#this is the most consistent I've ever been

[shanastoryteller]

The fact that you wrote a 215k fic in the span of 4 months is the most terrifying thing I have ever beheld. It is nearly half the length of SIAT WHICH HAS BEEN ONGOING SINCE 2017 WHAT THE FUCK SHANA

AND ITS ALL FABULOUS QUALITY TOO??????

Like how??? Do you sleep?? Have you eaten?? Are you okay?? Blink twice if you have been held hostage

You are the person I both look up to and am scared of most now.

Incredible accomplishment, congratulations on finishing!!!

Thank you!!!

I do think doing to all straight through made it appear like way more than it actually felt writing it 😅

I've been hoping around with siat since I started! Although getting back into a more consistent schedule with that is one of my goals this year because I would actually like to finish that fic at some point

[abrakuxas]

Have been reading Batman/Batfamily books from the 70s up and I'm currently at New 52.

I hate most stuff but that are some gems:

S

- Batman and Robin is great most of the time, I cannot complain. The moments I thought were not very much in character ended up being my mistake and I've managed to understand them as genuinely good moments. The arc of Damian's death and Bruce's reaction to it is great and very consistent with how he reacted to Jason's death so many years ago.

- Gotham Academy is almost perfect. I've read the first 6 issues and all the kids are so much fun for me. I don't really agree with Bruce's writing on this first issues? I feel like he is written colder than he used to be written around children. I feel like the writer is doing it from a place of what Batman/Bruce's vibe is, not really from actual understanding of his character, but that's fine cause the protagonist is biased against him anyway, so I can excuse it as her perspective on him. I'm excited to see Dami in the school, I feel like Robin's school life is probably one of the best ideas ever, it worked for Tim Drake before and gothic academy is a great vibe for Damian.

_________________________

A

- Batwoman is also very nice. I think I could've put it in S tier but I've occasionally found myself a little bored by it or skipping something cause it wasn't very interesting to me. Mostly I think Kate Kane is a great character as she had been pre flashpoint and her book did not suffer much from this terrible change in direction. That said I don't care for Maggie Sawyer, I miss Montoya's Question and her dynamic with Kate. I wish Nocturna was better developed as a character as well, as I feel like conceptually she is a great foil for Kate. Alice and Red Alice were not to my taste. The idea and vibes are good but it sometimes feels like a Harley Quinn ripoff that's trying not to be that? Not a very consistent character and having read Alice in Wonderland I feel like this character deserved far better.

- Batman Inc. is... Complicated. I'll just come out here and say it: I do not enjoy Morrison's writing of Batman. I feel like their writing is sometimes TOO meta to a point where they are talking more about the real world IP Batman™ and not so much about Bruce as an actual character. Everything is a big metaphor to what every character represents in our world and not so much what they feel and think, which makes it feel like everything happens in a dreamlike world of concepts and commentary on comics. It's comics about comics and that's boring to me. It's not badly written, just not my cup of tea. That said, this second volume of Batman Inc. was so much fun and at the time it made me FEEL things, even if they were occasionally bad things. I do not like Morrison's treatment of Thalia at all, but overall I rather read a bold yet controversial book than any of the other VERY boring and safey books that make up Batfamily books up until now.

___________________________

B

- the Batman title was not as bad as it could've been. The New 52 is overall a terrible idea and I've seen lots of people say Batman comics got the better treatment out of it and oh boy, I'm so sad for the rest of DC cause most Batman comics S U C K... The Batman title though is mostly fine. Scott Snyder is a good writer. Am I fan of everything he did with this run? Not at all, but he was bold enough to create things, lots of concepts from his run are very very fun and deserve to be core concepts of Batman. It means a lot that the Court of Owls is that popular when the last big villain we got was probably what, Hush? And Court of Owls for all it's flaws is such a better story than Hush anyway. I enjoy a lot of the relationships and character writing here too.

That said, unfortunately, A LOT of the stories are kinda too similar to other stories and feel repetitive if you've read a lot of comics. I've SEEN "Batman disappeared and we're worried about him" just before Flashpoint, I don't need Bruce to be away in a maze (even though it's far better written than Batman RIP to my taste), same thing with Endgame... I've read Contagion and we don't really need ANOTHER pandemic in Gotham. But anyway, maybe that's a me problem more than it is the books problem. Snyder is very competent and his stories can be very very fun and even though not every idea works for me, at least he treats characters with respect and care.

_______________

C

Nightwing is the reason I started reading comics back when I met him in the Starfire goes to the future episode of Teen Titans cartoons and he was THE COOLEST GUY EVER. That said WHY is it that everytime they decide to give him a solo book he is 100% solo? Dick Grayson's best traits comes from his relationship. His weird older-brother-turned-father relationship with Bruce, his guilt towards Jason's death, his situationship with Barbara, his brotherly relationship with Tim and Damian, ALL of his Titans relationships. That's Dick Grayson. So WHY is he solo dealing with "the circus you grew up with is actually EEEEEVILLL and your childhood besties (WHO???????) want to kill you"? It's not just bad and boring, it's a weird trend that has started back with Chuck Dixon's run on him. That's a celebrated run that I don't understand, it's kinda fun at best but alienating at worst, which is sad cause Dixon's Batman run is quite good for Batfamily and Dick Grayson in my opinion. Anyway, this book sucks, what's next?

- Grayson. It's not necessarily badly written but who are this people? Give him back his suit, give Helena Bertinelli her suit and put them back in Gotham. Fuck Spyral and all cops are bastards, moving on.

- Batwing: I don't care for David Zavimbe, but Luke Fox had very fun writing and high stakes, I really enjoy this character, I wish he had more time and a better name. I like the idea of rich family boy finds out the reason all this Bat kids work is that they have absolutely no one except other super heroes and doing this with an actual, functional family is so fucking harder. This is not in C cause it's boring, it just had no time to cook better stuff, but I had lots of fun.

______

D

Detective Comics, Batman Eternal and Batman TDK have the same problem: they are not actual stories about actual characters they are excuses to keep an IP. It lacks personality, it lacks anything of interest, it's Batman living through an eternal hell of generic stories that take him nothing to nowhere, you lose nothing by skipping this, this is what people that don't read comics think comics are: nothing happens and every week Batman just fights a guy again.

Batgirl: Gail Simone can write the hell out of Barbara Gordon... As an adult woman.... In a wheelchair.... With the Birds of Prey.... Why is this 35 year old calling herself Batgirl again? Disgusting, ableist and very boring. And the ableism isn't JUST on Barbara, her Brother's treatment is honestly horrendous. And Batgirl of Burnside is not much better with her Oracle persona turning into an evil algorithm that she needs to talk down and destroy??? Fuck you, DC comics. I will not get into the weirdly transphobic story of a guy doing drag as Batgirl being treated as a monster and ridiculous. I will add though: if you really needed a college age Batgirl, you HAD Stephanie Brown AND Cassandra Cain. Oh wait, NO YOU DIDN'T, CAUSE YOU DISAPPEARED WITH THEM, RIGHT YOU MORONS???? I cannot believe how much better this could've been if we got roommate Cass and Steph as Batgirls attending college together and how their different personalities work off each other and in class. Also Barbara Gordon being 21 is probably the most ridiculous thing I've ever read.

Red Hood and the Outlaws: absolutely nothing of worth here except a couple of Jason x Bruce scenes, but barely. Lobdell can't write a villain to save his life and all the characters are just either thrown into the trash or we have Jason who is not necessarily thrown into the thrash but for some fucking reason has random mystic powers and training....? I don't know, I feel like it's the most convoluted type of story I've ever read, he was raised from the dead by the League of Assassins, WHY does he have to go away from them and then train with ANOTHER also league of also assassins? Lobdell is AI Writing before AI writing existed, it's insane.

I've also read Teen Titans and I uh... Rather not talk about.

[shyphonics]

Salad Days Chapter 3: When I was born, my mama cried, and picked me up with gloves.

(babypunk!Rodrick Heffley x reader)

part one | part two | part four

I wanna be stereotyped

I wanna be classified

I wanna be a clone

I want a suburban home

Suburban home

Rodrick wakes unusually early, 8 AM, still feeling weird. The rest of the band are still asleep. He grabs a beer from the fridge because, fuck it, nobody can tell him not to.

Getting shows is harder than he’d expected. He’s nervous, but he has to keep up a front, for the sake of the band. If he tells them he’s worried that they’ll never get a show, they might just give up. He can’t let on that there’s any negativity in his mind. He has to be a fearless leader. This has to work. This is their life now. It’s gonna be fucking amazing.

There are seven missed calls from home on his cell phone, and he decides to ignore them a little while longer. He doesn’t feel like talking to his parents, he knows they’d just be disappointed in him. He'd just have to hear about so-and-so from down the street who just got into law school. Or medical school. Or whatever the fuck kind of school.

No matter what he does, he knows he's a failure in their eyes.

Rodrick hadn't had any interest in higher education. He'd figured he didn't need it for the kind of life he was after. No matter how much his parents had guilted him.

He'd felt maybe a teeny, tiny bit guilty when everyone around him got their college acceptance letters. People started cliquing up based on which schools they'd gotten into and everything.

I hope we're dorm mates!

Are you taking psych 101?

Wow, you got a full scholarship?

Fuck off.

At one point, his dad had even caved and said, you can major in music theory!

And what, Frank? Show up to venues all like, here’s my degree! My masters in drums! Give me a show, please?

Yeah, right.

At least he'd had the rest of the band. Through everything, they'd always been on the same page. Always plotting a way out.

He takes a deep chug of his beer and pops his laptop open. He checks The Strike's website, and notices a radio feed in the top corner.

A nasally man's voice comes through his headphones. He's mid-rant, "-because they didn't understand us. And they never have, and they never will. My parents thought I was the devil. My dad loved The Eagles. I hated The Eagles with every fiber of my being. If I could say one thing to my father- and Glenn Frey- right now, it'd be: suck it. Punk never dies."

Rodrick suppresses a laugh as a song starts. He's pretty sure he recognizes it, and the words are really resonating with how he's felt since he left home.

Clicking through The Strike’s event calendar, he almost does a spit take. Friday night. They’ve got a show.

Suck it, Frank and Susan!

“Wake up, fuckers!” he yells, causing bodies to stir around the living room.

“Dude, shut up.” Ben groans from the couch.

“You shut up! We have a show! In 2 days!”

That does the trick, and everyone is up and shouting in celebration, drowning out their downstairs neighbor hitting the ceiling with a broomstick.

His email blinks with a new message:

Let’s see what you got, diaper boy.

~

Gettin’ high with your friends

On the basketball court

Sunglasses on when you sleep

Yeah, that's a sport

They're absolutely decked out. Denim, leather, patches, and studs as far as the eye can see.

You recognize Rodrick from your post at the bar, dressed like an aging member of a hair metal band, desperately clinging to his youth. He’s fumbling with his ID and a pair of dark sunglasses while Jimbo, the bouncer, impatiently crosses his arms. The rest of his band, you assume, make it through easier.

“The show’s in two days! What are you doing here?” you shout, drying a glass with a rag.

They look like a child biker gang, hopped up on sugar.

“Making ourselves known!” one of the others replies. He’s got a high pompadour, and a leather jacket that is entirely too small for him. You chuckle as they all take a seat.

“What’re you havin’?” You toss the rag over your shoulder and meet Rodrick’s eyes.

“Beer?” He says, unsure.

“Type?”

“Uh. Cheap? Cheapest, please.”

“Natty Light. Two bucks. Plus tip.” You wink, rooting around in the fridge under the bar.

“Tip? You got it out of the fridge.” Rodrick raises an eyebrow.

“And I opened it,” you pop the beer open, setting it down hard to make your point.

“Okay, okay. Uh, what’s a tip on that?” He looks panicked, digging in his wallet.

“I’m fucking with you. It’s a two dollar beer.”

He sheepishly hands you three singles, and you tuck the third into your bra. You hate to say it, you really do, but he’s kinda cute. All dressed up to drink shitty beer with his friends. He’s got a nice nose, despite the visible break, and enough eyeliner on to join a family of raccoons. It suits him.

He takes a sip and flinches, “This is awful.”

“If you hadn’t said cheap-est, you woulda had more options!” You laugh.

The rest of the guys order a round of PBRs, a four dollar option, and well whiskey shots.

“Ooh! Classy,” you mockingly fan yourself, “What fine young gentlemen.”

“Hey, how come it’s empty in here?” One of them asks.

“It is…” you check the clock behind the bar, “four pm.”

They stare at you.

“Broad daylight.” You deadpan, setting four shot glasses down on the bar.

The Strike is an old building, all chipped red paint and rickety metal. Rodrick’s eyes linger on a giant sculpture of a flaming match above the bar. Posters from their heyday line the walls: Agent Orange, Circle Jerks, Violent Femmes, Adolescents. There’s a weird song playing; the chord progression seems all out of whack, and from what Rodrick can tell, the singer is chanting suicide, suicide.

“What song is this?”

“You don’t know? it’s your favorite,” you tease, smirking at him.

He’s got nothing. You figured.

“Dead Kennedys, ‘Straight A’s.’ Come on, man. It’s a good one, too. Sixteen on the honor roll, I wish that I was dead. That was me!”

“Whoa. What? What happened?” One of the others asks. He’s got flat ironed blonde hair and big hipster glasses, and his mouth is hanging open.

“Well,” you tilt your head, “Let’s just say my hair and eyebrows have fully grown back, and my parents don’t know my whereabouts. The punks took me in, and I never looked back.”

“What do you mean they took you in?” The one with the shaved head looks at you with genuine concern.

“Okay, so like, this is a bar. People play here. People also play empty buildings, and shitty old houses.”

They’re hanging on your every word.

“I used to run the doors for house shows, collect the five bucks or whatever, stop fights, and then I could sleep in the houses. Then they started paying me, I met my band, I met Mike… and now I’m here!”

You pose, attempting to look successful.

“That’s really cool, but also, like, sad. You don’t talk to your parents?” One of them asks, eyes glittering.

“Don’t need ‘em.” You try to smile reassuringly. You hadn’t meant to bring the vibe down, but hey, they’d asked.

Rodrick’s eyes are fixed on you. His expression is strange. You decide to break the tension.

“You gonna drink that, baby boy?” You tap your fingernail next to his shot.

He looks up at you, lips trembling like they’re trying to form words. His friends are cackling.

“Uh, y-yeah, totally.”

Oh. He’s never taken a shot. None of them have, you realize, as you look down the line and see full glasses.

“C’mon, losers! Take ‘em down! What are you here for?” You holler, channeling your best drill sargent, “I’ll do it with you, fuck it!”

You pour yourself a shot of shit whiskey, raising it in the air, “Let’s go!”

They mirror you and raise their glasses.

“Here’s to Big Rod and The Diapers!”

Gulp. You look around. They’re all puckering their lips and tearing up. You have a brief moment of recovery as well.

You exhale heavily, “Yeah, that’s what happens when you get well liquor. Does a body wrong.”

They laugh, still groaning.

You turn the music up from the big stereo behind the bar, and the guys are all chatting amongst themselves. They seem to be having a great time, and you’re prepping the back of the bar for the small crowd about to pour in at five.

The whiskey hits Rodrick’s head, and he feels pretty goddamn proud of himself. This place is awesome. They have a show here. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and decides he's finally going to call home. Hearing your story had made him actually miss his mom. Maybe she’d even be proud of him.

“I'll be right back,”

His friends wave him off, and he heads into a doorway where the bathrooms are. He dials the number and sighs heavily, shaking off his nerves.

“Hello?”

“Hey, uh, hey mom,”

“Rodrick! Oh, thank goodness, did you change your mind? Are you coming home? We can start applying to colleges again, and…”

“What? No, I… I got a show! At a real venue.”

“Oh.” She sounds disappointed, “Are you getting paid?”

“Wh- I don't know! It's in two days. I'll let you know. Nice to know you're still so supportive, though.”

“I'm just worried about you.”

Rodrick frowns, refusing to speak.

“Do you want me to put dad on?”

“No,” Rodrick scoffs, “tell Greg I say hi.”

He hangs up, standing there, sulking for a moment. Why the hell was he expecting anything different? Don’t need ‘em.

He hears a commotion towards the front of the bar. He peeks around the corner, and sees the bouncer restraining a short, stout guy with a shitty little mustache.

“Lemme go, Jimbo!” he struggles.

“Tony! We told you not to come back here!” You march around to the front of the bar and put your hands on your hips.

“What did I even do?”

“You got broken glass and blood all over the dance floor! You know who had to clean it up?” You're right up in his face, taunting him.

Tony is part of a small group who only come to shows to beat the daylights out of each other. They're sweet when you get to know them, but reckless, and horrible for the bar ecosystem. Last Saturday had been hardcore night, and Tony and his buddies had managed to turn a very respectful pit into an absolute bloodbath.

He's still squirming. The bouncer has him in a full Nelson at this point, he's not doing himself any favors.

“I had to clean up your fucking blood, asshole! That's a health hazard!” You land a light flick on his nose and he grumbles. It's probably broken, and you feel just a little bad. “Not cool!”

Jimbo carries him outside like a child and dumps him on the curb. Rodrick is slowly creeping to the front of the bar, eyes wide. He's cautious, but part of him can't help but think how cool you are.

“Dont come back! Remember what I said, I can put the Hell's Angels on your ass in a second!" The bouncer’s voice booms.

The rest of the band notice Rodrick’s presence and they share a frightened look. This is getting serious.

Jimbo shuts the door and laughs. He's a huge man, mountain-like even. He's got long hair with a beard to match, adorned with rings, like a viking. His laugh does not match how scary he is. He sounds like Santa Claus.

You're laughing too. Jimbo is the perfect bouncer; strong and intimidating, but a total softie underneath. He's the honorary uncle of everyone at The Strike.

“You're a Hell's Angel?!” Ben pipes up, shocked.

“Nah,” Jimbo chuckles, “I just have a beard and a bike. Little fuckers like Tony scare easy, though."

Rodrick feels his heart hurt a little less as everyone around him laughs. He could get used to this. It feels like being in a weird little family.

“Oh boy,” you say quietly, hearing the familiar sound of fuck, fuck, fuck! coming down the stairs. It's Mike.

“What’s goin’ on, Mike?” you ask, grabbing a glass and filling it with seltzer water, topping it with a lime.

“Fuckin, booze delivery Saturday, show Friday! Spring break! Fuckin… frat boys!" His voice is high and nasally. Rodrick immediately recognizes his voice from the radio show earlier.

He chugs the water in one go, and slams it on the counter.

“Mike, we got plenty. All the bottles are at least half full, and the walk-in has, like, fifteen cases of beer.” You say, refilling his glass.

“Frat. Boys.” He repeats, running a hand through his tall, silver hair.

Rodrick grimaces. He really, really hopes none of those frat boys will be from back home.

“Isn't this a punk bar, though?” Ward asks.

Mike moves his head like a meerkat to look at Ward, squinting through his Buddy Holly glasses.

“Who are you? And they don't care! They'll go anywhere there's noise and booze!”

“Alright. Focus. Ideas, solutions,” you try to recenter your neurotic boss.

“They said we could come get it, but that delivery’s not gonna fit in a goddamn ‘94 Corolla.”

Ben leans back from the bar and looks at Rodrick, raising his eyebrows. Rodrick gets it, and smiles back, pointing at Ben.

“We have a van!”

Mike whips around to look at Rodrick.

“Who are you?”

“We’re Löded Diper, uh, sir?” he cringes at his own words.

“Ew. Don’t do that.”

“I don’t know why I did,” Rodrick’s eye twitches, “but we’ll totally get your booze.”

Mike gives him a suspicious glare, then ducks behind the bar to grab a notepad. He scribbles furiously and waves Rodrick over to show him the paper.

“That’s where you go. That’s who you talk to. That’s our order. Be there at 11 AM tomorrow, get it here by 1.”

“We’ve totally got it!” Chris shouts from the bar, making Mike jump.

“Don’t fuck me over!” Mike turns to point at Chris, then makes his way back up the stairs.

You look at Rodrick, mouthing nice! and giving him a thumbs up. He nods, giving you a big grin. It’s the first real smile you’ve seen from him, and it gives you a little flutter in your chest.

Pretty cute.

~

Hold my head, make me warm

Tell me I am loved

Give me hope, let me cry

Make me feel

Give me touch

The guys are all passed out for the night. Rodrick finds the radio feed from earlier and puts his headphones in, laying back on the couch. This time, the host is different.

"This is 98.7, your last independent radio option in a hundred mile radius." A calm, warm voice greets his ears, and he has a pang of recognition.

Is that...?

"I've been thinking about this song a lot today," the host says, "this one's for whoever needs to hear it."

Brain death. Mind death. School damage! Straight A's!

Rodrick sits up. Holy shit. It is you!

He closes his eyes and lets the song take him over. For how dark the lyrics are, it's oddly comforting. Today had really made him feel less alone.

Life isn't just bullshit for him- he'd known that, of course- but now he knows it. He's seen it. He's not a disgrace for going after his dreams.

He's finally in a place where that's not such a crazy idea.

If you're okay, if four other bands are okay... he's gonna be okay. He doesn't need anyone's approval. Fuck 'em.

He lays back as the song ends and another begins, a sense of relief washing over him. Eventually, he falls asleep to the sound of your smooth radio voice mixed with crunchy, old punk demos.

Everything is gonna be okay.

He knows it.

[mimimar]

i've been completely charmed by witch hat atelier♡

(art prints)

[ellystral]

I just watched The Wild Robot movie...

Couldn't cry but my heart feels like this:

The soundtrack was beautiful too and I love Roz's voice so much.

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2025: THE LANGUAGE OF NIGHT: ESSAYS ON WRITING, SCIENCE FICTION, AND FANTASY by Ursula K. Le Guin.

So I didn't mean to pick this book up next, but it's been sitting on my nightstand for months staring forlornly at me, and the book I did try to pick up next (at 1:30AM)(a notoriously great time to open a new book) started with Dramatis Personae, and I Absolutely Did Not Have The Bandwidth For That.

But! I did have the bandwidth for separate essays and talks! So here we are, 44 real pages (plus xl introduction pages) in. I've always found Le Guin's nonfiction very approachable, like sitting down on a rock by a stream just to listen, and so far that's been the case here, too. I appreciate how Susan Wood introduces all the sections and supplies context, and I'm enjoying how Le Guin revisits her own work and ideas and seeing how her perspective evolves.

[tuesdayscanons]

Every now and then, I think about The Simpsons RPC and how there's an occasionally a spike of Simpsons muses that inevitably crumbles away and leaves me waiting for the next short lived Simpsons RPC Renaissance

[vaguely-concerned]

nothing makes me feel like a golden god quite like a new recipe turning out delicious on the first try. unfortunately, conversely nothing makes me feel more 'I am god's mistake' than spending all that time and effort on something and having to make a sandwhich b/c the results were inedible if you want to retain your capacity for delight. the duality of home chef

[turtlespancake]

me when i write a character who is prone to dooming themself and then they run off and doom themself. core traits are stubbornness and a willingness to disregard their own humanity gET BACK HERE IM NOT DONE WITH YOU

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

Please BE EXCITED about stuff you like/ want to be excited about 💞 That's what life supposed to be about, finding joy in the smallest things, in the things we enjoy and love. And the people that judge us for having that joy in our hearts lose their own life, because they spend too much time judging someone else's life instead of doing something with their own. FUCK them

this is one of my favorite asks and i love you

[copia]

this is weird and overly personal but blogging about it anyway. i started a silly project at the end of may this year to exercise every single day (with small exceptions for exams etc) until the first sleep token show - idk why i chose that (i do, it was 'do it for vessel') but having a finite goal is so much easier to work towards than 'i will continue this habit for the rest of my life'. long story short i've done it and i'll continue on even though the first show has passed (do it for papa v this time?) but just saw myself in the mirror in the hotel i'm staying at for the next ritual and jdbdhjdbdj i've got some defined muscle i didn't have this time six months ago thank u vessel

[swampndn]

Um, y'all. I think I'm the main character now or something.

Story time.

So, I'm teaching a class this semester. It's cool. It's great. I love it. Anyway, last week I was walking out with a student, and I was telling her the ways I like to stay grounded in this city, i.e. going to the water as much as I can, finding ways to be on the land. She's also Native and was struggling adjusting to this city. We part ways, and I walk out of the building with a random man who was leaving the same time we were. He opens the door for me, introduces himself briefly, and asks me if I teach here regularly. I tell him I do, just the one class though. He tells me that usually he teaches visual art at a local high school but was guest lecturing on his work in Afro-Futurism and public art for a friend's class. It's pleasant. He's nice. No weird vibes. Felt really normal. He walks me to my car out front. We part ways. Entire exchange lasted maybe 2 minutes.

Well, fast forward to today. He reaches out to me on Instagram. He says that he was thinking about me all week, and he wanted to get to know me better. We go back and forth. He's really sweet, funny, clever, charming, wicked smart, and matches my energy (which is RARE) - he also ain't said a single sexual comment to me. The respect. Also, I ain't gonna lie. He's tall, muscular, and fucking hot. And an artist??? Say less. I wouldn't have been mad about some explicit advances, although my traumatized ass probably would have reacted poorly (involuntarily), so good on him.

I give him my number after he makes a silly little joke that Facebook told him his soulmate is an Aries, and I said that he's in luck because I'm an Aries. Then boom. Dropped the number. (I still got it.)

Tell me why the first thing he texted me was a silly gif of John Cena strutting around then said "this me walking into your life as the luckiest man alive", then asks me on a FULLY PLANNED DATE: a PICNIC AT A LAKE NEAR A BOTANICAL GARDEN because he overheard what I was talking about to my student about last week, AND THEN I learn that he's also Native!!! That's really important to me, and he was telling me all about his family (we're here on his ancestral land, actually). And also he's asking me all about my work, and then straight up broke down how he was feeling about me in such a clear, direct way. He laid out his intentions. He may or may not have said he's gonna marry me, but he was trying to be chill about it 😅🫣

Anyway. This has never happened to me before. I'm like what the literal fuck is going on? Am I too traumatized for this? What is happening???

[weirdnerdygoat]

Oh look, a younger ford blushing picture...

I... may or may not be making something...

[give-me-one-good-reason]

I pretty much never draw Luigi with his hat, and this is not due to design preferences but my complete inability to draw hats with brims. Baseball caps and flatcaps (the Mario Bros.' hats seem to be a middle ground) are the bane of my existence.

[audioaujom]

Sorry gang, no stardew update this week ://

Been too busy getting my CollegeHumor Tangled AU started and also being sick. Oh, and I have no ideas or backlog. But mostly the being sick thing

[starmotte]

Lazarus de Santis... twin brother to Domiziano, though they haven't spoken in a few years. People tend to go quiet around him, and give him space, almost like they're afraid of him. Wonder why...