#it's kind of impressive actually

[goosemagician]

If there's One Thing this man can do, it's Go Unconscious

[secriden]

Not to be a Style apologist, but I feel like some viewers haven't quite picked up that Style's brand of wooing Fadel is quite literally intentionally designed (by both the writers and the character) to be as annoying and frustrating as possible.

Lets consider:

Style thinks his bff is in love for the first time in his life. He thinks Kant is genuinely down bad for Bison: let’s not forget his clear surprise when Kant agreed to give up the car. As far as Style is concerned, Kant is acting really out of character and it's because Kant desperately wants to be with Bison.

He also thinks the only thing standing in the way of True Love™ is Fadel, who according to Kant is being unreasonably difficult about Kant and Bison dating. He doesn't know that Kant has a secondary motivation, nor does he know about the mind games that Bison is playing with Kant. Worse, he has no frame of reference or context to make any of Fadel's animosity towards Kant reasonable.

Moreover, while I think we all agree that Style made a terrible first impression on Fadel, the same has to be said of Fadel towards Style. Like, yes, absolutely Style was in the wrong, but Fadel came off as not only condescending and impatient, but unreasonable (and very weirdly cagey) when Style tried to immediately offer a resolution. Again, Style has no frame of reference for why Fadel would first demand that he take responsibility for his actions and then immediately after claim to have no time to entertain Style's attempt to take said responsibility.

Also, it doesn't help Style's wounded pride that Fadel keeps 'besting' him at every turn. So at this point I think a significant portion of that initial attraction (in ep 1) has shifted to annoyance when it comes to Fadel. By the time he gets his hands on Fadel's information, I think he's more than a little invested in some payback. While I think Style very much still wants to help Kant (and Bison) out, at least a part of him figures as long as he keeps Fadel busy, he kind of meets his goal. And if he gets to embarrass, frustrate and otherwise harass Fadel along the way, all the better!

You can see him start to have some fun with it. He ramps it up SO much in ep 2. He gets to lean into that wild, brash, playful personality because he doesn't really care if Fadel likes him. Style gets to be dialled up to extremes, and I love that for him because he's honestly kind of justified because he knows so fucking little about what's really going on. I think it's only fair if the other 3 are playing 4D chess while Style only has the Uno game rules in front of him, he gets to be the most Unhinged about it.

So, yeah, while I absolutely agree with all the posts out there that recognises just how reasonable and polite and tired Fadel is, I do think we need to give Style some credit here. He's absolutely SO extra, but he's also the one, arguably, that has been lied to the most and I feel that he deserves some slack for that.

I'm so glad he figures out some things in the next episode because my darling boy deserves to at least somewhat even the playing field.

[aingeal98]

One of my favourite little things this BOP run does is establish just how loved Cass is by other heroes. Harley calls her everyone's favourite Batman and Dinah empathises with Barda's concern for Cass by acknowledging how much people like her and how she usually ends up the favourite teammate.

Thinking of shy awkward teen Cass who struggled to make a single friend, who got too nervous during her first big team up because there were so many people and had to ring Oracle who asked Dinah to look out for her, who desperately tried to emulate Bruce during her first team with the Outsiders only for it to end in disaster. If that Cass could see how far she's come she'd be stunned. Stunned she doesn't have to be more like Bruce or Babs or Steph in order to successfully work with a team. It turns out the version of Cass other heroes like the most is well.... Cass.

Cassandra Wayne, in and out of universe you are so loved.

[cfserkgk]

Lahan introduces Maomao to his roommate (who is popular enough that everyone but Maomao knows of becuase Maomao thinks chemistry is much more attractive than some mortal man).

SPOILERS: I feel like Zuigetsu would be his real name, but I think he would do some sort of modelling/ acting job on the side with the name "Jinshi", so everyone calls him that. But neither Maomao nor Lahan really look at media much since they both don't really know how to use tech, so the siblings know him as Ka Zuigetsu.

Jinshi might be doing some sort of economics/ finance/ stats degree, but I can also see him being a history or social sciences student of sorts. The poor humanities student just getting dragged into the business of the stem siblings.

Of course, Lahan is obsessed with Jinshi's looks (and may or may not be actively pushing his sister and his roommate to get closer).

[vulpinesaint]

quiz enjoyers! i am now inviting you to come create something in my workshop❕

[dailyloopdeloop]

DAY 96: trapped in a timeloop all by yourself, handsome?

[fairyofshampgyu]

BASSIST BEOMGYU BASSIST BEOMGYU BASSIST BEOMGYU BASSIST BEOMGYU

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts Dream Drop Distance Link Attack - Paw Groove

[gingermintpepper]

“Your hair’s gotten longer.” 

It’s conscious effort that keeps him from tucking the strands behind his ear, from taking the knife at his hip and shearing it all off. He keeps his stance focused, attentive, there’s little else he can do when he’s taken so completely after his mother when it comes to his hair. His father scratches his chin, the clouds of his beard snaking about his finger like mist parting for mountain-peaks. Ares’ chin is still child-smooth. He can feel the tickle of his over-long fringe against his soft jaw. There’s no heart in his chest, but still he feels as though a pulse is lodged in his throat. 

Father sighs, put-upon, disappointed, and Ares feels a slight tremor start in his calves from holding himself so tense. “Well done, Ares. Go clean yourself up and get some rest. Phoebus will want to look you over later.” 

He should be ecstatic to be praised by his father. Over-the-moon with joy. There should be pride emanating from every pore of his body, the blood on his skin should be sweeter than ambrosia. 

Instead, he bows, manages a soft ‘thank you, Father’ around the lump in his throat and immediately flees the room. A mild ‘make sure to trim your hair’ hits the back of his head like a spear through the skull. He almost wishes the great door had slammed on his foot so he would have reason to feel this horrid in his retreat.  

Phoebus Apollo is waiting for him in his infirmary. 

He’s gilded as ever, gold from crown to heel. Perfect like the statues they carve of him in his temples. He has a smile for Ares when he sees him, a crinkle at the edges of his pretty eyes from the weight of his joy. Ares is waiting to see the crack in the marble, to see if that’s the chip that’ll reveal his fangs.

“Brother,” he greets, and his voice is warm - like the arms that embrace him, his voice is so warm, “Welcome back. I’ve heard you’ve done well.”  

There’s a tremble in Ares’ fingers he hadn’t noticed before. Strain from carrying his sword for so many days, a throb from wounds he hadn’t noticed he’d accrued. “Heard? There’s already gossip?” 

Phoebus blinks, disarming, demure, coquettish, “But of course,” and Phoebus’ voice is honey to Ares’ gravel, the juxtaposition is grating on his skin, “It’s Olympus. The gossip began long before you set your course.” Those warm hands lead him further into the room, bodily sits him on the chaise, pulls his helmet from his head. It’s all one, unbroken motion, “It’s summer alas, so I could not watch your war myself, but I hear it was quite the decisive victory.” 

A thousand thoughts run on horseback through his mind then. 

Did Father overhear some terrible slander that pre-emptively disappointed him? Was Ares’ victory merely a rumour, a bet his father hadn’t bothered to take? Was the gossip more enticing than the stark truth? That Ares wasn’t some child toddling about in the shadow of his sister, that his sword and spear weren’t merely for show - he’d think such a thing would warrant celebration. Not -

“Oh my,” Phoebus is in front of him, pleasant warmth more sticky heat with how close he’s pressed himself into Ares’ space. From this angle, Ares can see the multi-coloured flecks of his eyes, like shards of golden glass suspended in ichor. From this angle, with his hand so gently holding his hair, were Ares to blink too hard, he’d swear Phoebus looked just like his mother. “Your hair’s grown long again.” 

He pushes Phoebus off with such force that he bangs into the wall. It’s Phoebus, it won’t make even the impression of a scratch on him, but Ares wishes it would. Wishes he’d hit his shoulder or crack his neck or hit his head just hard enough for all that perfect, gilded gold to bleed. 

“I’m only here for you to heal me,” the tremble in his hand extends to his shoulder now. He flexes and unflexes his palm. Gods what he would give to just have a sword - “Don’t waste time with the pleasant-work.” 

Phoebus huffs, adjusts the fit of his himation, “...Only because we’re meant to be celebrating your victory.” He crosses the room in two great strides, his hair a swirling tempest behind him as he gathers his poultices and wraps. “The only reason I’ll not throw you from the window is because we are meant to be celebrating your victory.”  

There’s not enough acid in his tone for this to truly be a fight. Ares’ jaw clenches, he bites out a terse, “How benevolent.” 

“Aren’t I?” He’s got nectar and his sutures in hand, that focused look falling upon his face when he switches from overbearing busybody to Paeon of the Gods. “Now strip unfaltering Ares, let us see the measure of damage done to your indomitable flesh.” 

(Somewhere between the fifth set of stitches and the gentle frown that crosses Phoebus’ face when he notices the persistent tremble in his fingers, Ares pins his eyes to the far wall and asks, “What does it mean when Father says ‘well done’?” 

Any other sibling would mock before they gave a true response. Any other sibling would laugh and dismiss it, would say that praise is praise and any lingering ill feeling is just the worst of the war still fogging his mind. Phoebus does not answer immediately. He doesn’t make a single sound. The question settles like fetid water between them, unignorable, the scent right there on the tip of the tongue yet firmly unacknowledged. Ares closes his eyes and tries again to settle his squirming so he does not interfere with Phoebus’ work.  The metallic snip of scissors cutting thread breaks the silence. Phoebus bids him to sit up and slides his warm palms up his back until his fingers tangle gently in the ends of his hair. He twists the dark red strands until he’s gathered it all into a neat handful, holding it loosely as he switches his scissors for his shearing blade. “You should know it was not praise,” Phoebus says softly. The first of Ares cut hairs fall like viscera from his head. Phoebus treats each cutting with the sacredness of a blood-sacrifice. If he focused on the moment of tension right before the blade cuts though, Ares thinks he can imagine the agony of his sister’s sacred birth. “It is acknowledgement. Father thinks you’ve done well so he says ‘well done’.”

Gently, Phoebus releases him. Ruffles his head so all the extra hairs fall like red rain to the floor. Ares runs his fingers through the ends now curling against his ear. “Has he ever told you ‘well done’?” 

A laugh, warm and gilded, “No, and it would not make you feel better if he had.” 

Ares swallows down a thousand different questions. Phoebus wouldn’t answer them, he’s infuriating like that. Instead, he clenches his teeth, the phantom of Father’s dizzying tangle of grey cloud-hairs persistent in the corner of his eyes. “Cut it shorter.”

Phoebus doesn’t protest. He never seems to say a word when it really matters.)

[official-lucifers-child]

actually any kiss is gay if i’m involved. i don’t care who i’m kissing, it’s a gay experience and a gay kiss. because i said so. if the person i am kissing is straight, that’s cool, i don’t care. it may be a straight kiss for them, but it’s a gay kiss for me, and that’s what matters. if the person i’m kissing doesn’t like that, then they shouldn’t kiss me. simple as that.

[violent138]

Just saying if Martha Wayne was still alive there isn't any way Bruce would still be single (or single for long). Every dinner they had would conclude with Martha sorrowfully observing the lack of grandkids--

Bruce: "I have like ten children, you have plenty of grandkids--"

Thomas: "Whom we adore. Really, let's just get back to dinner, this is incredible stuff, Alfred."

Alfred: "Thank you, sir. More wine?"

Martha: "Yes please Alfred." turns back to Bruce "Kids need more than one, busy father. You need more--"

Bruce: "I have plenty."

Martha, death glare: "Oh I'm well aware, as is most of Gotham."

Bruce:

Thomas: "So, did anyone catch that game last night. Crushing defeat for Metropolis, wouldn't you agree, Alf?"

[vigilskeep]

sol is not at all interested in neve the way i am but if i play my cards right i think they can reasonably easily be convinced lucanis has two hands for a reason

[a-writing-otter]

WIP Wednesday

“I can’t believe you fucked that old man.”

Bill’s head snaps up so quickly from where it was inside of the air duct that he smacks it on the metal internals. When he reappears cursing and rubbing at his head, there’s dust bunnies in his hair and clinging to his eyelashes.

“You can’t believe I what?”

“You fucked that old man,” Red repeats, feet up on the counter as she lazily reads something called “Lumberjack Layabouts Weekly.”

“I—“ And Bill lets out a grunt as he comes down from the ladder to slam his hands on the counter and lean into her space. The action does little to phase her other than make her look up.

“Neither of those things are right!”

Red takes a second to turn the page of her magazine, but doesn’t look away from Bill.

“That’s not what I heard.”

Bill’s eyes roll back into his skull for a second. He thinks of what he was told to do both by the therapium and Question Mark’s fiancée: deep breaths in and deep breaths out, count to ten, don’t visualize throttling them no matter how fucking annoying these fleshbags are.

“First of all, I’m older than him,” he begins, like that’s the important part.

“You don’t look it.”

“That’s because I take good care of myself.” Which is only partially true.

When the Axolotl and the entire therapism decided Bill’s methods of rehabilitation weren’t working, they’d sent him here. To hell.

…to earth.

Stripped of his powers, they’d shoved him into a meat suit that was an “appropriate approximation of his natural form” (Bill resents that statement entirely, but the appearance has grow on him). The dark skin and golden eyes are quite a contrast coupled with the golden hair offset by strays strands of grey or white hair. Melody has helped him figure out how to wash and maintain it, which is far more maintenance than he was expecting after watching Ford for years barely do anything more than occasionally wash it and wake up. Bill’s currently picking dust bunnies out of an individual lock, throwing them into the trashcan by the counter (like hell is he sweeping up in this damned place more than he has to).

He has it on good authority that this is a desirable fleshbag form, both from the open way that people compliment him and the way people stared. …he’s getting used to the staring and has stopped threatening to flay people alive who let their eyes linger too long.

Question Mark calls it progress; Bill calls it not wanting to see that haunted, barely contained disappointment on Melody’s face again. She is simultaneously the kindest and cruelest person he’s met on this plane. In spite of literally everyone’s reservations about Bill being on the same plane as the rest of these humans, she’d been willing to hear him out, offer him accommodations here at the Mystery Shack, and even provide a job if he could behave.

She also detailed to him with a sunshiney smile and no insignificant amount of knife waving that if Bill started anything, anything looking like world domination under her roof, not even the Axolotl would be able to save him.

If nothing else, she’s done more than a little to earn his respect and compliance than anyone else in this entire reality.

So, he’d gotten used to people staring and it doesn’t bother him.

At least, until one particular person started staring.

“Second of all, I didn’t—“ And he looks around, makes sure no hide or hair of thirteen year-old menace can be seen before he continues, “—fuck Sixer.”

Red closes the magazine entirely and shifts to take her feet off the counter and lean on it with her arms folded—this is what she’d wanted to hear.

“I heard Stan caught you two in the bathroom.”

Bill clears his throat and starts back up the ladder to avoid having to look at Red even as he feels something warm in his face.

“Stan doesn’t know what he saw.”

Red lets out a raucous laugh that makes Bill wince and wrinkle his nose as he sticks his head back in the vent to continue clearing it out.

“I heard that you two also got into a fistfight at dinner before that. Weird foreplay, but I can respect it.”

Everyone, mostly Question Mark and Shooting Star, have insisted on family dinners since both sets of Pines twins returned to Gravity Falls. And, somehow, Bill gets lumped into that because he sleeps in the Shack (specifically, the sofa in the living room because everywhere else is off-limits). It’s been three weeks and most everything has been simpatico, Shooting Star was the fastest to warm up after her initial talk too of “unspeakable horrors” she’ll unleash on him if he steps a toe out of line. The fact that he’s powerless seems to make her willing to humor him.

…also something about him looking like a wet rat? And it was a good thing? Bill didn’t ask. Or, rather, he had asked and she brushed him off and because he knew Stanley will flay him alive if he lays a finger on either niece or nephew, he let it go.

Pine Tree has been a lot more hesitant in his behavior, sure, but he’s recently started being in the same room with Bill and musing aloud in ways that Bill knows are directed at him without talking to him. Pine Tree will state something stupid about the state of the town and when Bill corrects him, he’ll scribble it down, go silent, then rinse and repeat.

Stan has been… well, they were avoiding each other without problem. The closest they get to a conversation is when they’re both sitting in the living room after everyone else has gone to bed and before Stan goes to his bed and Bill passes out on the sofa. Their talk is a roundabout back and forth about complaining about what’s on the television and saying there’s “never anything good on”. Occasionally Bill will liken something on the screen to something he’s seen on television in other dimensions, Stan will grunted, and then they go back to silence.

They’ve also worked out a system where they’re allies in their silent agreement to watch The Duchess Approves as long as no one else finds out about it.

…and then there’s Ford.

They haven’t been in the same room as each other outside of dinner even remotely. Bill doesn’t look at him, Ford doesn’t acknowledge him, and it’s fine.

It’s fine.

It doesn’t bother him even a little that Ford won’t even look at him, won’t talk to him. Doesn’t bother him that when Bill does talk, he rolls his eyes. It doesn’t bother him either that Ford gets up every time Bill enters the room even for a moment. It’s not like he cares about the asshole or wants to see him. It’s fine for Bill.

Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine.

And because it is so fine, he’s not sure what exactly caused him to get mouthy with Sixer the night before.

Ford had made some inane comment and Bill couldn’t help but correct him. Over a trillion years in the multiverse, he knows when he’s right about something.

Ford bit back.

And Bill argued against.

It’d devolved into a petty back-and-forth, both of them digging their claws in places it shouldn’t go without caring for the carnage it spread.

It ended when Bill called Ford “my shining star” like this was just a philosophical disagreement thirty-one years prior.

He shouldn’t have done that.

The next thing Bill knew, he and Ford were rolling on the ground, fists flying and snarling at one another. Ford caught him in the nose, Bill punched him in the mouth, both of them scratching and pulling hair like a pair of animals.

It took Stanley and Soos both to pull them apart, both of them still swinging until they were forced to calm down.

After that, Bill had left his unfinished dinner to sit on the roof and wait out everyone else’s dinner. It was only because the blood wouldn’t stop flowing from his nose while the blood on his knuckles had dried uncomfortably to the point he kept accidentally ripping it when he flexed his hand that convinced him to go downstairs.

He’s still figuring out this whole human thing and, yeah, he was fumbling with the tape and his nose was dripping all over everything and he was fighting not to get it on the stupid sweater he got from Shooting Star and—

That’s how Ford found him.

There were no words as he crowded into the small bathroom with him, took off his gloves, and started to doctor Bill.

Neither of them say that there’s something familiar about this, them being together while cleaning up blood and puss and setting bones, usually injuries inflicted on Ford by Bill. There’s probably something funny about the idea of it being the other way around now.

They’re both too tired or embarrassed to say anything for awhile, but then Ford makes an innocuous statement that raises Bill’s hackles and there goes the peace. Then they’re shoving and pushing into a wall, Bill effectively having Ford cornered against it, chest-to-chest, spitting in each other’s faces, and then—

Then they were decidedly not fighting.

“Yeah, well, Fordsy is a know-it-all prick who doesn’t actually know everything,” Bill defends. “He started the fight.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Red replies in a singsong voice.

“And who’s telling you this?!”

“Don’t worry about it.” Red goes quiet for a moment, but he knows she’s still staring at him. “Did you two really make out though?”

Bill is quiet, can’t quite find the words he wants to say about this. Was his tongue in Ford’s mouth? Yes. Were Ford’s hands in his hair? Also yes. Did Stan walk in while Bill’s hand was halfway down the front of Ford’s pants? Regrettably.

“It was a… heat of the moment thing.”

“Wow. I mean, I knew you two were something back then, but I figured you two had, you know, moved past that.”

Bill doesn’t respond for awhile, leaning back to sweep the dust into the garbage bag he’s holding.

“So did I.”

[sexhaver]

i was listening to Bunny Is A Rider and had the obvious thought of "huh I wonder if this title is a reference to Bunny Ain't No Kind Of Rider, like, how could it NOT be, i've literally never seen the words 'bunny' and 'rider' in the same sentence in any other context" so i did some googling and unfortunately it turns out the last person to ask her this question did so in an extremely accusatory way out of nowhere like a caricature of an awful twitter interaction (she fucking @'d Of Montreal lmfao???) so all we're getting is this defensive non-answer

[sapphic-luthor]

okay we’re 4 episodes into season one and highlights of gfs comments so far include:

saying IMMEDIATELY that episode 1 could not be more gay coded what with kara’s desperation to live her truth and be herself etc etc etc

she’s delighted to see maxwell lord bc he is apparently the dad in twilight

kara at catco reminds her slightly of pam from the office of all people which .. absolutely baffles me

[mavenbeeee]

i know everyone is praising ify for how he’s playing this season and i do think he is slaying but some of his moves kinda bother me😭😭😭i didn’t like how he took all the drug juice i feel like brennan obviously had a plan for how that was gonna work with persimmon dead AND everyone would’ve got a cool moment with the drugs but he kinda just took it :/ obviously it worked out and it did lead to that convo w liv and russell but idk i felt like jacob in that moment and i’m not even playing LMAO like i would rather have just seen what brennan was gonna do and got to see how everyone was gonna take it