#never EVER interact with me

[lnkedmyheart]

Kpop stans look at idols that have lived together for nearly a decade being genuinely affectionate with each other and scream queerbait and then declare the most cringey ass fanservice and actual ship bait to be evidence of them being gay and supportive of lgbt rights.

[ragingbullmode]

please... understand my vision.....

[chiquilines]

In honour of mha ending, have some old (and i mean OLD) miryumi scribbles i never got around to posting. They were the main characters in my heart

[bolithesenate]

can I get a 'wohoo' for our two underappreciated Disaster Lineage padawans? Komari and Nim walked so Ahsoka could run

[godbirdart]

i've been so used to the online space where if you like a series or fictional character that someone else hates they will openly berate you and cut you out of their life and tell you to Go Die so when i got into a thing that a friend really didn't like and their only reaction was "i do not like it" and left it at that with no over the top reaction or lecture on Why The Thing They Don't Like Is Bad, honestly i felt like i met god

[elizabethzoopzoop986]

They’re so silly

Platonic Akanene is so silly omg. Underrated duo istg. They’re besties your honor. Plus canonly they’ve know each other for like four years and are like in the same friend group cause Aoi.

[lemongogo]

they should get to kill each other at least twice .i think

[syn0vial]

boba's friendship with beviin in the expanded universe is so funny. he's like, "yes, this is my best friend beviin. he has colossal dad energy, adopts practically every orphan he comes across, and constantly refers to me with a term of endearment that only my father ever used. he's the platonic ideal of a mandalorian in my eyes and his is the only opinion i care about. his armor's color scheme is literally the inverse of my father's. if you attempt to psychoanalyze me about any of this, i will kill you with explosives"

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[icewindandboringhorror]

Little bright colored outfit with a fun vest ~

(shoes from ebay like 10 years ago. everything else is thrifted)

[disastrouscanasta]

LUZ BEFRIENDED A BOY AND TAUGHT HIM HOW TO SWEAR AND NO ONE IS TALKING ABOUT IT????

[catgirljaneway]

Tuvok and Kathryn + Touch

Unknown, found on Pinterest // While You Were Sleeping - Heath // Voyager - Season 2, Episode 6 // Voyager - Season 7, Episode 25 // I Had a Dream About You - Richard Siken // Dreams of Clytemnestra - Dacia Marani // After Bombardment, Sonya - Ilya Kaminsky // A Pocket Full of Lies - Kirsten Beyer // City of Bones - Cassandra Clare // Voyager - Season 7, Episode 10 // Richard Siken //

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

the Klavier-Edgeworth parallels of I Don't Care How You Feel, the Truth Is the Only Thing That Matters™ are very interesting, but the Klavier-Phoenix parallels of nothing bad has ever affected me in my life idk what you're talking about that didn't mean anything I'm not talking about it I'm not thinking about it I'm not acknowledging it they may not be dead but they're dead to me and that's how I like it I'm never looking at them again because they're dead they're gone they're a ghost and this is a perfectly healthy way to live look at me I'm thriving I'm thriving I'm thriving are also very interesting, do you get what I'm saying.

[kagoutiss]

as if it was never there at all.

[joblessquinoa]

Me watching ULS: wow Hotae is so intense, I wonder what his deal is

Me revisiting ULS after watching TTOF: Hotae has experienced levels of yearning and desperation previously unknown to man. All things considered, he's handling it pretty well

[heartshapedgreen]

really hate how 'avoid therapy speak' writing advice is to write your characters not able to convey their emotions period, instead of y'know... making them convey them less clinically (which is what i think 'therapy speak' is supposed to mean?) and more in line with your character's view of life.

like if your character is someone who is very self-aware, or someone who ruminates a lot (hello ocd), they're gonna have A Lot to say when asked about their feelings. maybe it's unreliable. maybe it's diverting from the real issue. maybe they're lying. even untruthful/'wrong' answers can reveal so much about a cynical mindset or that they hate their self or that they've been gaslit so much their entire conclusion is wrong, and it's a "oh..." moment for everybody.

i even have a character who actually would say 'umm... not good, i guess? i have no idea' to being asked 'so how does this make you feel?' but that's cause. they literally have alexithymia. or, i guess if that could be an appropriate reaction for a character who is overly guarded & has trust issues. i also wonder if displeasure at 'therapy speak' has to do with the fact most of us probably don't have many people who ask us about our feelings, and conversations like these feel sappy and uncomfortable and like fanciful imaginings of unrestrained trust that won't be betrayed, because often IRL trust like this goes betrayed. most 'therapy speak' advice comes across as really jaded, and i'm saying this as someone who has trust issues lol. also, considering that alexithymia is actually very common, i wonder if that plays a role in how weird these conversation seem to readers who have it. (i'm actually curious about this.)