#or have barely written

[mynnthia]

was talking with a friend about how some of dunmeshi fаndom misunderstands kabru's initial feelings towards laios.

to sum up kabru's situation via a self-contained modernized metaphor:

kabru is like a guy who lost his entire family in a highly traumatic car accident. years later he joins a discord server and takes note of laios, another server member who seems interesting, so they start chatting. then laios reveals his special interest and favorite movie of all time is David Cronenberg's Crash (1996), and invites kabru to go watch a demolition derby with him

[kensatou]

fascinated/horrified by this set of tweets…

[pocketgalaxies]

The silver color of the thread begins to fill with more golden light. (requested by @overnighttosunflowers)

[steviesummer]

inspired by and as a direct follow up to this post by @strangersteddierthings:

Eddie is horrified. He remembers the day Steve is referring to, though clearly not as well as Steve does. He calls out as Steve raced up the stairs and hears his door slam.

“Fuck.” He stares blankly at the wall in front of him. He can’t believe things went so bad so quickly. He’s been trying to get to know Steve better, get closer and damn if he didn’t just blow the hole thing. He’d shown up early, told Steve he needed to prepare as an excuse to spend some time with him. Despite everything that happened over spring break, Steve had remained guarded, standoffish no matter what Eddie tried. At least now he knew why. He’d fucked things up before he’d known there was something to fuck up.

He feels even worse about calling him a bully. Sure, Steve had looked the other way and even laughed at some of the mean jokes others had made, but he was far from the worst. That dubious award went to Billy Hargrove, but even without him, there was plenty of people who did far worse than Steve did. Especially because Steve is right. He did hit first, metaphorically at least. He can justify it all he wants as trying to protect himself, but that doesn’t make it right. Steve all but admitted that as he said the same thing. He feels nauseous at the realization that maybe he was just as bad as those he decried. That for all his talk about accepting outcasts and defying convention, he was just as prejudiced. Swallowing hard, he heads back to the dining room and looks at the clock. There is no way he is going to be able to run the campaign today. He’s not going to be able to focus or even play without thinking about how things might have been if he hadn’t driven Steve off all those years ago. He grabs the phone and dials Gareth’s number. “Emerson house, Sheryl speaking.” “Hi Mrs. Emerson, it’s Eddie.” Eddie is proud that he manages to keep his voice even. “Is Gareth there?” “Oh, yes! Let me go get him for you.” “Thanks Mrs. Emerson.” Eddie focuses on breathing while he waits. “Eddie? Hey man, what’s up?” Eddie breathes out. “Hey Gareth. Look, I know its last minute, but we’re gonna have to postpone Hellfire. Something came up.” He could hear Gareth’s frown through the phone. “Postpone? What happened, did Harrington do something?” As if he couldn’t feel worse. “Nah. I’ll explain later, but can you call Jeff and Frank, let them know? I gotta call the freshman, too.” “Alright, but I’m going to hold you to that.” “Fair enough. Talk to you tomorrow.” Eddie promises before hanging up. He weighs his options for how to tell the Party. Eventually, he decides on calling Mike, know that the younger teen won’t push too much. He’s dialing the Wheeler home before he can second guess his decision. “This is Mike.” Eddie feels a rush of gratitude that Mike is the one who answered, rather than Nancy or one of their parents. “Hey Mike, it’s Eddie. Listen, Steve’s not feeling great and having Hellfire here isn’t going to help. Can you call the rest of the Party, let them know we’re gonna move it to another day? I’ll keep an eye on Steve.” Eddie knows Mike is a confused, given how adamant he’s been in the past about not canceling or moving Hellfire, but as he expected, Mike accepts what he says at face value. “Sure. Need us to bring anything?” “Nah, I’ve got it. Pretty sure he just needs some peace and quiet so he can rest. But thanks.” They say their goodbyes and Eddie puts the phone back on the hook.  With that done, he checks that the door is locked and faces the stairs. Now for the hard part. He’s not sure what he’s going to say, if there is anything he can say that will fix this, but he has to try. Even if doesn’t change things between him and Steve, Steve deserves at least that much. Every step feels like it takes effort, chest heavy with guilt, but it only takes him a few moments to get to Steve’s door. It’s closed, which doesn’t surprise him. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before knocking. Nothing. “Steve?” If it wasn’t for the quiet sound of Steve’s breathing he could hear through the door, Eddie would think he had left. He glad that he at least didn’t drive Steve out of his own home. He rests his forehead on the door. “I’m sorry.” Eddie hopes Steve can hear how much he means it. “You’re right, I fucked up. I made an assumption and took out my anger at other people on you. And that wasn’t fair and it’s not okay. But I want you to know that I’m sorry. Even if it wasn’t you, I shouldn’t have done that.” He lets out a hysterical laugh as he realizes - “And despite that, you still humor the kids when they talk about D&D and agreed to let us play here and didn’t punch me in the face, which makes you a better man than I.” He falls silent, listens as Steve’s breathing slows. He isn’t sure how long he stands there. He wonders how many other people he hurt this way, without even realizing. Knows he wants to do better, be better. He sighs, feeling his shoulders slump. “Anyway, I canceled Hellfire for today. I told everyone something came up, don’t worry about that. I’ll make up some story, make sure they know its not your fault. And uh,  let me know if you want to hang out again or something. I know I’ve been around a lot; didn’t realize that I was making you so uncomfortable, which is probably another thing I should apologize for. Anyway. Yeah. I’ll see you around, okay?” He waits a moment for an answer, but when none comes, he backs away from the door and walks downstairs to gather his stuff. It hurts, but he knows Steve deserves space and to be the one to initiate contact. He has some thinking to do, anyway.

[themanlylobster]

I imagine that Mobei-jun is at any time holding onto Shang Qinghua, just the way he does it is in most cases, slightly unfortunate for SQH . . . I also post on forbidden twitter and Bluesky ♥

[smallpwbbles]

Let Prime continue to make Shadow crazy as hell and bite the tech off Sonics hands like IS HE OKAY

[spacedace]

Been doing a plot overhaul of Ghosts of Gotham and the time line is getting wild but at least I have the general vibes of each of the four big plot lines figured out:

(shoutout to Brennan Lee Mulligan's portrayl of Tula on Burrow's End for making me realize what Dan's story was gonna be lol)

[rottengurlz]

oc introductions

[bayetea]

I think it's really annoying that leo has completely falsified memories of jason too and this is barely acknowledged in the books

[leaflingsound]

they really did put izzy down like a three-legged elderly dog, huh. diagnosed him with narrative arthritis and then didn't even bother trying him on pain management before picking up the gun and walking him out back.

[champion-of-love]

reposting my dexpid speech from my reblog of another post because it might take a while before i ever (if i ever) post my full analysis on cupid x dexter but i still have too many feelings about it so here it is

[canisalbus]

I say this in the best way, but your characters feel like they're from an obscure but really good piece of media, and you feel like the artist who always draws the two main characters as ghay lovers

.

[yeetusthemighty]

Huh I wonder what that blue glow is (spoilers under the cut)

oh.

(Decided to crop this one just in case anyone cared about spoilers)

full art here:

[hiemaldesirae]

you knwo what. you know what. i can never fucking escape the game system trope no matter what fandom it is im just gonna play into it now

so actually the original concept for this was isekai where vox ends up getting booted into hell via a universal mishap but i think its funnier like this: where vox dies and since he did technically die for his friends, he ends up ascending to heaven but is greeted by a different angel instead of the seraphims who asks if he'd like a second chance instead

vox says yes thinking he'll just get sent down again and be back w the vees- this does not happen. instead he ends up back at the very first day he fell into hell with a "system" - one that tells him its a "gift" from heaven, no less, thats supposed to guide him through his time in hell to like . minmax his gains + his losses (emotional and material) if that makes sense . so the system walks him through his time in hell but suddenly there seems to be a problem . turns out an unanticipated side effect of the system is that vox has a similar presence to an archangel (the one who Gave him the damn thing) so a lot of people end up assuming hes some kinda fallen angel which makes it like 100% harder for him to go thru life^3

alastor in PARCTICULAR takes a very odd interest in him, wondering and asking if he has wings or if they were "burnt in your fall" meanwhile vox isnt quite sure whether he wants to take the chance to get close to al this time or just leave since deep down he knows itll end badly for him either way. the system makes the choice for him and starts to steer him away from al who in turn becomes even more intrigued by the fallen angel, who for whatever reason he swears feels familiar

[initforthelolzz]

back from the dead

[youssefguedira]

K or N for Joe and/or Nicky

K. On the edge of consciousness.

Yusuf wakes slowly, so slowly that he can’t see and isn’t even sure he can open his eyes, only half-sure he still has eyes, and that’s how he knows there’s something very, very wrong. He can’t move, can’t hear, can’t even smell anything. He doesn’t remember exactly what happened to him, but every part of him is burning, and he’s fairly sure the weird aching sensation in his head is his skull knitting itself back together, which. He really, really didn’t need to know what that feels like. 

There’s a scraping in his chest when he breathes in, but at least he’s breathing. 

Where is he? He could be anywhere. He could be in the middle of the street, could have been dragged away from the fighting from someone who had seen him breathing through a wound that should have killed him immediately. When he wakes, what will he find? Will they have taken his weapon? How long has he been dead? 

Will Nicolò be able to find him, if they are separated? Will he even try?

Slowly but steadily, he starts to hear something: a high pitched whistling that sounds like it’s coming from deep inside his own head. The darkness begins to lift, leaving flickering amber lights across his vision, and a shadow in front of him. 

There’s a voice, too, one that sharpens into words as Yusuf’s hearing begins to return. He doesn’t understand their meaning, but the cadence of them and the voice itself is familiar. 

“Are you awake?” Nicolò asks softly, switching to Arabic. 

Yusuf tries to make a sound in response. Whether it’s audible he doesn’t know, because the only noise he can really make is a rasping exhale, but Nicolò hushes him anyway.

“Do not… you can be slow,” Nicolò says. He’s more comfortable with the sounds of the language now, but still doesn’t always string sentences together well. “We are safe. I am here.”

He’s made aware of where his hand is by the feeling of Nicolò reaching for it. Yusuf manages to make an actual sound this time, but still can’t form words. Nicolò squeezes his hand gently. 

“I am here,” he says again. 

Eventually, Yusuf’s skull seems to piece itself back together fully, and his vision sharpens, letting him see that they’re backed into the corner of the two remaining intact walls of a house ravaged by fire, Nicolò crouched in front of him with his sword in hand. There’s a trail of blood leading to where Yusuf is lying now, and a section of the room that has collapsed. He can piece together enough. Nicolò would have had to drag him over here.

This time, he manages to make a sound, even if he can’t quite form words. Nicolò looks down at him over his shoulder, and there is blood on his face and in his hair, and only then does Yusuf notice the bodies in the room. 

“Okay?” Nicolò asks. 

Yusuf manages to nod, and it sends a spike of pain along his spine. Nicolò turns slightly to look at him properly. 

“You are almost done, I think,” he says. “You did not… you were asleep for a long time. I did not know if…”

“Nicolò,” Yusuf finally manages, hoarse.

“Rest,” Nicolò says. “I am here.”

(letter asks)