of sickness (just cold/fever, not covid)

a/n: this month was already rough on my allergies but i came down with quite possibly the worst cold I’ve ever had. (It’s literally so bad i had to use PTO instead of WFH days? I am literally dying.) I wrote this when I was feverish and couldn’t sleep to make myself feel better. I hope someone out there likes it 😭

Frank

I think Frank would worry a lot when his partner was sick.

He’s lost so many people and he doesn’t have a huge circle so i think it takes him by surprise a little.

But he’d do his best to hide his worries by going about his day and comforting you.

He’d get fresh produce from the store and make you delicious soup, pick up tissues and medicine for you, threaten anyone who tried to make you go into work

“Your boss still pullin’ that shit? Gimme the phone, let me talk to ‘em”

He loves being your big spoon anyways but he would not let you go if you looked or sounded ill. You’d be nestled carefully against his chest while he stroked your back until you fell asleep.

He’d keep you entertained by reading to you or watching whatever TV your fever-ridden mind is craving.

Above all, he wouldn’t leave your side until you were feeling better.

The smile on his face the next time you take him out would be brilliant. He’s just so happy that you’re here with him and feeling better.

Matt

Personally, i hate the idea of getting people sick more than actually being sick sometimes but i think this would especially be the case with Matt

His senses are so delicate, I wouldn’t want to fuck with him by being gross and loud or by getting him sick.

But there is no way this man isn’t the biggest self-sacrificing-mother-hen when someone he loves is sick.

He’d sense your illness before you would, and encourage you to take it easy and sleep a bit extra that week (above all, he’s a hypocrite.)

Of course, he’s a bit embarrassed of everything he can do, or maybe you don’t know the extent of what he is capable of, so he plays it off as “you’ve been working so hard lately, sweetheart, you need to take it easy.”

A day or two before the bug hits you like a truck, he’d come over with a bag from the pharmacy that’s just chock-full of DayQuil and Tea and cough drops and like a single bandaid

He poorly plays it off as “uh, your first aid kit was low, remember?”

Once you’re well and truly sick, he’d be stubborn as a mule if you tried to keep him away. You lock him out of your apartment? You wake up from a nap wrapped in a Devil-shaped blanket to find that someone picked your window lock.

At that point, you just cave and let him stay because you are so cold and he’s so so warm.

Mikey

Not afraid of using his puppy dog eyes to get you to stay home or in bed.

Also not afraid of crying wolf and pretending that he’s not feeling well to make you take a break

���Sorry, pet, my head is hammerin’. Think we could lay down fer a bit?”

Combined WITH the puppy eyes? You don’t stand a chance.

Though you usually take care of the housework while he’s dealing with his family’s business, he wouldn’t let you lift a finger until your temperature was normal and your voice came back.

It’s as if you’re the only person that exists to him, he’s running around trying to anticipate your every need.

It’s been a while since he’s dealt with the real world so he might ask Birdy for advice on how to care for a sick person.

Lots of home remedies (idk just vibes.)

He would have you lean against him in a scalding shower to clear your sinuses or draw you a nice bath.

Keep cool water and a cloth by the bed to bring your fever down.

Hand you cup after cup of tea until you have to threaten to tie him to the bed.

“Just lay with me, please”

“Of course, pet. Anything fer ya.”

[mellohd]

Viktor Wip :p

like a few days ago i was like himm what if i took my chibi daniel model i made a few motnsh ago(idk if i posted on tumblr) and just fixed the topology a bit and make it viktor, EASY ill knock it out in a couple of hours a day AT MOST. well like always i underestimate how long a project will actually take and my need to make everything look perfect and had forgotten that the cutesy daniel model was a RUSH JOB NOT TO MENTION!! IM TERRIBLE AT TOPOLOGY!!! so this bitch is all arround A MESS. I had to fix up the daniel version, simplify it to make a base(cuz i want to make jayce as well) fix whatever the hell i had going on THEN start giving it viktors features fix all my weird material shit figure out mixers UGH i LOVE drawing hair but i hate modeling it. so far id say its taken me about 3/4 ish hours on the hair alone because one i didn't really have a plan and two this is only my third time modeling hair so i have not a clue of what im doing ToT Heres some progress/bonus pics of the model so far:

[nicothedingus]

whatever... GO, MY RADAR HEADCANONS🦅🦅🦅

part one of many probably. there's stuff for the giant enderman and sonar here too lmao

• either has a single mom or two moms. idk he has that aura to me. i think he's a total mama's boy and visits them often regardless. one day he shows up to their place on the shoulder of that huge enderman like "hiii! i made a new friend!" and they're just staring up at him utterly confused and partially horrified

• speaking of. he befriended that giant enderman with a cookie he may or may not have found in the sunshine institute, they're besties now :) in my mind it lives outside of beacontown now and helps with moving buildings and such. i like to think that radar named it and everything

• autism central 🔥 he's just like me fr

• he's bi, i think... that part of episode 2 where he was in the ice prison was kinda fruity and i'm tired of pretending it wasn't!!! (just to clarify this isn't shipping related, just a general observation on my end LOL)

• i know his tattoo is canonically the ender dragon and everything but i can picture him having one of the wither storm as well. maybe on the opposite arm after season 2. i just know he'll be YAPPING to his tattoo artist while getting it (affectionate)

• after the events of season 2 i imagine he learned how to use bows better, just for self defense. lukas probably taught him :) he probably kept that shield as well

• idk if any of you know about sonar or care about her, but after the events of episode 3 and the season in general, i think she'd be besties with radar... they occasionally meet up in beacontown to talk about their interests <3 we love autistic besties on this blog!!! i have a silly comic for them planned but idk if ill ever get around to drawing it...

• HATES phantoms. he stays up too late doing paperwork, he steps outside and he immediately gets mauled by a flock of them. if no phantom haters exist in the minecraft story mode universe then radar is DEAD!!!

• the gang (jesse and co.) grab him by his hoodie whenever he falls off of a ledge or whenever he's about to run into danger. kind of a silly parallel to that one headcanon where lukas grabs jesse's suspenders in the same scenarios lmao

• while making my radar avatar on roblox i saw someone give him like. a pencil behind his ear. but it we're being minecraft accurate here, what if he just sat at his desk with a quill behind his ear instead. goofy little guy

• adopts a pet rabbit after season 2

• i think he'd go CRAZY for lobster. "but lobsters don't exist in minecraft!" WRONG! alex's mobs. woe, modded content be upon ye... sonar fuckin hates it tho LMAO

• gravel fell on him during a building project once and he got reminded of the iron breathtaker incident. it really messed with him but he kept working afterwards because he didn't want to disappoint anyone

[duncebento]

my academic taylor swift hate and lyric comparison:

to tear apart some tortured poets lyrics further my point that taylor swift is NOT the white girl taylor swift fans claim (but madison cunningham IS,) here's an analysis of 2 verses + chorus from two songs of theirs:

in choosing cunningham's "your hate could power a train" (left) and swift's "my boy only breaks his favorite toys" (right), my purpose was to illustrate the difference in lyrical choices while the two similarly-billed artists deal with similar themes: both songs have tongue-in-cheek, darkly ironical attitudes in drawing attention to the way the Man, a character in the song, mistreats them, and the titles reflect this.

both songs begin narratively, setting scenes. cunningham begins with a visual and a joke: we have laboratory-related sense-info (blue light, white coats, and radio waves) but she sings that ultimately, there is no neuroscientific explanation for the way she behaved with the Man-- the scientists can't figure out how to get her autonomy back. furthermore, a theory/reality dichotomy is visually represented by the labratory vs. the farmland. she's lost her autonomy "to the land", to labor, which has buried her underneath it.

the first line of taylor's verse seems in media res-- we understand that whatever is happening with the Man is part of a pattern. (note that we can assume the Man to be childish because of his characterization in the title.) the second line already muddles-- "the voices in his head" implies mental illness on the part of the Man, perhaps in line with the "tortured poets" atmosphere (this is affirmed by the genius annotation...) anyway, we get that swift and the Man were having "days of wild," but mercurially, his attitude toward her has suddenly darkened as a cloudy sky. this Man, childish, has "purchased" swift as though she were a "sick" army doll (though later on she analogizes herself to a barbie doll instead?) the sort of toy a young boy might buy for the purpose of roughhousing. when "rivulets descend [her] plastic smile," we get that she is referencing the Man's stormy mood as well as her own tears.

as a listener, cunningham's visual setting scans more naturally to me: i get "neuroscientists in laboratory" + "buried in farmland" with more ease than "mentally ill Man?" + "summoned storm to end wild days" + "childish Man purchasing taylor as an army doll." swift's first two ideas aren't set up solidly enough for me to feel like i understand her direction.

(you'll see that now cunningham moves to a second verse while swift goes straight to the chorus. i'm going to choose to review the second verse before the chorus, because i feel that swift's first verse hasn't explained enough to warrant the narrative peak of her chorus. neither does her second verse, though. but i digress:)

in her second verse, cunningham characterizes the Man. his name is often spoken, and hearing it chastises her ("torch to the skin" implying a religious sort of chastising, specifically.) he is authoritative ("not to be crossed"), even to the extent of wanting a godlike power. and a little play here: when the Man says "god and man," he dichotomizes between the christian god and human beings, but madison points out that she is "under the table--" as a woman, the Man does not actually consider her to be on the same level as him under god, but doglike (catching the excess) beneath him. though their relationship is not narrativized, we can get the impression of a small-town preacher or mayor's wife, making herself miniscule underneath a man who is respected (his name being spoken often) perhaps more than he deserves. the final line of the verse (and my favorite of the song,) "left to be strung over two-thousand frets," is a darkly playful visual analogy for a train track, mirroring the frets on a guitar neck. the Man, in his "race" for godlike power, is like a train barreling over her body (and this sets up the connection to the chorus!)

in swift's second verse, she continues to lament her frustrations with the Man to the audience. the two "could have played for keeps this time" (the idiom is surely used to extend the motif of childhood games) and developed a long-term relationship. but this conversation is another part of their toxic cycle; swift is "repeating herself" like a pull-toy. "put me back on my shelf," directed towards the listener, seems a throwaway line, and the annotations agree. finally, one of swift's "stock" sayings in this relationship has been that the Man "runs because he loves [her]." carrying on the army doll metaphor from the first verse, we could say that the Man's enthusiasm about taylor is less about his care for her and more about his own entertainment, much like a small child's excitement for a toy may not necessarily translate towards tender care. again, i find these connections a bit loose. the annotation says that "running" might allude to paparazzi photos of joe alwyn, so as someone not tuned in to the ARG of your average taylor swift song, i may be lacking background information. swift's choice not to characterize the Man any further in this verse is somewhat conspicuous: after two verses, we as the listener know (1.) that the Man treats swift like a child treats his toy, that (2.) their relationship seems cyclical, with swift ultimately excusing his behavior, and that (3.) she feels the two of them could have easily been in a longer and more stable relationship. however, we are not given any insight as to the Man's mode of behavior: the title tells us that he "breaks" swift, but the song itself has not actually touched on this. as such, the chorus feels rather "tell-don't-show."

finally, chorus! cunningham's chorus is simple; really two sentences: "what does it say about you (that) your hate could power a train?" an affront to the Man: despite his positive image, she sees him as hell-bent on terror. but then she lambasts herself: "and what does it say about me (that) your love could get away with anything?" despite what she knows, she has allowed herself to shrink underneath him, so long as he rewards her with a paltry love (think of the scraps off the table from earlier.) simple and catchy. while this simplicity runs the risk of romanticizing the Man's toxicity, any ambiguity on her stance is cleared up more directly in the latter part of the song, not shown here.

as to swifts chorus: "but you should've seen him when he first got me" is almost a throwaway; it does function to let us know that the Man was not always like this, but this characterization is afforded nowhere else in the song, which prevents me from cultivating a real narrative interest. swift is "queen" of "sand castles [the Man] destroys"-- add that to the "child's play" motif-- but again, knowing nothing about how this is happening, or what swift considers said castles to represent, this does little for me. if i were being generous, i'd say that this line is about the Man's inability to support taylor even in her paltry interests, her "sand castles." then, the two of them "fit too right" together, like "puzzle pieces in the dead of night" (+1 to "child's play," +1 to "sexual euphemism.") because of this compatibility, she "should have known" they wouldn't last-- which, again, isn't narratively supported, but is perhaps auto-referential to swift's established history of breakups. ultimately, anyway, the dark humour of the title line ends up feeling pretentious: it's unsupported by the content of the song, save for aesthetics, and so comes across as melanie-martinez-ish to me, while lacking even the aesthetic devotion martinez possesses. personally, i expect this is the sort of song that sounds more profound to someone projecting their own breakup narrative onto it. in and of itself, though, it fails to compel me lyrically, and that's to say nothing of the music, which does not seem to have advanced from the "blank check" days.

speaking of, here are the video links so you can listen to the opening verses yourself. i'm interested if you had your own thoughts on certain lines or if you experienced them differently from me so let me know lol

[bigboysfalldeep]

Easy there soldier II - spreading

After a long day of training scrubs, Clemens is sitting in his little office, writing reports. He hates that; he's more of an active kind of guy, and sitting in front of a computer isn't doing it for him. He sighs and watches the clock—just ten more minutes. Hes tired, exhausted, and feels his heavy legs. Just then, the sound of an incoming email draws his attention. "Ian?" He mutters, seeing who the mail is from. Ian is a good friend and also a soldier.

He hasn't shown up at work for two days now, saying he is ill. Clemens opens the email, and there is nothing written; just an audio bite is attached. Curious, he clicks on it, and instantly, the screen turns black. "What the fuck?" He scowls, trying to shake the screen back to life when it actually works. However, a dozen different colors flow across the screen, dancing, swirling, and spinning around, pulling Clemens mind right into it. Allured by the dance, he leans in, just a little, when suddenly, an ear-piercing sound echoes through the speakers and right into the soldier's mind.

Clemens covers his ears in an instant, desperately trying to make it stop, but it won't. The sound keeps on going, the colors keep spinning, and somehow, his body reacts to it. There is warmth, a calming rhythm, invading his mind and spreading through his body, from his ears and neck into his chest, arms, and legs.

Slowly, he lowers his hands, welcoming the sound even more. For a while, Clemens sits there until he feels a firm hand on his shoulder. His head spinning and his vision blurry, he turns his head and sees his friend Ian.

"Hello, my friend." Ian says it in a monotone voice. Something about him seems off; his eyes are shining brightly, piercing right through Clemens mind. "Ian?" He says, his voice barely a whisper. His friend smiles but shakes his head.

"Not anymore." Ian smirks and lets one of his hands caress Clemen's cheek tenderly. "Perfect." He breathes and lets out a low groan. "Whaaat....are.. you?" Clemens opens his mouth, his voice still nearly unhearable. "Shh." Ian intensifies his grip on the shoulder and uses his other hand to force the man's face back to the screen. "Dont speak. Just listen," he says. A weird smell spreads across the small room—Ian's smell—well, it's coming from the man formerly known as Ian. It smells like he's been wearing his uniform for a week straight—sweat, dirt, and, oddly, the faint scent of cum hovers in the air. At first, Clemens tries to fight back, but that man is way too strong, holding him in place.

"Let's make it easier for you, my friend." Ian smiles, inserts headphones into the speaker, and puts them in Clemens ears. The sound penetrates his mind now, with his body getting even warmer and more relaxed. A soft rhythm spreads through him, and then he notices subtle commands hidden behind the alluring sound. Words and phrases, again and again. Calm down and relax. Its going to be okay; just listen. Close your eyes.

Clemens feels so relaxed; all is well, so easy, just calm. His body starts swaying slightly, and he nearly falls from the chair. Ian catches him easily and pulls him into a tight hug, carefully. He lets Clemens head rest against his chest and starts to run one hand across the soldier's chest firmly, while the other strokes his neck. "Easy, easy." He says quietly, while Clemens body twitches from time to time. With his eyes closed, he begins to retreat into his mind, listening to whatever the sound says. Ian, however, enjoys feeling the man's body, his firm chest, pecs, and arms, all of the muscles bulging against the tight uniform. His eyes wander down to the crotch, and he smiles at the sight of a huge tent forming in the camo pants. The cock moves, pressing against the fabric, causing him to chuckle.

Ian encourages him to go even deeper by rubbing Clemens cock with the palm of his hand. The man moans quietly, his body moving slowly. The first step into submission is done; now it's time to take it even further. His mind is calm, but his body reacts instinctively to the treatment. The sound is spreading through every cell of the soldier's body, urging him to obey its orders. All of him gets bigger, bulging against the uniform, from the jacket to the shirt to the tight pants and boots. "I know how that feels. Mhmm." Ian remembers his conversion, how good it felt, and how easy it was to just give in. "Let me help you, just as he helped me." His eyes roll back for a second, thinking about the man helping him. Carefully, he unbuttons Clemens uniform and pulls his shirt up, exposing the soldiers well-formed chest and hard nipples. Lovingly, he starts to stroke him, running a hand across the skin, the neck, chest, pecs, nipples, and further down to the hairy treasure trail. Clemens, with his eyes closed shut, moans approvingly.

Now, the sound suddenly changes; it is adapting to new commands and orders to give up everything. Give up your mind; no more fighting, no more struggling, just calm. Clemens doesn't even hesitate; quite the opposite. Entranced fully, he embraces the demands of the sounds and follows them.

The warmth subsides, and sharp waves of pure electricity rush through every fiber of his body. It cuts through him easily—his arms, hands, chest, thighs, and right into his massive dick, twitching harshly. All of them react simultaneously, and his body starts compulsing. At the sight of the man in his arms, Ian relives his own conversion as some kind of reward; the sound, the entity, lets him feel it once more. In less than a second, Ian's wet cock erupts heavily into the already stained uniform pants, once twice, over and over, with his body stiff, securely holding Clemens in place.

His eyes darted open for a second, meeting Ian, who was moaning loudly. Both of their eyes roll deep into their skulls as they start to moan in unison before their voices die down in exhaustion. Clemens throbbing cock explodes inside his pants as he shoots load after load into his uniform, staining them as well. Ian's body subconciously encourages his friend even more by grabbing his twitching cock and stroking him again and again.

Ian is done first, regains composure, and watches his friend's body twitch over and over again until it stops. For about a minute, he lies in Ian's arms, the air around them smelling harshly, with both their uniforms filled with their cum. Both of their cocks keep on shooting load after load until they're completely dry. Pressing against the wet fabric of the pants, Ian touches himself, letting out another long moan. "Very good, my friend." He pats Clemens chest as his body goes limp. Ian helps him get dressed and closes his uniform shirt when Clemens opens his now brightly shining eyes. They look just like Ian, who's smiling contently. "Welcome." He says this and watches Clemens hand go for his swollen, wet dick.

He sits up, touching himself more and more before reaching for Ian's still-bulging cock. He embraces his hand and lets him feel him growing bigger again.

"We have so much work to do." Ian says, and Clemens just nods.

[elmundodeflor]

“Wait…!”, words escape him before he can manage. Katara’s leaning over the river banks, looking as her reflection wavers on the rushing waters. “I mean…”, he scratches the back of his head, when he sees her turn around to take a glance at him, instead. “Are you sure you’re gonna go there alone…?”

She smiles; a small, fainted pull at her lips. Turns out, though, she’s not as surprised as she’d thought she’d be. After all, it’s no news to her; Zuko had always been a little awkward like this.

“Well…” she shrugs. It’s nice enough of a day to be here, out in nature. Sun bristles over the forest leaves, paints the grass with patches of golden and a yellowish-green. “Unless, you wanna come join me…?”

He hums it out. He’s not wearing his usual Fire-Lord attire, but a laid-back linen tunic that crosses his chest. Katara and him had decided on reuniting for summer, since they two had a few days off from both their political duties.

“Sure.”, he tells her, and he sits down by the shore, as well. She’s pretty when basked down in this soft light, he figures. The blue in her eyes dapples with specs of early sunset. The tiny freckles that dot over her cheeks pop up all the more. He doesn’t quite understand why she'd insisted on visiting this particular Fire-Nation village yet, but he isn’t about to complain on it just now. She must have been bored of freezing her ass out in the Southern Water Tribe, he assumes.

"So...", she's back to looking at herself. There's a paint-pot near the seams of her dress, and she dabs on it to take a dip. "How about we go grab a bite after this? I'm craving some noodle-soup!"

Zuko nods. Truth is, he's grateful for Katara; her unwavering company. He knows for a fact; she hates the spicy dishes that the Fire Nation has to offer. Yet here she is; all giggles and up and ready to take another chance on them, regardless. 

"I guess we'll manage.", he says, causing her smiles to only but grow. She's already traced the first streak upon her cheek; the birds chirping as she goes along. "'Tara", he calls her out, then, right when she's about to place a second one, there on the dimple on her chin. "You're doing it wrong, y'know."

That makes her frown big time. She's aware, the Painted Lady is a Fire Nation spirit, but still—

"Asshole!"

Zuko laughs; they both do. After all, he's sure Katara doesn't really mean it. She could be hot-headed, on occasion; fiery as the flames that once sprung up from his very hands, indeed. But she wasn't ill-intended, at last. He could see it in her eyes, dazzling everlasting teal. Could sense it in how her fingers touched her skin; careful, patient. Like there's no rush, and seconds and hours can lay suspended in the tender breeze.

"So now I'm the bad guy for telling the truth?!"

Katara pulls a face at him. His palms are in the air, as if to prove that he's always been this innocent, and she can't quite take him seriously.

"Come do it yourself, then.", she challenges; one eyebrow raised. It has always been like this with Zuko, she thinks; the push and pull, the constant bickering. He's odd and gets flustered easy, — and she'd studied him long enough to remember all the different ways she could push his buttons. “If you believe to be so wise, hm..."

He stays quiet, then scoots down close to her. The shadows from the treetops slice her features in a miscellaneous of greens and warm tones. Sun’s cast upon her hair, delicate and thin as a golden veil.

"O-Okay..."

Katara hands him over the paint-pot, and sits down as if to face him fully. There’s a certain glimmer on her expression as she does so, Zuko notices. Like the skin on her nose has turned the slightest pinch of rose.

“Okay.”, he repeats, more so to steady himself, and so he takes a drop of paint and draws a straight line on her forehead. Katara stays still, let’s him do whatever. She realizes, right as he touches her, how rough his palms have gotten. As if his years of struggle had somehow imprinted on every stripe and trace upon them.

She swallows hard. Zuko has a hand lifting her chin up, the other sliding down her face. She’s seen him become a man, little by little. Has been present when he had to make hard decisions, there at political meetings, — then drunk tea with him at Iroh’s, cracking up until their stomachs would hurt. It’s why it almost makes her shiver, the way he caresses her; so grown. Like it’s evident now, time has flown by, and they’re not those small kids who’re afraid of the world anymore.

“Close your eyes.”, he asks, almost in a drowned-out whisper, — then he takes more paint over from the pot. Katara might be a water bender, he knows this; but she’s as searing as stardust on a summer evening. Fierce as the washed-over sand on Ember Island. Her features are delicate, yet strong. Her skin’s earnest, and it’s speckled by cozy, tiny spots, — like a comet that flecks upon the broadest of night skies.

“Are you sure you’re not drawing me a beard or something?”, she says, just to poke fun at him. Zuko’s moving over to her brows now, covering each patch of lid with crimson red. He’s soft when sketching her up like this; it even shocks her a bit. When she imagined how his fingers on her cheeks would feel, she never thought they would be so caring. As if they were holding something precious, — something stitched with utmost fragility.

He laughs once more; a lovely, timid chuckle this time only.

“Pff, you’ll see…”, his index glides up over to her temples. Suddenly, he realizes that he’s never been so aware of how thick her lashes are, indeed. How long, and dark and curled-up they look from up closely. “I’m drawing you with a pair of glasses.”

Katara sticks out her tongue to him.

“You’re an idiot.”, she goes again. Zuko stays quiet, but smiles at her, regardless. Her skin’s gotten hot now, red and shiny as the paint that’s on his hands. And to him, that’s good enough for the time being, at least.

He bites his lip. Actually, though, the first time she’d told him about her being the Painted Lady, it had been a late night at the Palace. Katara was staying over for a couple weeks, since the Southern Water Tribe was peaceful, and so he had gone to her chambers like it was natural instinct for him to do. It was a warm, wet spring, he recalls, — the air was humid and smelt of rainfall and jasmines. For once, Katara was thrilled to change her furr coat for a silk pant and tops, just as much as he was thrilled to have her over.

“It’s a bit ironic, if you ask me.”, she’d said; her voice filled with something that sounded much quite like happiness. They were strolling their usual way through the gardens, like they would do when neither one could sleep. “We both dressed up as spirits from each other’s nations, right?”

Zuko had nodded. He wanted to believe that it was mere coincidence, or that maybe it was fate. A force stronger than the tides threading them together. As if they were always just meant to be pushed towards the other like that— with the helplessness of the ocean waves.

“Awe, so you knew I was the Blue Spirit all along?!”, he’d whined, making Katara laugh a little bit. He was aware, Aang had been sure of it, back then. He just didn’t think he’d ever tell the rest of the group, as well.

“Of course I did!”

He draws another line now, and then one more. Katara’s face is soft, he notices, round as the crescent moon— and it’s a thought that catches him off guard, all of a sudden, right as he goes along. His hands would fit every crevice, every bump and protuberance. Like they were made just for him to touch.

“´Tara…”, he calls her, at last, in a hush that’s barely audible. A brown lock has fallen over her forehead, and so he tucks it behind her ear. Strokes her cheek with the greatest care, almost as if she was made of glass. “You can open your eyes now.”

“So… you’re done?”, she stutters, blinking back into the midday-light. She can still feel his fingers on her skin, feather-light as a butterfly’s wings. Would recognize the gentleness of him were she blind, or deaf, or both. “We should get going, I guess.”

Zuko takes one last dip from the pot, then places his thumb upon her chin. He’d seen Katara grow into a woman, little by little, or all too fast, perhaps. Has thrown snowballs at her while on the South Pole, — chased her down the steep slopes; both screeching like two maniacs.

“Y-yeah, right, we should.”, he whispers, but Katara doesn’t really move. His fingers are now in the outlines of her lower lip, and— for the life of her—, she can’t think straight. Zuko is too close to her, almost a few hair breadths away. It’s up from this very distance, that she can see all of him; every detail, each pore, and scrap, and freckle for the first time. That she can appreciate the memories that were burnt upon his skin, the beautiful drops of amber that stipple up his eyes.

She holds her breath, just as he realizes he’s doing the same. That his hands are no longer steady, but have gotten shaky and damp with sweat, instead. If she wanted to, she could lean in and kiss him, sure enough, she figures. Could let him ruin the paint he’s just neatly put along her mouth and check how that would feel. Still, she knows this; it just wouldn’t be right.

“Zuko…”, she smiles. His name’s sweet upon her tongue. It’s smokey, and fierce and tastes like summer.

He smiles back at her, as his hand cups her cheek and lingers there for a while. Katara notices, almost right away, that this is different than when she was with Aang. With him, she’d never had her stomach full of butterflies— no, badgermoles— that would stomp and dig, dig, dig. Zuko, however, brings this other side of her. Like she’s raw, and wild, and untamable; fearless as seafoam going with the flow.

“Yeah.”, he tells her, and he pinches her nose in the cutest, most loving of ways. “That noodle-soup spot I know is gonna close up pretty soon.”

[abiiors]

hot chocolate ☕ // matty healy x reader

promptober '23 - day 19

a/n: for all my girlies with the big sad, the cold months approach :/ cw: discussions of mental health, mentions of depression wc: 1.1k

matty has a pit of worry in his stomach. he’s had it for about two days now, for as long as the house has been unusually quiet. he’s alone in their dimly lit kitchen, barely any sunlight streaming in. whatever manages to sneak in through the parting of the clouds, gets diluted by the sheets of rain falling from the sky. 

it’s dull and grey. exactly the kind of weather she hates. 

matty gives the brewing pot of coffee another look and decides on abandoning it. 

he knows what he will see when he walks into the bedroom—she will be in bed, in the same three day old pyjamas, messy and unbrushed hair, “taking a nap”. not that he cares about how she looks. it’s just the niggling pit that doesn’t let him sit still. 

“darling?” he calls from the door, watching for any signs of movement under the duvet. “you awake yet?”

she should be, he thinks to himself. it’s nearly noon. he wants to make them some lunch but she doesn’t move, doesn’t reply to his question. matty gnaws on his bottom lip and walks in. 

“i’m making something for lunch…” he says again, sitting by her side of the bed and resting a hand on her back. matty knows she’s not asleep. her breaths are nowhere near deep and even. 

“i know you’re awake,” he says softly, moving his hand to her forehead, checking for any signs of an illness just in case. but deep down he knows the illness is not physical. 

when matty threads his fingers through her hair, it’s not the usual soft and smooth strands he’s met with. his fingers get caught up in the greasy knots, accidently pulling on some hair. she winces.  

“go away, matty, ‘m not hungry,” she mumbles into the pillow, voice feeble and barely audible. “‘m sleepy.”

he tuts. it’s a lie—if he’s right, and he suspects he is, she hasn’t properly slept in days, tossing and turning at night. and yet she has left the bed only a handful of times in the last few days. 

he’s tried giving her space, to let her sort things out on her own because that’s usually what she prefers. but he draws the line at skipping meals. 

“sleep after lunch,” he counters, and goes to draw the duvet off her. 

it’s not even a moment later that matty fliches, appalled when she slaps away his hand. 

“i said i’m not hungry!” she snaps, turning away from him, cocooning herself further, shut off from him, from the world. 

he stills and for a moment the only sound in the room is that of the rain hammering against the window. it’s haphazard, nowhere near a soothing beat. this rain sounds more like an anxious heartbeat—loud, odd and out of sync. 

then he hears the sniffle and his heart breaks. 

“baby…” he approaches again, trying to at least slide the duvet off her face. “hey, look at me please.” 

he doesn’t care that she snapped at him or slapped his hand away. right now, he cares that something is deeply wrong, and he’s ready to beg if that means she’d tell him. 

“g-go away, matty,” she tries again, tries so hard not to let her voice waver or crack and yet he hears it. 

matty decides enough is enough, and pulls the duvet off her entirely. 

her pyjama top is wrinkled and bunched up around her waist, and if he’s being honest, she smells a little bit but he can take care of that later. showers and perfumes and oils can wait. everything else in the world can wait. 

“i won't,” he declares firmly. “now you can either keep fighting me or you can tell me what’s wrong. either way, i’m staying right here.”

she looks at him through dull eyes that widen slightly with every word, jaw clenched to keep her chin from wobbling even as her eyes turn pink first, then watery until the tears fall one by one. matty doesn’t shush her, he just quietly pulls her into his chest, letting her cry it out. 

“i’m so cold…” she says after a few minutes. her voice is already hoarse, a whispery shadow of what it’s like on the good days. today it’s barely more than a squeak. “so cold. all the time. i just…i’m just so tired, i can’t. i don’t know what to do. and whatever i do, i can’t g-get, can’t get warm.”

she breaks into another round of tears by the time she’s done—loud, gut-wrenching sobs that break his heart but he lets her be. his only job is to be there and hold her. he just needs to be the sun.

“i know what will help,” matty mumbles into her hair, pressing a small kiss to her head. “give me two minutes?”

and he does return two minutes later as promised. matty practically makes a mad dash to and from the kitchen, balancing the mugs in his hands and his socks sliding on the wooden floors around the corner. but the liquid in them stays unscathed. 

“there we go,” he announces as soon as he’s back in the bedroom. a tiny pang goes through his chest when he sees her sitting up in bed, arms hugging her middle. she looks small, smaller than he’s ever seen her. but there’s a miniscule spark of curiosity in her eyes. 

he’ll take that spark. he’ll nurture and rekindle it. 

“chef matty’s hot chocolate,” he presents it with a flourish smiling at her raised eyebrow. 

“i know you said you weren’t hungry and you were cold. so i thought this would be a good compromise?”

for a moment she doesn’t say anything, only takes the mug from him and cradles it close, lets the steam waft over her face. hot chocolate won’t do anything for a cold that goes bone-deep. but it’s a start. he can do the rest of the work. 

“take a sip?” he nudges, sitting back in the same spot as before. he brings his own mug up to his mouth, nudging her to mimic him. together they drink their first sip. 

instant sweetness floods his mouth, comforting warmth creeping down his throat and settling into his stomach. he can only hope it does the same for her. 

and he will be there for the rest of it. for all the cold days that come after this. 

lemme know what you think <33

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[daily-roland]

Day 1 (Pinned post)

Hello! This is a blog dedicated to the character Roland from Library of Ruina. If you don't know who or what that is, go play the game please it's so awesome trust me. (if you do genuinely go play it bc of this post GET OUTTA HERE this blog has MAJOR SPOILERS!!!!)

This blog is all ages-- It will not contain NSFW content. I might interact with NSFW blogs by happenstance because I'm not going to, like, vet every person that ever interacts, but that's about the extent to which you'll ever see that from me.

Who are you?

Call me whatever you want, any pronouns you feel like, and I'm an adult. This is a sideblog and I'd prefer relative anonymity, so if you know who I actually am, please keep it a secret to Tumblr 😉

If you want my credentials, I'm many a Discord server's resident Roland Guy. I've been majoring in Roland studies for about a year, with a minor in Angelica studies (But unfortunately, I'm the only one in this program).

Why Roland?

Being one of the two main characters (alongside Angela, who I will probably also get into on this blog), you would expect that all the analysis on him has already been done, and I'm just retreading new ground. But if you've been in any fandom whatsoever, you'll often find that mischaracterization is RAMPANT in fan communities, even for the most popular or the mainest of main casts.

I grew to really love Roland and get attached to his arc, and I've been frustrated by the all-too-common fan perception of him as Overpowered Anger Issues Man who Hates Everyone (Especially Angela), so I want to preach the message of who Roland really is.

I don't know what to put under the read more right now, so like. ill just put some misc stuff in there. Hope you stick around :)

Disclaimer:

I probably won't only post about roland. sorry to disappoint. too many important relationships between other characters, who i'll then also need to establish a baseline for. it's just the way it has to be

Tagging system

I will not be tagging every post as roland dont worry 😭 your fanart tag is safe. I'm probably going to use #daily roland (for daily posts. bc i think i will try to draw a roland every day. i tend to do that anyways), and #roland posting / #angelica posting for various analysis posts. other character analysis posts will also follow the "[name] posting" format methinks.

Asks

Asks are open! I'm willing to answer in character but this isn't an ask blog! so i'll assume by default that it's not directed at him.

Okay well I kinda wanna know what your Roland "thesis" is before I follow you. If he's commonly mischaracterized, what do you think he really is?

Roland deeply fears vulnerability, but also deeply craves intimacy. He has emotional regulation issues, and difficulty reconciling opposing ideas, resulting in polarized judgement. He's sensitive to others' opinions of him and mirrors the personalities of those he interacts with, particularly absorbing the ones of those he likes (major example being, of course, Angelica), resulting in a poor sense of self and identity issues.

All this to say, Roland might be the most fantastic example of BPD I've ever seen written in a fictional character (that isn't my own OC). And he's even bisexual!