#they grew up together!

[themoonofblueside]

i remember in agot how much jon wanted to go back to winterfell and join robb's cause and help him be with him and i just cant help but think. robb probably wanted that too. in winterfell catelyn was not functional after bran's fall, his dad and sansa were gone, theon was with him but he had no role to make decisions like him. him and jon were the same age, got the exact same education from their father, they were equals in battle and mind. he would help with bran and rickon and he would help rule winterfell. after he leaves winterfell it's even worse because he's all alone, there is no person who would understand how much he grieves and how he feels other than jon. days and nights of thinking about getting him back, writing to him to be with him, wanting to tell him his plans and worries. he loved and trusted jon like he trusted no one, i think.

[teepooo]

Blair's cousin

[ruoye-enthusiast]

hua cheng so valid to be jealous of fxmq tbh. if they were my beloveds attendants/best friends/it’s complicated but the devotion’s still there i would be SICK

[shitpostingkats]

Oh english is absolutely not his first language.

[inkskinned]

you know, you know. no gods, no masters, no kings on pedestals. everyone is fallible. death of the author. you know! you are balanced about your intake of media - you allow the wiggle room, the grace, the gratitude, the skepticism. nobody above criticism.

but still. a weird gut-punch feeling, something akin to betrayal. you read the article. surprise! an author you love is actually: a serial fucking predator.

well, shit. what now. no, you knew he was a person (all people are), but now you're wondering - what have i overlooked by accident? what messages have i internalized that are strange and cruel? and also, like, what the fuck?

his actions lay a thick glaze on top of everything. like each place is now ruined, opaque in a new way. but okay, fine, you've done this before. you knew better, right? you've been betrayed by many a cherished childhood author.

still, this stickiness. fuck. can you pick up that book again. will you read it to your children. you've recommended it to others - will you ever do that again? and of course, of course, no parasocial relationships. you were theoretically above this kind of sentiment. but the artist informs the art, right.

so it's not something as clear-cut as feeling he owed you, specifically (a stranger) better behavior - just that you kind of, in a distant and odd way... sort of trusted him to do better. it's not like a real trust or something speakable, just the faint hope that the product (good books) was a thin representation of the soul. now it feels like the product (good? books?) was a mask. in some small or insignificant way, your previous support of this person lent them power. your money and your time and your laughter.

and the thing is - you have this terrible, echoing sensation. how many times will this happen? over and over. you find out that the singer you love is actually a predator. you learn over drinks that your favorite high school english teacher is in jail for what he did to her. you listen to the news idly and suddenly discover that a woman you used to idolize has been abusing her kids for an actual eon.

what can you touch without the static melting off. you can't even really complain about it too much (you were supposed to know better, and besides, you don't want the same re-split "it's not your fault, love what you love" basic advice), but now it's here. somehow, it feels like - you let him into your life.

it's not that things need to be pure or an artist has to be like, endlessly perfect, mindful. demure. it's more just this terrible truth that has been replayed through your veins so often it feels criminally vain. power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. did you want any one person to be worth that power?

it's just that he wrote books where he seemed to understand that. he seemed to know about hierarchies and unfair systems and bigotry and privilege. you thought they were books about what it means to struggle. you thought they were about having power and still using it for good rather than for control. he spooned you a narrative of being a good guy, a kind soul. you fucking bought what that fucking monster sold.

maybe that's why they were fantasies, after all.

[vyriarose]

catra and adora, as that one arcane s2 poster

[pluvionpc]

a single mom padmé idea that’s been living in my brain lately

[ note: the clothing inspiration for these designs were taken from bedouin, tuareg, iranian, and saudi arabian references, as well as the original tatooinian designs + padmé’s nieces in the aotc cut scenes. i wanted my version of tatooine to more accurately reflect what desert cultures look like in the real world and just be more practical in general ]

[thatmooncake]

*shakes these two because they make me sad*

[the-star-rigel]

isn’t the fundamental tragedy of 18 year old Dick that he wants to be free but instead he is loved and of 18 year old Jason that he wants to be loved but instead he is free

[theokusgallery]

Little pet project of a human AU

The comic above is from they were 14-15, they're 19-20 here

[greykolla-art]

I say to myself: this time I’m not gonna colour it, it’s just gonna be a sketch…

But then I think: I WANNA MAKE THE TROUSERS RED! I WANNA USE GREEN! They are cartoons they should be coloured!!!

And then I fall over dead. 🤝

[casually-eat-my-soul]

You’d know what be really fucking funny, okay so stick with me but you all know that general idea that stiles has a spark and his spark works on his belief / willpower yes? Yes? Good

Now imagine the saying of “kissing it better” + plus stiles spark.

It’s starts with his mother — whom stiles claimed was magic, but everyone truly believes that their mother is magic. Stiles doesn’t really take it super seriously until after Scott gets bitten and deaton calls stiles a spark — but that’s besides the point.

Anytime stiles got hurt via bump, bruises and cuts, as any rambunctious child would - his mother would help him dry his tears and clean the wound before “kissing it better”.

So stiles just grows up assuming that kissing a wound will make it heal faster. And for all intents and purposes it does, unbeknownst to him because of his and his mother’s magic. But he doesn’t really think to much about it because he’s 1. Not around a lot of injuries and 2. not going around kissing people to help heal them.

Well until Derek fucking hale drops half dead in front of his jeep from a gunshot.

Derek doesn’t know enough about humans to argue with stiles, but he’s still not a hundred percent sure. Especially after he got kissed by him and it healed a gunshot??? That was poisoned with wolfsbane??? He gets ever more confused after he overhears a mother in the grocery store consoling her child by telling them that mom will “kiss it better”.

Peter calls Derek an idiot but never actually confirms or denies anything. Scott isn’t any help because he grew up around stiles and just acclimated to it over time. Sheriff Stilinski just sips his coffee in silence.

[catkindness]

smol and silly

[cerubean]

johnny zest but he goes by john landgraab and hasn't dropped out of college and been disowned yet and is also arranged to be married to dina caliente

[hey-hey-j]

being both the sensitive one and the baby?? Yowch.

........

I wouldn't have been able to live with myself without a followup

(★ my Ko-fi)

[inkskinned]

you're grabbing lunch with a nice man and he gives you that strange grimace-smile that's popular right now; an almost sardonic "twist" of his mouth while he looks literally down on you. it looks like he practiced the move as he leans back, arms folded. he just finished reciting the details of NFTs to you and explaining Oppenheimer even though he only watched a youtube about it and hasn't actually seen it. you are at the bottom of your wine glass.

you ask the man across from you if he has siblings, desperately looking for a topic. literally anything else.

he says i don't like small talk. and then he smiles again, watching you.

a few years ago, you probably would have said you're above celebrity gossip, but honestly, you've been kind of enjoying the dumb shit of it these days. with the rest of the earth burning, there's something familiar and banal about dragging ariana grande through the mud. you think about jeanette mccurdy, who has often times gently warned the world she's not as nice as she appears. you liked i'm glad my mom died but it made you cry a lot.

he doesn't like small talk, figure out something to say.

you want to talk about responsibility, and how ariana grande is only like 6 days older than you are - which means she just turned 30 and still dresses and acts like a 13 year old, but like sexy. there's something in there about the whole thing - about insecurity, and never growing up, and being sexualized from a young age.

people have been saying that gay people are groomers. like, that's something that's come back into the public. you have even said yourself that it's just ... easier to date men sometimes. you would identify as whatever the opposite of "heteroflexible" is, but here you are again, across from a man. you like every woman, and 3 people on tv. and not this guy. but you're trying. your mother is worried about you. she thinks it's not okay you're single. and honestly this guy was better before you met, back when you were just texting.

wait, shit. are you doing the same thing as ariana grande? are you looking for male validation in order to appease some internalized promise of heteronormativity? do you conform to the idea that your happiness must result in heterosexuality? do you believe that you can resolve your internal loneliness by being accepted into the patriarchy? is there a reason dating men is easier? why are you so scared of fucking it up with women? why don't you reach out to more of them? you have a good sense of humor and a big ol' brain, you could have done a better job at online dating.

also. jesus christ. why can't you just get a drink with somebody without your internal feminism meter pinging. although - in your favor (and judgement aside) in the case of your ariana grande deposition: you have been in enough therapy you probably wouldn't date anyone who had just broken up with their wife of many years (and who has a young child). you'd be like - maybe take some personal time before you begin this journey. like, grande has been on broadway, you'd think she would have heard of the plot of hamlet.

he leans forward and taps two fingers to the table. "i'm not, like an andrew tate guy," he's saying, "but i do think partnership is about two people knowing their place. i like order."

you knew it was going to be hard. being non-straight in any particular way is like, always hard. these days you kind of like answering the question what's your sexuality? with a shrug and a smile - it's fine - is your most common response. like they asked you how your life is going and not to reveal your identity. you like not being straight. you like kissing girls. some days you know you're into men, and sometimes you're sitting across from a man, and you're thinking about the power of compulsory heterosexuality. are you into men, or are you just into the safety that comes from being seen with them? after all, everyone knows you're failing in life unless you have a husband. it almost feels like a gradebook - people see "straight married" as being "all A's", and anything else even vaguely noncompliant as being ... like you dropped out of the school system. you cannot just ignore years of that kind of conditioning, of course you like attention from men.

"so let's talk boundaries." he orders more wine for you, gesturing with one hand like he's rousing an orchestra. sir, this is a fucking chain restaurant. "I am not gonna date someone who still has male friends. also, i don't care about your little friends, i care about me. whatever stupid girls night things - those are lower priority. if i want you there, you're there."

he wasn't like this over text, right? you wouldn't have been even in the building if he was like this. you squint at him. in another version of yourself, you'd be running. you'd just get up and go. that's what happens on the internet - people get annoyed, and they just leave. you are locked in place, almost frozen. you need to go to the bathroom and text someone to call you so you have an excuse, like it's rude to just-leave. like he already kind of owns you. rudeness implies a power paradigm, though. see, even your social anxiety allows the patriarchy to get to you.

you take a sip of the new glass of wine. maybe this will be a funny story. maybe you can write about it on your blog. maybe you can meet ariana grande and ask her if she just maybe needs to take some time to sit and think about her happiness and how she measures her own success.

is this settling down? is this all that's left in your dating pool? just accepting that someone will eventually love you, and you have to stop being picky about who "makes" you a wife?

you look down to your hand, clutching the knife.