#seems like a defense boy

[snevecel]

if ssmp did volleyball,

robert would be their middle cus he’s objectively the tallest (depending on my mood he is 6’4-6’6 i guess the median’s 6’5 which is short for a middle)

sneve (he’s like 5’8-6’0) and shadow (it depends but he’s also 5’8-6’0 1/2) can be substitutes for each other’s positions (libero and setter respectively but sneve is dogwater at setting so. not really. only in the event of injury would they ever switch roles)

sean is 5’9 1/2 and their outside hitter, kim is 5’11 and their opposite

shadow / sean are their team captains to me simply bc yeah. shenanigans

[edwinisms]

you know. I think the reasons it feels so literally narratively wrong when people refer to charles as being straight (such as in interviews where his love life comes up and so on) are that A) he’s never deemed outright straight in the show, so it’s just an assumption that he must be straight by default (which is silly in a show like this), and B) what he says following edwin’s confession. I know I’m biased, but even when I try to look at it as neutrally as possible, the way he reacts in general and the specific words he uses just don’t sound right when you imagine them being said by a Totally Definitely Straight guy.

first of all if you actually listen to it instead of absorbing the scene superficially it’s not particularly a rejection at all, and the actors have stated that themselves– it’s not him saying no, it’s him saying “I can’t give you an answer right now, but I will eventually”. that’s not an interpretation, that’s literally just the truth of what he said (and again, the actors agree). can you imagine a straight guy saying that, or possibly even more damning, “we have literally forever to figure out the rest [“the rest” meaning anything that goes beyond the kind of love charles already solidly has for him]”.

imagine you’re a straight man who’s unwaveringly confident in his orientation and your gay best friend confesses his feelings for you. you would not respond with the implication there is a “the rest” to figure out. since the main, obvious obstacle would be your solid lack of attraction to men, that’d probably be essential to your response– it wouldn’t be a “I can’t say–“ it’d be a “I can’t be–“. and on top of all that, I feel like the whole thing would have to sound far more apologetic– “I’m sorry, I love you and that’ll never change, but I just can’t love you the way that you love me.” something like that, right?

tldr: this is a rare instance in television where assuming a character is straight by default makes Less sense than the alternative. and charles’ choice of words in the confession overtly suggest that he is, at the very least, unsure of his orientation.

[stvlti]

I think Charles Rowland and Hobie Brown would have a lot to talk about

[reel-fear]

MIKE BLOCKED ME ON TWITTER FOR ROASTING HIS DUMBASS RESPONSE TO THE GRAPHIC NOVEL STUFF!!

grown ass man scared of the 19-year-old queer being mean to him over his public meltdown more at 8.

[colourmornings]

lol I know I told people that I would analyze DBDA for Edwin's speech, but really he just speaks basic RP. Focusing on language during this rewatch though, I'm sad to say I speak most similarly to Brad and Hunter

[aceofstars16]

Me whenever I see posts that play out Ford to be an uncaring jerk:

[avionvadion]

For someone who’s writing a fic centered around Sesshomaru x OC I sure do like to put Inuyasha under a microscope to prod at his brain to figure out what’s going on in there.

(Anyways, here’s my favorite paragraph from Inuyasha’s POV from the most recent chapter.)

"He knew what it was like to lose a loved one. He knew what it was like to lose someone he thought he could trust. He knew what it was like to love and not trust, and to have that love and distrust thrown back in his face. He knew what it was like to love and lose, because he had done it several times before, and each time was more painful than the last. His entire childhood was spent running and hiding in fear, trying desperately to stay alive, because all he had known had left him and the world was intent on getting rid of him too."

(Also an excerpt from Sango’s POV because I love her and there’s something very important near the end of it.)

Lifting her gaze, Sango turned to stare at Inuyasha again- the boy chancing a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, over his shoulders. To the demon slayer, who had been informed how badly Sesshōmaru had treated him in the past, and had seen them fight at least once, Inuyasha looked like a frightened dog.

He was afraid.

Not for Irene, who- deep down- he knew was alive, but of the idea that Sesshōmaru had somehow changed. The person he despised more than anything, perhaps even more than Naraku himself.

Sango remembered all too clearly the way Inuyasha had lashed out at Irene before when she said she didn’t hate Sesshōmaru. When she said she had actually felt safe with him. The idea that Sesshōmaru could have had a change of heart, and was no longer the ruthless demon Inuyasha grew up with- grew up avoiding, grew up trying to survive against- was… terrifying to him. It was like the world he thought he understood was coming crashing down around him.

Because if Sesshōmaru’s heart actually changed for the better, if he was actually going out of his way to save Irene- Inuyasha’s friend- then that meant Inuyasha would have to feel gratitude towards him. One of his best friends would be alive because of the half-brother that had so-often wanted him dead.

But… that doesn’t erase the past.

Sango wonders if Inuyasha realizes that. If he knows that, just because Sesshōmaru has the capacity to care now and even cares about one of their friends, it doesn’t mean the scars of the past will vanish. Inuyasha is still allowed to hate him. He’s allowed to hold a grudge.

Sesshōmaru had been awful to him.

Just because there will be gratitude to the demon lord for saving Irene, that doesn’t mean Inuyasha has to forgive him.

“Inuyasha…” The bloodied mask felt heavy in Sango’s hand, but she didn’t set it down. Her features shifted into something gentler, yet still so very sad. “It’s okay.”

The half-demon said nothing.

“It’s okay to hate Sesshōmaru.”

His feelings are completely valid on this matter. Forgiveness is a gift, not an obligation, and Inuyasha does not have to give it if he does not choose so.

[morgannotlefay]

Just remembered that when I was 14 I would notice that when I hugged other girls I could feel their boobs press against mine and thought “huh, that’s weird that I noticed that. Must be because I want to establish breast-size dominance”

yeah so anyway I’m gay now

[wereonourwayhome]

do you think that john had adhd?

oh hmm, good question! i will try my best to answer it!

first, a disclaimer: i'm not mentally (or professionally) equipped to go full DSM-5 on him at the moment, but here are my observations, based on A) what i know about him as a public figure, B) that degree in psychology i never finished, and C) my own experiences having ADHD/C-PTSD:

so like, vibes alone, i definitely look at him and my gut instinct is "this is not a neurotypical person!" he's got the stink (affectionate) on him, whatever that means. like gaydar but for fellow neurodivergents, yanno?

(side note: all of the beatles ping this for me, and given my own experiences with making close friends and being neurodivergent, i feel like this explains a lot about why the bugs were so tight for so long. see also: george and bob dylan 👁👁)

anyway, back to john! he definitely has some (or a lot) of the dreamy/inattentive/fidgety/impulsive/obsessive/hyperfocused energy and Mood Disregulation™ that can come with ADHD. we've seen him call himself lazy (often a big red arrow pointing toward neurodivergence), as well as struggling to do things he doesn't want to do, which points to executive dysfunction. (describing song writing as "torture" and saying he literally cannot bring himself to play with his son, even though he wants to.)

he's also self-reported serious problems with impulse control (violence, overeating, verbal abuse, risky behavior, drug abuse, etc.) that he later feels shame or regret over. he's got a lot of internalized ego-dystonic behavior that comes with ADHD!

keep in mind, though--a lot of the above can also be attributed to PTSD, C-PTSD or BPD, which are diagnoses that i would be most confident putting money on. BUT, these are often comorbid with neurodivergence, and i'm inclined to argue that neurodivergence makes someone way more predisposed to developing C-PTSD or BPD.

sooo...i dunno! i think he's someone you could easily project ADHD onto, if you were so inclined, with a fair amount of reason to back it up. writing this out has certainly made me think about it more, and it might be something i intentionally include in future characterization.

in closing, i just want to say that i don't think there's any meaningful ethical concern wrt speculating about historical figures' personal lives and playing in the space and writing meta about your blorbos. as long as you aren't doing it AT them, where they'll likely see it, or in a way that might affect their career, i don't see the issue. (and, uh, that's definitely not a problem here lmao.) basically, if you can write fic about them, then you can write meta and armchair diagnose them for funsies 🤷‍♀️

but yeah! this might be something i actually dive into at some point. i skimmed some interviews for this, and the more i read, the more i'm like "oh...yeah. hmm!"

(spoiler: i probably won't. oops.)

[zorbs]

so i don’t have energy to make link click posts this week but my thoughts are in the tags. spoilers included

[slashersweethearts]

if i had a nickel for every time i had a 5cream oc who was an absolutely 100% fruity girl who kept hitting on white boy wes w ZERO intention of actually following through on anything i’d have TWO nickels. which isn’t a lot but its weird that its happened twice right.

[weezerlvr228]

It's giving the...main character syndrome. like who tf does she think she is??? Y/N???

NO OH MY GOSH ANON. LET ME TELL YOU. LET ME FRIGGIN TELL YOU.

[mmyneonlights]

i think i need to eat a fucking bullet

[lonewolflink]

.

[shotmrmiller]

ghost getting himself a cute, soft girl he doesn't talk about much but is clearly obsessed with and price just thinks it's nice he's finally settled down, approves of the home he's made for himself, definitely approves of the one he's taken for himself.

soap asks kyle if he's seen you and he says, "yep. lovely bird he's got tucked away in her little dollhouse. makes great food, too." soap swears there's a subtle shift in his tone when he says "lovely", a hint of something deeper that flickers in his eyes for just a moment. soap simply sucks on his teeth, letting it slide. (although he knows that kyle's always been one to appreciate the good things in life.)

interest gnaws at him, a persistent itch he can't scratch. price likes you just fine, as does kyle. well what about him? he decides to bite the bullet and goes to simon with a knot between his brows, the corners of his lips tugged downwards. they've shared clothes, bullets, beds. if the other two got to meet you, why can't he?

"ya can come over for dinner on tonight. she'd 'ave my neck if she didn't formally meet ya anyway."

soap then asks, out of genuine curiosity more than anything else, if simon would have kept you in the dark from him hadn't he brought you up himself.

"ya meet 'er when i want ya to, boy, and not a moment before." the tone he takes is unmistakeable. his words are a command, not a suggestion, and soap instantly knows to not push further.

soap nods. "ah'll be there."

"course ya will. she'd be terribly disappointed otherwise."

yeah, he'd hate to have that.

soap sits in the living room, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over the cozy place. with a full stomach and an unfastened belt, nursing a glass of kentucky. he can't remember the last time he ate that well or that much.

maybe it's the alcohol that loosens his tongue, or the fact that he wishes he also had a sweet little thing to keep at his side just like simon's doing with you now, but the thoughts he's been mulling over all evening since he first saw you tumble out of his mouth.

"while ah can attest to yer taste in sweethearts, can't say much about your alcohol. bourbon, LT?" he says, chest warm.

simon's arm tightens around your hips, fingers splayed possessively over your thigh. he shrugs, completely unbothered by the backhanded compliment. "can't be perfect in everythin', can we, sergeant?"

soap's cheeks burn furiously hot when you come to his defense with a smack of your palm onto simon's chest. "be nice to johnny. he's got a face that make up for some of his other flaws."

the teasing lilt in your voice unashamedly gets his southern blood pumping. he can't help it if certain things stir when someone as pretty as you look at him like that. soap swirls the amber liquid gently in the glass while keeping his limpid eyes on you, not even trying to hide the fact that his gaze hasn't wavered since your cheeky little comment.

you then whisper something in simon's ear, your cupped hand not even half the size of his head and soap has to rearrange himself from the outside when your teeth catch your bottom lip. simon looks up at you then, eyes heavy and half lidded, and a smirk plays at the corners of his mouth.

"'m not sure, love. you'll just 'ave to ask 'im yourself. go on."

you open that sweet mouth of yours, but simon cuts you off with a decisive wave of his hand. "no. you know how to ask for things."

your reaction to that is visceral, and you're on your knees faster than his alcohol-muddled brain can comprehend. don't look down 'er shirt, don't look down 'er shirt, don't-

"johnny, will you touch my pussy?"

he splutters at your question, completely taken aback, but it seems you're not done just yet.

"hands to yourself, sergeant. tha' not all."

you pout at simon, one that earns you a look that promises consequence, but do as he says.

"will you touch my pussy, johnny? pretty please?"

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Recount Your Kids, Batman

[A loose continuation to this post]

Talia doesn't visit the Wayne manor. At least not regularly nor officially. All the batkids and Batman know she comes sometimes, just to check up on Damian and maybe bother Bruce from time to time, but this is the first time she has ever shown up to a dinner.

And, as they all take their seats, she gives Damian a long curios glance. Then, she looks to Bruce.

"Is that everyone?" She asks, easy and lighthearted. One might think she is simply not acquainted with the number of Wayne children or that she is teasing Bruce on the sheer amount of them. But Damian is looking down to his plate, and Tim knows for sure Talia keeps up with Wayne's head count, and Dick is fairly certain Talia would never tease Bruce, at least not so subtly.

It could have been some sort of a hint at Jason. If he was not here, that is. But he is, for once, so this is really all the family at one table.

"Yes?" Dick tries, looking around the table just to make sure. Steph and Babs are not here today, but that's definitely not what Talia could have meant. Bruce also looks just a little confused, which is a nice change of pace since he looked guarded and on edge from the very moment Talia showed up.

The woman hums, her eyes studying Damian. The youngest bat keeps his gaze down on his empty plate. No one really understands what's going on, but they all feel like there's something important and heavy hanging in the air.

Then, Talia stands up and turns to Alfred, "We will be dining later. It has come to my attention that kids are a lot more secretive than I thought," she explains cryptically and smiles at Bruce, "Beloved, will you come with me to the training grounds? I have something to show you."

Bruce doesn't move for a long moment, and Talia's smile becomes almost gentle, "It's about your son."

At least that makes the man move.

When they get down to the Cave - since Talia insisted this was not a matter that could be resolved in the manor's training room - it's not only her, Bruce, and the little bat there, of course. The whole family was way too intrigued, and some were even alarmed.

The most alarming part, though, was the fact that Damian had been uncharacteristically quiet on their way down. Yet, when Dick looked to Cass, she just shook her head slightly. The boy was not worried. To Cass, he looked almost resigned, if a bit displeased.

"Your sword, Damian," Talia commands, and the boy presses his lips into a thin line.

"This is not necessary, Mother."

"It is," the woman looks amused, but there's an underlying layer of concern to her tone.

"...Yes, Mother," Damian nods his head on what feels like surrender and takes his katana. Not the training one, the real blade. Bruce makes a soft, alarmed grunt, but Talia waves him off.

"Not to worry, Beloved. I will not harm our brethren."

She doesn't take a stance, nor does she pick out a weapon, simply lunges for Damian as soon as they are both on the mats. Two daggers seem to appear in her hands out of nothing, and, contrary to her words, her aim is towards Damian's neck. The boy blocks, jumps away, and blocks another attack.

Tim steps closer, "You can't just-"

"Step away, Drake," It's the first time Damian has spoken to them since they've sat down for dinner. His voice is tense, but not derisive. If anything, it sounds a bit tired.

Talia lunges for him again, faster, meaner. Metal clings against metal.

"You understand this can not keep going, my child," she tells the boy, startlingly gentle on the contrary to her definitely dangerous strikes.

Damian doesn't answer.

The rest of Batfam are forced to simply watch the encounter: Damian is mostly on defense as Talia goes for him, harder and harder with every hit. Until, without any warning, the woman strikes for Damian's arm, making him drop his katana, and-

A few things happen at once.

Talia lunges for Damian's throat. Bruce jumps onto the mats so fast that he almost trips. Tim yelps.

But Talia's blade doesn't strike.

A figure of another child, eerily similar to Damian and wearing the League of Assassins uniform, is standing in front of the littlest bat, two crystal clear blades in his hands, blocking the dagger.

Bruce halts midstep. The rest of the family holds their breath.

But Talia simply smiles and drops her daggers, backing away and looking at the boy between her and Damian with a fond gaze.

"Danyal," she greets, and the boy huffs, lowering his weapons. He doesn't drop them - they simply dissipate in the air, turning into tiny snowflakes.

"Mother," he greets back begrudgingly, and his voice is the exact replica of Damian's. A clone? No, because Damian reacts to him nothing like he had to the clones, simply clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes.

"You could have simply asked, Mother," he comments, taking a step forward and stading near the other boy. Danyal. When standing side by side, they look nearly identical - same facial features, same posture, same hair, even if Damian's is a little more tame.

But Danyal's eyes are just a few hues off. Still green but lighter than Damian's.

"I assumed if you have spent years living here and never bothered to mention your brother, I would need a little more than asking, my love," Talia doesn't laugh, but it sounds like she wants to. Both boys roll their eyes, perfectly in sync.

Hold the fuck up, brother?

"Huh. I thought you died," Jason mentions offhandedly, and the whole family whips their heads to him. Yet, before any of them speak, it's Danyal who answers.

"I mean, I did? Kinda?" He waves his hand in the air and shrugs, and he acts so unlike Damian while also simultaneously having his face, that it makes Tim shiver a little.

"You-" Bruce starts, seeming to finally find his voice, but the boy cuts him off.

"I'm not actually yours," he snorts at Bruce's facial expression, "Yeah, I know I look like I am. Blame the ghost sewers, Chronos, and my stupid ass for making decisions while not being fully awake."

There is so much to unpack in that sentence that no one has the barest of ideas on where to start.

Damian curves his lips down in a sneer.

"The longer you stay there staring, the colder the dinner will be when we return," he reminds them, and Danyal suddenly perks up.

"Dinner? Can I join? It's been ages since I've had anything home cooked," he smiles, like there's some kind of an inside joke in that sentence. Damian rolls his eyes.

"The food doesn't come alive in this household, Danyal."

"Bummer," the boy looks a bit disappointed, but not too much. "And it's Danny, for the thousandth time."

Talia picks up her daggers, hiding them somewhere in her clothes in an unnoticeable motion. Then, she gives Bruce a small, if a bit sly, smile.

"You can not call it 'family dinner' if not all your family is there."