#must we keep doing it

[tododeku-or-bust]

The Guide to the Popular Blogger's Non-Apology For Antiblack Racism

1. _____ is pressured because _____ is running out of denial for their actions; _____ is taking the easy way out.

2. _____ pens a post first saying that they're taking a short hiatus due to "all the drama, but first-".

3. _____ pens an apology for disappointing their viewership with their actions; that is, breaking the unspoken "we aren't supposed to be racist out loud, that messes up the cognitive dissonance that we are Good" social contract. Either does not apologize for the actual racism at all, or does it in an underhanded "I didn't know/we could have been polite/we're all victims" manner.

4. _____'s viewership, usually composed of a mostly nonblack audience with similar views but less followers, forgives aforementioned actions, though they are 1) not the target audience of a real apology and 2) therefore lack the right to forgive anything.

5. This cycle of non-accountability continues despite the actual victims of the racism and the outcome of their actions being unaddressed. Anyone who says this out loud is "a cop/fed/psyop" or "doesn't believe in redemption".

6. _____ comes back a little bit later to make more memes, and everyone chooses to ignore forgets what happened. No one learns.

7. Six months later, a new contender named _____ will wash, rinse, and repeat.

All right y'all, calling all bets! who wants to put money on it? 💵💵💵

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Who is this sassy lost child?

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[withdenim]

Local man desperately trying to stop the cycle before it gets to his kids (it’s already there)

[clarionglass]

here we go :) part one of three, updates to be released weekly!

---

sam says 4 (game master cinematic universe, part 3)

Ruby was at her mum's for a family dinner she couldn't miss on pain of death, apparently, and the Doctor was many things, but a family dinner kind of guy wasn't one of them—particularly when Carla had already slapped him once in the short time he'd known her. He thought he'd broken his streak of bad luck with mums, but… well, seemingly not. So he was companionless for a few hours, and while he could wait for her to get back, maybe catch up on his reading—what was the point of waiting when you had a time machine? 

He ran his hands over the TARDIS console, marvelling at her clean lines and metallic flourishes, the way that even now she felt brand new but familiar, and paused. He’d just pop off for a quick adventure, nothing too dangerous, but—where to go?

He could scan for a distress call nearby, and pitch in to help. He could drop in on Donna and Shaun and Rose, beautiful Rose, and see how they were all doing. Or he could just hit the randomiser button, and jump in feet first wherever he ended up.

He remembered a conversation from a long time ago, when he wore a different face, and his gorgeous TARDIS wore a face too, for the first and only time.

“You didn't always take me where I wanted to go.”

“No, but I always took you where you needed to go.”

He grinned. Who could resist an offer like that? He pressed the button and whooped as the time rotor spun into action, ready to see where the universe would take him.

---

Apparently, he was needed pretty close to where he already was. Earth, 2024. Huh. Same planet, same time—within a few months of where he’d left Ruby, even. The main thing that had changed was the location: he was now in the good old US of A. California, to be more specific, and Los Angeles to be more specific still. And to really narrow it down, the Doctor discovered as he poked his head out of the TARDIS doors, he was in… a broom closet. Not bad, as a parking spot—a bit squeezy, but out of the way. And as he poked his head out of that door, he could finally see he was in the backstage corridors of a studio of some kind. Film or TV, if he was to hazard a guess, it was a different vibe from Abbey Road.

With a shrug, he decided to go exploring.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute before a young woman wearing the full-black outfit, headset, and permanently stressed expression of a production assistant came running up to him.

“Are you the fill-in Sam organised?” she asked breathlessly, and honestly, seeing the look on her face, the Doctor didn’t have the heart(s) to tell her no. And really, what was the Doctor, if not a professional fill-in? This, this was why he had a randomiser button on the control panel, because whatever he was about to get himself into was going to be fun.

“Sure!”

“Oh, thank god,” sighed the production assistant, relief dawning across her face. “When Ally tested positive this morning, I thought we were sunk for the record, because we called around and we couldn’t get a hold of anyone. But then Sam said he could get someone in, and, you know, here you are, and just in time, so—ah, yeah, if you could follow me this way?”

Smiling all the way, the Doctor followed his guide through to hair and makeup, looking around as they went. The studio seemed to belong to a company called Dropout, according to the branding scattered around, and things seemed, at least on the surface, to be… well. Fine. He couldn't tell why he'd been brought here yet, which meant that when he found the reason, it was going to be particularly tangled. He couldn't wait! 

And then he looked back at his guide, still engulfed in a miasma of anxiety, and realised he'd been too busy looking for clues to notice the person right in front of him. 

“Hey, it's cool, you've found me,” he started with a gentle smile. “You can relax. Hi, I'm the Doctor. What's your name?”

“Oh!” she said, startled. “The Doctor, yeah, of course. Um, hi, I'm Kaylin. Look, sorry, it's just that I've been so busy this morning, I'm so distracted… Shit, and I would've completely forgotten to get your details too. There's paperwork to fill in, but you can do that later. Um, just for now, though, can I get your pronouns?”

The Doctor thought for a moment. “He/him, for now.”

Kaylin nodded, making a note on her phone. “Okay, cool! And do you have any socials?”

“Not me, babes,” he replied. “I'm hardly sitting down long enough to be able to update, you know?”

“On a day like this, I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “That's okay, Lou didn't have socials either for the longest time. Right, so if you go through there, the team will get you sorted, and once you're done, someone will take you up to the greenroom. All good?”

“All great,” the Doctor replied. Kaylin flashed him a quick, relieved smile, then hurried off.

Hair and makeup was a fairly quick process, the sound mixer fitted him with a microphone, and before too long, Kaylin was back to take him upstairs. 

“This is the greenroom,” she said, pushing the door open. “The rest of the cast for the episode are already here—they’re great guys, and they’ve both been on the show a lot, so they’ll be able to help if you’ve got questions. And if you need anything else, just come find me or any of the other PAs, okay?”

The Doctor nodded, beamed at Kaylin, and walked in.

---

The greenroom was small but comfortable, and its occupants, two men around the same age as the Doctor appeared, looked up as he entered.

“Oh, you’re new,” the taller of the pair said, clearly giving him the once-over.

The other sighed with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, just as clearly used to his friend’s antics.

“Hey, I’m Brennan,” he said, levering himself up to standing from his perch on a chair arm, and holding out a hand. “That’s Grant.”

The Doctor took it warmly. “The Doctor. Just passing through, and happy to help.”

Grant’s eyebrows quirked. “Doctor… something?” he prompted.

“Or is it just ‘the Doctor’?” Brennan asked.

“Just ‘the Doctor’,” the Time Lord confirmed cheerfully. “You’ll get used to it, everyone does.”

Grant didn’t look convinced, but—

“Copy that,” Brennan shrugged, and settled back on the arm of the chair, returning his gaze to the door.

Grant, in turn, looked at the Doctor and rolled his eyes in a clear expression of ‘no, I don’t know why he’s like this, either’.

“Okay,” the Doctor said after a moment of watching the watching. “I wasn’t going to ask, but now I think I have to. What’s up with the door?”

Brennan huffed a laugh. “Well, the last time there was one of those up—” he pointed to the Out of Order sign stuck to the bathroom door, “—we got locked in here for the game.”

“He’s paranoid,” Grant interjected.

“Well, yeah, maybe,” Brennan retorted. “Or just cautious. Because Sam’s been acting weird lately, and we’re coming up to the last few records of the season, so he’s probably planning something way out of the box for the finale. And the original cast was you, me and Beardsley, so…”

He shrugged one shoulder meaningfully, and Grant nodded, conceding both the point and the potential for chaos.

“So if Sam comes in to give us the briefing, rather than waiting til we’re on set,” Brennan continued, “or there’s anything else weird going on, I’m gonna know about it right from the beginning.”

He turned to the Doctor. “The only reason I'm not quizzing you is because I know for a fact Beardsley was genuinely scheduled for this, so you can't be a plant by the production team. No offence.”

“None taken,” the Doctor smiled. “That sort of thing happen often, does it?”

Grant and Brennan exchanged a look. 

“More than you'd think,” Grant answered with a grimace. 

“Alright,” the Doctor said slowly, then brightened. “So what is it we're actually doing?”

Grant gave him a disbelieving glance. “You don't know—?”

“Very last minute fill-in,” the Doctor said breezily. “But don't worry, I'm a quick study.”

“Well, you're not that much worse off than the rest of us,” Brennan said encouragingly. “You know about Game Changer, obviously, if you know Sam, and we only find out the rules of the game once we get on set. Hopefully,” he added, with a dark look back at the Out of Order sign. 

The Doctor nodded. No, he didn't know Sam, and he didn't know Game Changer, but he could work out the situation from context clues. This was a game show. And with the Toymaker banished, and Satellite Five not coming into existence for another 198000 years, give or take, he found himself smiling. Maybe third time would be the charm. 

“Mmm, hopefully they aren't going to throw you in the deep end,” Grant said. “Because Brennan might seem lovely now, but as soon as we get out there, he's a whore for points. He'll stab you in the back and won't even blink.”

Brennan barked with laughter. “Yeah, and you wouldn't?”

“Excuse you, I'm always a goddamn delight,” Grant replied, the very picture of injured dignity. 

“Oh, absolutely!” agreed a new voice. The Doctor turned to the now-open door to see a bearded man in a pinstriped suit smiling broadly. “That's why we keep inviting you back!”

Grant bowed sarcastically. “Why, thank you, Sam. Good to know I'm appreciated by someone here.”

“Always,” Sam replied, gently but firmly ending that particular path of the conversation. He scanned the room, and his eyes lit up when they landed on the Doctor. 

“Ah, you must be the Doctor!” he said with obvious delight, walking over with his hand outstretched. “I'm Sam—thanks for filling in for us, you've made sure we're going to have a good show. Seriously, it's a pleasure to have you here.”

“Aw, cheers!” the Doctor smiled, shaking the offered hand. “Glad I could help out, I'm really looking forward to this!”

“Well, great!” Sam exclaimed, then took a step back, regarding all three players in turn. “Now, folks, I'm just letting you know that we're just about ready to start the record, so if you can start heading down, that'd be great.”

Grant and Brennan nodded—Brennan, the Doctor noticed, with relief. 

“See you down there,” Sam said, smiling. “Have a great show, and—”

His eyes caught on the Doctor's for a second, twinkling. 

“Good luck.”

---

Backstage, the Doctor, Brennan and Grant were marshalled into podium order and given a final briefing from the crew. And then, with a thumbs-up from Kaylin, that was it.

Showtime.

“Get ready for a Game Changer!” came Sam's voice from onstage. “Tonight’s guests: he can shoot off a monologue with laser accuracy; it’s Brennan Lee Mulligan!”

Brennan, his back to the camera as the curtains opened, spun on his heel and, with a stone-cold expression, pointed finger guns straight down the barrel, before letting the facade crack open. “Hi!” he exclaimed, and walked over to the leftmost podium.

“It’s his first appearance, but he’s already on fire; it’s the Doctor!”

The Doctor leant against the archway to the stage and flashed a broad smile towards the camera, then in a few skipping steps, had bounded over to the next free podium. What the hell, why not make an entrance?

“And even in the toughest of mazes, you’ll always be able to find him; it’s Grant O’Brien!”

Grant dipped his lanky frame into an approximation of a curtsey, spreading his arms wide, then sauntered over to the closest podium with a grin.

“And your host, me!” Sam announced, a ring of manic white showing around his irises as he beamed down the barrel of the camera. “I’ve been here the whole time!”

“This,” he continued, pushing his microphone shut and stowing it in his jacket pocket, “is Game Changer, the only game show where the game changes every show. I am your host, Sam Reich!” 

As he said his name, he looked at his hands, front and back, as if he was pleasantly surprised to be himself, then gestured towards the three podiums.

“I am joined today by these three lovely contestants! Now, you understand how the game works.”

“Of course not,” Grant started. “You know we don't.”

“We can't, Sam, that's the whole point of the theatre you've set up here,” Brennan said over him. 

“Not yet,” was all the Doctor said, anticipation starting to drum a tattoo of excitement against the inside of his ribcage. 

“That’s right!” Sam said brightly, shooting finger guns at the camera. “Our players have no idea what game it is they’re about to play. The only way to learn is by playing. The only way to win is by learning, and the only way to begin is by beginning! So without further ado, let’s begin by giving each of our players fifty points.”

The Doctor, biding his time, watched the reactions of his fellow contestants. Grant looked at the front of his podium, checking the point total, and nodding approvingly when he saw that yes, it was sitting at a round fifty. Brennan, on the other hand, was starting to frown.

“Players, Sam says: touch your nose,” Sam began, and Brennan sighed the sigh of someone who wasn’t happy to be proved right.

“Oh, no,” he groaned. “Oh, you son of a bitch. Wasn’t one this season enough?”

He touched his nose anyway, as did the others, and Sam smiled encouragingly. “Sam says: touch your ear.”

When they all did, Sam nodded. “Touch your other ear.”

Everybody held still, fingers on the ears they had originally touched.

Sam beamed. “Easy, players, right?”

“You say that now,” Brennan said darkly. “Which makes it worse, because all you're doing is setting us up for failure.”

Sam gasped, pretending offence. “Would I do that?”

“Yes,” Brennan and Grant replied in unison, which drew a grin from the Doctor and set Sam off chuckling.

“And I'm not having it,” Brennan continued, leaning his elbows against his podium and pointing at Sam with the hand not touching his ear. “You better watch yourself, because I know how this game works, and you're not going to get one over on me.”

“Strong words, Brennan!” Sam said, clearly delighted by this response. “Okay, then, let's start making things a bit more interesting!”

The game continued as per Sam Says usual, some rounds done as a group and some individual. Points were won, sure, but lost slightly more frequently, and even the Doctor found he was having to concentrate to avoid getting caught in the host's traps. 

It was fun. Genuinely, it was like playing a game with friends, and the Doctor felt himself leaning into it. There wasn't any sign of danger—maybe there wasn't a mystery to solve at all, and the TARDIS just decided he needed a total break. 

Well, probably not. But the way things were going, he was able to let himself hope. 

“Alright, players,” Sam said a good few rounds in, just as pleasantly as he would start any other question, and the screen behind him dinged as a new prompt popped up. “Survive the death beam.”

For a second, everything was frozen perfectly still. 

And then came the crash, the explosive noise of heavy machinery moving relentlessly through a drywall set.

The Doctor was already moving. “Everyone down!”

“Duck!” Brennan yelled at the same time.

The two of them hit the ground within milliseconds of each other, but Grant was still paralysed in the face of the giant, science-fiction type laser cannon that had just ploughed through the wall. 

It whined ominously, screaming its way to fever pitch. And then a sharp pain in Grant’s ankle made him stagger, pitching forwards onto the carpet behind the podiums as the Doctor rolled away to avoid getting pinned.

“Sorry, babes,” the Doctor whispered. “But it was either kick you to get you down, or—”

A hideous metallic screech ripped through the air, and all three of them could feel the crackle of ozone as a beam of energy swept across what had, moments ago, been neck height.

“…Or that,” the Doctor finished with a grimace.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Grant breathed, suddenly very conscious of every inch of his 6’9 frame. “Thanks.”

“Well done, players!” Sam exclaimed delightedly from above them. “But… sorry, I didn’t say ‘Sam says’, so that’s a point off for everyone.”

“What the fuck!” Brennan snapped.

“Are you actually insane?” Grant demanded at the same time, his voice overlapping with Brennan’s.

In response, Sam just wheezed with laughter. “You can come back to your podiums,” he said, cheerfully ignoring them.

Nobody moved.

“Very good!” he acknowledged, and even without seeing his face, the grin was obvious in his voice. “Okay, Sam says: come back to your podiums.”

Although the words were innocuous, and his tone was just as light and breezy as usual, there was nevertheless an edge hiding just underneath the surface. And while the death beam loomed large in the minds of all three players, it was impossible to consider disobedience as an option.

Slowly, they stood, returning to their places. Now they had the time to look at it properly, the death beam was even more sinister, and Brennan and Grant both kept flicking nervous glances its way, ready to move if it looked like it was charging up again.

The Doctor, however, was focused purely on the man standing in front of them. Unbothered, Sam met his gaze like a challenge, a mischievous smile playing about his lips.

“Oh, you’ll love this one,” he said, and the screen changed. “Sam says, starting with Grant: say my name.”

Grant frowned in confusion, but answered quickly nonetheless. “Sam Reich?”

The man himself shrugged tolerantly, moving on. “Brennan?”

Brennan just stared at him coolly. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Well caught, Brennan!” Sam said happily. “Sam says: say my name.”

“Sam,” Brennan replied, suspicion clear in his voice. “Samuel Dalton Reich.”

He nodded, still with a hint of indifference. “And lastly, Doctor.” His smile broadened. “Sam says: say my name.”

It was easy. Too easy. And as the Doctor looked into the eyes of the man calling himself Sam Reich, he felt his hearts stutter in recognition, because something had changed. He wasn’t hiding himself anymore, and while the face was different yet again, the Doctor would know the shape of that soul anywhere. It was impossible. It was inevitable.

“You can’t be,” he breathed. 

Sam smirked, leaning in across his podium. “Oh, but Doctor… I’ve been here the whole time,” he stage-whispered with a wink.

“He said you lost,” the Doctor said, shaking his head, looking wrong-footed for the first time that Brennan and Grant could recall. “You lost, and he trapped you.”

The other two watched, uncomprehending, but Sam just smiled, drumming his fingers against the podium with an audible beat, fast but distinct. Four taps, four taps, four taps. “I’m waiting.”

The Doctor took a slow, deep breath. Set his jaw. 

��Master.”

---

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): you are here!

[hinamie]

took 3 tries but i think i am finally free of korra plagiarism in yuuji's water tribe design

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Halloween prompts year 2 day 10

Danny groaned, blearily raising his head from the nest of blankets and pillows he had made in his apartment. He had smelled something strange.

Something strong enough to wake him from his sleep. Danny got up and stumbled to the front door, cursing his luck for getting a fever so soon into his interdimentional road trip.

Peering out of his open doorway he saw a little kid shivering in the cold, badly hidden behind two trash cans in the mouth of an alley. Danny didn't think twice. In fact he didn't think at all. It wasn't uncommon for an Omega to smell a child who didn't have the scent of another Omega on them and immediately claim that child as thier own, and seeing as his home dimension had exclusively Omegas...let's just say there's a lot of drama in family court and a lot of laws pertaining to this.

So of course the next thing Danny knows is that the kid was bundled up inside his very soft and comfy makeshift nest before Danny passed out.

For the next week Danny had this mysterious fever and he acted like a parent on autopilot, barely conscious as he instinctually cared for the little boy. He made them food and cut them up into tiny bits to feed his baby and if it was handfoods like pizza rolls or sandwich triangles, Danny would hold him in his arms and rock his back and forth, humming softly as his child ate.

Eventually his heat ended (note that omegas from his world don't have heats, they don't have alphas and so they don't even know what a heat is) and Danny was very surprised he has a child in his house. But he and the baby are very emotionally attached to one another. When Danny asked what the little kids name was (and man this kid was little) the kid stared at him in the way little kids do before muttering the world "Clone" followed by what sounded suspiciously like a serial number.

Danny decided, nah. His kid now. Sucks to be the bioparent cause Danny doesn't wanna share.

Somewhere in the city, the bats were freaking out. They had raided a lab and discovered not only had one of them been cloned, but the clone had escaped and no one knew where it was. Cue panicked parental frenzy.

[taxinealkaloids]

horrible children who are. so so mean to each other

[sweatandwoe]

I think the funniest bg3 thing is Astarion trying to actively dislike kids in act 1 to getting his personal autonomy and hope back to act 3 where if you think about hurting kids in any capacity he'd kill you

Man got memed to oblivion about being an asshole to kids only to go full dad mode in act 3

[secondbeatsongs]

going through some old logs, and I need you to understand just how truly unhinged early 2010s RP omegle was.

genuinely you could stay on there for hours with just one person, hashing out complex traumatic backstories, drawn-out love confessions, detailed action scenes...collaboratively describing graphic violence, past abuse, comfort, hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort, any number of sex acts...and then one of you would be like, "oh haha it's 2AM! I have to sleep :(" and the other person would say, "omg saaaame. :( gnight!!!" and then you'd exit the chat and never speak to each other again, and this was. fine.

you could just spend an entire evening shoving your wretched, bleeding soul into a chat log with someone you'd never meet or learn the name of, achieve some form of emotional catharsis, and then go about your day or night like this was an average way to spend your time.

I'm really normal about this, actually

[fumifooms]

Meowpi compilation

Meowpi is the Touden family’s house cat. We mostly see it with or around Falin, and if Falin having named Muimui is any indication I hc Falin was the one to name it~ Beyond the dogs and Meowpi, the Toudens also have chickens, sheeps, goats and at least one horse.

[wardensantoineandevka]

it's kind of funny that we're back at the start, as it was known from the very beginning, as the story always was, the old lore: "the Divine Gate was built in response to the destruction and suffering of the Calamity as the Prime Deities realized was far too much and, as such, they needed to also remove themselves from Exandria to protect it from the ruin that the gods dwelling here brings"

[uncanny-tranny]

"The only person who can save you is yourself, don't rely on anybody else!"

Actually, what has saved me is books and my favourite video game and my cats and my friends who I've shared late nights and too-early mornings with and the dew-covered grass I walked on on the way to a competition bus in ninth grade band and the sunburn that kept me out of school for days the month prior.

I understand the viewpoint of how you are ultimately the person who can save you, but don't discount that you aren't an island. You aren't meant to be your sole savior. Let others save you, too. You are worth the care and love the universe has for you.

[necrotic-nephilim]

jealousy really is the driving force of DamiTim as a ship. love that for them. love how Tim has the Robin mantle ripped away from him and he has to suffer the jealousy of watching Dick and Damian bond. how possessive over Dick Tim can be, to have him stolen by Dick.

even more so though, is the jealousy from Damian. how on earth do you cope when you finally get to be Robin, a role you've convinced is your birthright, and no one really likes you? every prefers the Robin who came before you? Dick regularly reminds you that he can always go and call Tim back when you act out? like the complex Damian has over Tim is unreal. Tim, who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and had everything handed to him his whole life. he never had to struggle or fight for his place like Damian did. Damian has spent his whole life fighting and proving himself, and yet he can't ever seem to truly claw the mantle of Robin away from Tim. even when Tim lets it go, becomes Red Robin, they seem to share it. Tim can slip back into the role of Robin whenever someone like Dick or Bruce need him to, because *he's* the Robin who they need. he's the Robin who was able to find Bruce. he's the Robin that Ra's wants an heir out of. he's the Robin who even Jason respects. in Damian's eyes, everything Damian has fought tooth and nail for, was handed to Tim.

so of course he's going to react to Tim with violence and aggression, especially after finding out Tim has contingency plans for him. no matter how much Damian proves himself, he's never going to be enough, especially not to Tim. and so his deep refusal to see Tim as family, to acknowledge Tim's legacy is all driven by such an angry jealousy. Tim understands aspects of Bruce's legacy that Damian doesn't, like the need to sweet talk and play nice with the elites of Gotham, even if they're corrupt. they exemplify different aspects of Robin, and the aspects that Tim exemplifies are the aspects that Damian knows he'll never fully understand and therefore holds such a deep contempt for. he wants to fight criminals, not play nice with politicians. Tim understands the side of Gotham that's utterly foreign to Damian. if anything, he represents that side of Gotham, to Damian. a pretty little rich boy who's nothing but a know-it-all and not a real son of Bruce. he can't be a Wayne. he can't be Damian's family.

and all of that angry jealousy leading to unhealthy obsession turned a weird, angry crush from Damian is just my bread and butter. that is how DamiTim should be. to me. Damian obsessed over hating Tim Drake so much he accidentally ends up sort of in love with him and that only makes Damian angrier. because he can't prove everyone right by *also* liking Tim. he can't let Ra's win like that, because frankly why wouldn't Ra's be delighted by Damian and Tim getting together. and it builds and builds with angry passive aggression towards Tim that culminates in angry hate-fucking-that's-not-just-driven-by-hate. love and hate are always viewed as opposites in shipping and i think they're the same intense passion just in different directions. and for the best ships, they're very intertwined. what is DamiTim is not the peak of that. "i put so much of myself into hating you i had no choice but to fall in love with you somewhere along the way" core. love that bleeds into hate and hate that bleeds into love. "you make me so angry i regularly passively try to kill you but not with any real effort because who would i obsess over if you were actually gone" core. murder attempts as a form of courting. contingency plans to take each other out as a love language. they're unwell.

[merlins-strawberriesandroses]

The thing no one ever considers while writing up character analyses about Merlin is that. he must have been sooooooo sleepy.

[ratatatastic]

"Matthew before we start, I wanna talk to you about your mouthguard. What's the purpose of it? What purpose does it serve 'cuz it's never in your mouth?" "I mean, I guess it doesn't really serve that much of a purpose all the time? I try to keep it in as best I can but its got a mind of its own, and it's everywhere so... I don't know. I think in the important times I have it in? But it's not all the time." "Does that bother anyone? Teammates? Opposition? Probably your mum? Does she say anything?" "Yeah, my mom did not like it at the start but she's completely given up on it. Call it about 8 years ago, 9 years ago, when I came into the NHL she gave up on it so. I don't know! Teammates don't really care. Opposition? I've had it grabbed a few times but it's all good." "It's workin' for ya."

florida panthers @ edmonton oilers | 12.16.24 (x)

[mellosdrawings]

OOOOOO CAN I ASK HOW WOULD THE N2 SQUAD REACT TO EACH OF THEM DYING?

What have you unleashed?

(WARNING: Angst, allusions to death, all that fun stuff. Nothing graphic tho, don't worry)

Jamil

He shouldn’t be surprised.

Well… He isn't surprised. Jamil Viper doesn't get nice things. Not for more than a few months, anyway.

Every once in a while, life takes pity on him and throws some nice, agreeable news his way. Just enough so that he lets his guard down. Just enough so that he allows himself to think maybe things will get better. Just enough so that he can pretend he isn't chained to a fate he will never escape.

A letter to NRC, a plan that goes a little too well, a couple of upperclassmen who seem to genuinely love him for who he is and not who he pretends to be.

So of course it doesn't last. Life gives and life takes.

Kalim follows, Octavinelle gets involved, Leona and Vil-

Well…

He isn't surprised.

Jamil Viper doesn't get nice things.

Vil

They look at him like they expect something from him. Horror, anger, ugly tears maybe. Just a reaction. Anything. Anything at all.

Vil doesn't give them that. Doesn't give them an opportunity to pity him. Doesn't give them food for gossip. Doesn't give them any material to make this topic last for any longer than it has to.

He knows how it works. Someone snaps a pic of him at his lowest, someone records his voice breaking during an interview, someone catches his lips tremble for but a second, and everybody will start talking about it again. And again. And again. For as long as there is a reaction from him. For as long as the topic attracts views.

Suffering brings more views than success.

So Vil doesn't react. Doesn't say a thing. Doesn't acknowledge the topic.

Better to be a cold asshole for a few weeks than to hear about it for years.

And in the darkness of his own room, where there is no camera, no eyes, and no ears to witness his grief-

Vil cries himself to sleep.

Leona

It’s just sand.

Only sand.

For miles and miles, further than the eye can see, nothing but sand.

Ruggie had the clever foresight to send all of Savanaclaw packing when Leona got the news. They would be sand too otherwise.

Who cares.

Who fucking cares.

He could turn the whole world to sand and it wouldn't be enough.

He might as well turn his own heart into sand.

It would hurt less.