#what's his face doesn't exist at this point

[veikkoalen]

1. no. he wears whatever's there

2. phonk or metalcore probably

3. he broke two knives during a certain event

4. he'd be an all survivable cocktoach type of guy if he didn't land on a friend's couch in the end

5. typical grunge shit with stupid edgy trinkets here and there

6. he bleaches it and if he does, it must be platinum blonde otherwise his face is melting off from embarrassment

7. crocodiles cuz theyre cool and have one of the strongest bites and he likes reptiles in general

8. twitch cuz hes jumpy. given by his school circle and stuck to him ever since

9. he has severe acid reflux issues but he doesn't give a fuck most of the time and therefore suffers a lot. avid orange flavored chocolate enjoyer

10. he wears imitation jewelry from time to time. silver chains/pendants or plain black rings. his fav stone is fluorite

11. he has my ex haircut and half of my interests/garbage traits. he's not antisocial and unwilling to live though. he wouldnt have understood me probably but the friendship could work

12. he's somewhere in his early 20s and he was born july 12 just because i want so. he hates his birthdays cuz they always ended up with a fucking disaster

13. native english and solid french but nobody knows about the latter : )

14. better than me, he liked calculus back in school

15. a single child in a nuclear family. his uncles and aunts do exist but somewhere far away. he lived with his parents till 18, left after a grand fight and nobody wanted him to come back. he lives with his best friend now

16. a cat called razor. he's fucking huge and kind of an entity by itself

17. school books and stuff. nerd

18. lying yes, stealing yes, killing – well it's not like he can say no at this point

19. he has a lot of patience but if you mention his family or try to guilt trip him he's likely to rip your head off

20. he can but he doesn't have his own car. when he drives others' cars he keeps them clean

21. bowling courts

22. yes if drunk, no to else

23. same as [REDACTED], he smokes and yells a lot so it's a bit creaky. he can

24. he can draw and he's a good marksman but he ditched everything atm

25. hearing is fine, vision is –1/–1.5, he's squinting a lot recently

26. he's very well coordinated and he has a light foot. kinda required since he's broke and entered a number of places around the neighborhood

27. he likes archery, shooting, biathlon and curling

28. he spends time around people he likes. and he gets physical if he cant stand someone

29. no. but id say he feels like dust

30. cigarettes 🙄

31. he doesnt know what to gift to people really, he loves any gifts but quality clothes/shoes would melt him

32. he knocks doors and boxes before opening them including fridges and cupboards and everything that has a handle

33. walking trouble by most and gentle soul by best friend

34. damaged goods

35. he let it get irreversibly destroyed

i wanted to make an oc ask game 😋 things i like to ask people abt their characters:

are they associated with a certain color? what color do they wear the most?

what sort of music would they like? have you thought about what genres or bands do they lean towards? do they have a favorite song?

weapon of choice? any particular reason they chose their weapon?

how crafty/resourceful are they?

how do they typically dress? does their wardrobe lean more towards practicality or aesthetics?

how do they wear their hair? do they care a lot how their hair looks?

favorite animal? why?

do they have a nickname? who gave it to them? if it's not derived from their real name, what's the story behind it?

favorite food? least favorite? are they a picky eater? do they have any dietary restrictions?

if they wear jewelry, what kind? do they prefer silver or gold? do they have a favorite gem?

what do they have in common with you? how are they different? would you get along with them?

how long have they been around? do you know their birthday? is their birthday the day you made them or another day? what do they think of celebrating birthdays?

what languages do they speak? how fluently?

are they any good with numbers?

how big or small is their family? who did they live with growing up? do they live with anyone now?

do they have any pets? what do they call their pets?

how did they spend their summers/free time as a child?

their opinion on lying, stealing, and killing?

are they quick to anger? what sets them off?

if applicable, can they drive? if they have their own, what color is their vehicle? is the inside neat and tidy, or a mess?

their favorite place to be?

do they sleep well at night?

how would you describe their voice? can they sing?

do they have any creative hobbies? (art, writing, music, etc)

how good/bad is their hearing? what about their eyesight?

how do they move? are they clumsy? light on their feet? do they use mobility aids?

if applicable, do they have a favorite sport? do they play any sports or prefer to watch?

how do they show that they care about someone? how do they express that they don't like someone?

are they associated with any particular element (air, earth, fire, water)?

do they smell like anything notable?

do they like receiving gifts? giving gifts? what is their ideal gift?

do they have any habits that aren't particularly self-destructive, just maybe odd?

if applicable, how would your other characters describe them? i mean specifically the people around them.

how would your character describe themselves? it doesn't have to line up with how they really are.

do they ever return home?

[signedaiko]

greetings my fellow human, would it be possible to request some mtmte headcannons? Possibly the reactions of ratchet, rong rung and Cyclonus walking in on their human friend, only to find out they cut their hair. Like, the human had an anxiety attack and in their panicked state, they cut their long hair, thinking they don’t deserve to be pretty.

this just happened to me today, so knowing what kind of reactions my fav transformers have would really help out. Don’t do this if you don’t feel like it, no pressure (I miss my hair 🥲)

Cyclonus | Ratchet | Rung [MTMTE]

In which you have an anxiety attack and cut your hair, and the mechs take notice.

Reader is: Gender Neutral | Human | Autobot. Platonic.

Cyclonus

Finding out you'd cut your hair in such a state, especially as a means of making yourself 'less pretty,' was something they didn't anticipate in humans

In a way, Cyclonus found your actions very similar to their desecration of their face

For that, he responds to it similarly to how he would have wanted others to respond to him: without making a big deal out of it

He thinks you deserve to have nice things and look nice, too, and is vocal that you are just as deserving as any other being that is forced into existence

In Cyclonus' opinion, no one asked to look the way they do, so if you like it, great!

But if you don't, you deserve to feel frustrated about that

But he won't let it go any further than that

Hair removal is painless when cut at length, so he lets it slide, but you will get a demand from him to not stretch any further than hair cutting

Long hair or not, you look fine, and you are still the same person he recalls, and Cybertronians don't even have hair, so why would it change the way he thinks about you?

If you have any hair left from cutting it, Cyclonus might just ask for some so he can sneak it to one of the scientists and see if they can make some kind of regrowth agent

Ratchet

Ratchet just doesn't get fashion at all

When he sees you, he would think you did it on purpose and tell you it looks great

But he'd notice you're not too happy about it not too long after his comment and apologize if that wasn't what you were looking for

The work you did with the craft scissors wasn't exactly even, especially not at the back

He knows your aim was to take something away from yourself, but he also thinks it's silly that you don't think you deserve something as simple as something that literally grows from your own body's work

So he'll find some tools that can do the trick and offer to cut it at least a bit more neatly for you

He's able to get everything to about the same length and in a style he thinks you'll enjoy, so it looks purposeful as it did before and so it won't grow in awkwardly

"What do you think, kid?"

So long as it improved your mood at least the littlest bit, then it was worth getting all those tiny hair clippings everywhere

Seriously, everywhere, he's still finding some in the cracks of his own plating

Rung

Hair is such a curious aspect of human anatomy; it's useful in some ways, but the stylizing and individuality given to people just by the hundreds of thousands of strands on their heads is unique

From what Rung could tell, you cared about your hair and preferred it long

Which is why it was concerning when he noticed you'd cut it all off out of nowhere

Your mood had been decreased recently, too, and all signs pointed to you having some kind of mental break

Rung requests you speak with him, even if not in depth, so he can feel at ease about your health and safety

If you're vocal about missing your long hair and how you felt you couldn't let yourself have something nice, he would do some research

Printing images of hairstyles he thinks you could try, he even makes some hair accessories to go with them from some leftover fabric and pieces he finds around

You spend a session looking through pictures and picking the ones you like

Rung promises the next time they're near an organic planet with a hairdresser, he will bring you himself so they can get it done properly rather than whatever moment of work Ratchet was able to do with his equipment

Authors Note - You know, when I was 13, I had been a dancer, especially in ballet, for my whole life. As I got older, I gained 20 pounds, and my instructor belittled me so much for it. She loved my long, untouched hair, so I took scissors and cut it all right down to my skin!!!

Basically, I did it too, and I had a super cool Skrillex haircut for a long time until I grew it out two years ago. Hair always grows back! Hope you're doing better.

[callsign-songbird]

(I was going back through some files on my laptop and found this old thing I wrote, No, I am not going to edit anything, so, Enjoy!)

Thinking about Simon. Thinking about the callouses on his hands, not just his fingertips. Thinking about the way his hands are so rough against your soft skin, massaging is and manipulating the soft flesh in malleable circles. the way he would pepper kisses along the surface and fan his soft breaths along your neck. this is a man who has lost everything and drug himself through hell by only his bootstraps to spit in the devils face, and paid the price for it. so to have something as beautiful, as decadent, as absolutely divine as you looking up at his with those big, wet eyes while the pumps his cock into you and pushes you to the point of overstimulation, whining and begging him to stop. he doesn't feel worthy. You are his goddess, his life, his love, the breath in his lungs, everything he lives and exists for. Price could tell the day he met you too.

Simon had always been utterly devoted to Price. After Simon accomplished his mission, Price was the one to pull him out of that lonely pit, dust him off, and offer the husk of a man a job doing what he did best. and from that day forward, that was what Simon was. A soldier. Not just any soldier, though. He was Price's soldier. Any order or request Price gave was carried out down to the letter. it didn't mind if Price was asking for a coffee, mentioned that he needed his boots shined, or even needed some *other* acts of service, Simon was always right there. And then there was you. One day, Simon came back from off-base with Price's coffee, and he faltered. It was tiny, miniscule even. Simon overlooked Price's comment about being parched. As small as it would be for anyone else, that was monumental for Simon. He started leaving base more, becoming more and more distracted. Then, one day, Simon comes to Price with a question that he doesn't know how to answer at first.

"Captain, how does one... Approach a woman with the intent of... a relationship?" Price about spit out his coffee, choking momentarily and disguising the action as a cough, but Simon knew. Simon always knew. Price gave the best advice he could, but he was utterly confounded as to where this development had come in. He watched Simon nod his head and head out of his office, large gloved hands stuffed in his pockets and brows knit up beneath his skull balaclava. Price really knew that he shouldn't be worried, Simon was nothing if not dedicated, committed, and diligent. But this was a big change, and Price momentarily worried for whatever pretty little thing had caught Simon's eye.

This was where Soap and Gaz came in. Troublemaking pair that the two of them were, and other than Price, Soap was the closest one to Simon on base. Whenever Simon craved dominance, he went to Price. Whenever Simon craved submission, he would take it from Soap. Not like he was complaining, no. The military was a bunch of guys getting real close and sweaty with each other, coming to rely on and depend on each other, and Soap had never been shy about what he had.

So imagine his surprise when Simon hasn't scruffed him, shoved his cock down Johnny's throat, or even shot him that warning glare in nearly a month now. He mutters under his breath and tosses back another glass of amber warmth, whining out about his relationship issues to Gaz. Gaz simply pats his back awkwardly while sipping on his own glass. "I dunno mate, maybe he's got a new girl." They both take one look at each other and burst out laughing so hard that their sides hurt, but that's all it takes to sew those seeds of doubt. Not like he *really* cares, no. Sure, the dominance is fun and keeps his high drive satisfied for the most part, but he's more worried for his friend than anything. Ghost never shared his life with anyone, so if it really was a girl, well, things could get complicated. Simon was like an animal, with a strict chain of command in his head. It went Price, him, Soap. He was Price's, and Soap was his. and he was fiercely protective of that hierarchy. But if it wasn't enough? If he was thinking of adding a little bird to the mix? Heaven forbid a civilian? Well, things might get complicated.

So that's how He, Gaz, and Price ended up following Simon off base one day. Though, Price only came to keep them out of trouble and out from under Simon's feet, much to Gaz's delight and Soap's chagrin. They tailed Simon from a safe distance, dressed in civilian clothes to avoid attention. They watched as he stepped into a shop and came out with a small plastic bag and- heaven forbid- Price had to harshly clap a hand over Soap's mouth to keep him from the boisterous laughter that threatened to spill out from the cage of callouses and chorded steel beneath flesh. Flowers. In Simon's other hand was a dainty bouquet of flowers. Pink roses, white lily's, baby's breath, and pink orchids. It was a nice arrangement, and for a moment, Price and Soap were on the cusp of jealousy, overridden only by sheer curiosity. Who the hell was it that had managed to enrapture the stoic and cold lieutenant like that?

They followed all the way to a small park, jaws nearly dropped ad the slight skip in Ghost's step. It was almost indiscernible to the untrained eye, but these men had spent years with Simon, grown accustomed to the three kinds of steps this man had. Cool and calculated, Hurried and determined when shit hits the fan, and enraged with quick and heavy footfalls. This was none of those. The way Simon bowed his head, his shoulders slightly hunched in, the soft almost nonexistent trembling in his hand that was unbecoming of a sniper.

Simon was *Nervous* they all realized.

Then they saw you, and none of them could understand. You were ok. Kind of average, not exactly a model but certainly not ugly. any one of them would shag you, if that meant anything. But the longer they watched, the more they came to understand. They way your cheeks flushed and your eyes lit up at the bouquet, a soft giggle leaving your lips. Simon's eyes squinted beneath his mask, the tell-tale sign of a smile leaving the three men breathless. This little thing had their Lieutenant wrapped around her little finger, and yet, she didn't seem to have any ill intent. you we're all soft smiles and sweet words. A bit of an odd duck from what the three could tell by tailing the two of you on your outing, but it only made you more endearing to them. What was more surprising though, was the Lieutenant.

None of them could comprehend the hold you had on him. With Simon, there always had to be something firm and ironclad. With Price, it was his dominance. With Soap, he was the firm one with strict rules and harsh punishments, And yet, this was none of that. He seemed to treat you so gently, as if you were the most precious aerogel and would shatter at the smallest bit of force. Simon's gruff voice was gentle when he spoke to you, the hand on the small of your back protective, yet soft. None of the men knew how to take it.

Then came the nail in the coffin. In front of a house, presumably yours, you turned to Simon, looking up at him through those long lashes of yours. Your hands slipped out of his and rested on his chest, palms flat against the fabric, slowly snaking up until your fingertip brushed under the hem of Simon's mask. Each man watched as the Lieutenant tensed, like a spring about to snap. What they didn't expect was for him to give you a single curt nod. Slowly and gently you worked the fabric of his mask up, caressing every inch of unearthed flesh with your fingertips as if it were a treasure you were unearthing. Eventually, Simon's mask rested over the bridge of his nose, your delicate hands cupping the sides of his face as if he were more precious than solid gold. Slowly the two of you leaned in, and the men were astounded to see their lieutenant drawn into a kiss more gentle and passionate than they thought him possible of.

The next week around base was unusually tense. Soap and Price sharing knowing glances in the hallway while Gaz didn't know how to comfort either of them. Oddly enough, though, Simon was beginning to return. It started slow. He stopped overlooking what price would say absentmindedly and the devotion returned, he would Scruff Soap again when he did something stupid or lipped off. Eventually, he was even back on his knees for price and forcing Soap back onto his. Why the change? No one understood. it's not like it was overnight either, no, this took nearly a year.

"Honeymoon phase must be up." Price surmised over a drink with Soap, eyeing Simon as he grabbed the next round from the bar. "Och, ya' don' think sir? Ya think Ghost would let somethin' like that happen?" Soap mused, his gaze focused on the same imposing figure. Then the little bell over the bar door Jingled, and they watched the Lieutenant's eyes melt in unprecedented warmth. A look they had only seen once before. Sure enough, there you were. Such a small nervous little thing, looking around like a lamb in the middle of a wolves den. in many ways, that's exactly what you were. From the moment that door opened, you were being eyed up by dozens of hungry soldiers, licking their chops and already standing to try their shot at you.

But no, Ghost would never allow that. Not his pretty little bird. His long strides made quick work of the distance between you, grabbing some poor private by the face and ripping him away from you. A hand snaked around your waist and pulled your flush against Simons chest. A soft squeak left your lips as Simon glared around the bar and placed his claim, walking you back to the bar where he could retrieve the round of drinks for the table and order one for you.

Simon brought the drinks and you back over to the table, sliding into the booth beside Johnny and gently guiding you to your rightful place in his mind, firmly on his lap. Your pretty face was so red, obviously embarrassed from the way you gave a small wave and bowed your head. like a scared little rabbit, they mused. "Thought I'd bring her 'round to meet you proper, so you don't have to stalk me 'gain." The Way he glanced between Price and Soap was impossible to miss, looking for their approval. Price took his time taking you in, every facet of your face, your demeanor, your actions. A satisfied nod immediately put Simon at ease, rolling his shoulders to relax them. Meanwhile, there was no questioning how Soap felt. You were so much prettier and sweeter up close, such a delicate little morsel. He had that look in his eye, that sparkle, that hunger. He had no issues trying to chat you up, encouraging you to drink your fill and call him 'Johnny'.

"This 's our pretty little thing." That simple line seemed to make everyone at the table pause, yourself included. Theirs? That meant? None of them should have been surprised, really. Simon clung tight to his hierarchy, and apparently you weren't going to break it, no, He had just nestled you in next to Johnny, under the category of 'his', maybe even below Johnny. "Our?" Your soft voice rang out as you looked over your shoulder at Simon, pulling an amused smirk to his lips beneath his mask. "Of course, love. Y're ours. You'll get used to it, lovie, don't you worry your pretty little head over it."

[meli-writes]

Cupcakes

Shut off the lights. Count the float. Lock the front door, from the inside. Check the parking lot is clear. Lock the back door, from the outside. Go home and forget the shitty fucking day she just had—

“Uhh, hey?”

“What the fuck!?” Brooke screams. “Shit fuck.”

Her hand dives straight into the handbag, spiked to match her face because corporate hasn’t managed to send an inspector out here in three years, and her middle-aged boss thinks it ‘reminds him of his daughter.’

She’s still rifling through, for miniature mace or a non-existent switchblade, when the voice coughs and continues, “Could I—”

“You fucking left — earlier,” Brooke interrupts, dipping the toes of her coffee-stained sneakers into the bronze disc under the lamppost. She stares the not-quite stranger down, leaning on the twisting chrome of her bike, and sneers, “I saw you ride off earlier. The lot was clear.”

It had seemed like six dudes at the table. All heckling at each other, bumping leather-clad shoulders to fit into the booth. It was enough of a red flag for her to instinctively glance around, looking for anyone else unlucky enough to be closer. Of-fucking-course not.

And it wasn’t until she was standing there, plastered with an agonised smile that cracked the poison-frog make-up around her eyes, that she realised two of those shoulders were hers. Now the biker girl rolls them softly, but it’s still obvious how much bigger she is than her; and even if it’s lost on the clueless bitch, it’s not on her.

“And I did,” the biker admits. “But I also rode back a bit earlier. Didn’t realise you couldn’t see me but look, if you want me to leave again I can—”

“Fucking leave.”

“—I’m Chip, by the way,” she continues — stumbled inelegantly over the sudden, apparently unpredicted and obvious answer. “I wanted to apologise — for earlier.”

“And I want you to leave,” Brooke says; hand still stuck in the bag, and a snarl stuck pressing her cheeks up against her nose.

The biker girl — 'chip' — looks at her, crossed eyes peering through a messy thicket of poisonously-dyed hair that the internet says tells men to fuck off and never actually does. It at least seems to make Chip do it, pivoting her boot to flick up the bike's kickstand.

Brooke huffs to herself — at herself — for what she knows is a dumb idea, “Wait.”

“Do it,” she orders. “Apologise.”

“Ah. Shit. I uhh—” Chip the biker mutters, pulling on the creased edges of her jacket. “I’m— sorry?”

“For what?” Brooke presses.

“For like— when you were asking about desserts, and I said I wanted the uhh…”

Now Brooke doesn’t need to hear her say it — because it’s been looping in her head all fucking afternoon. But she does want to hear it, so she taps her foot and watches the full-head taller muscle-girl jump in time with it.

“I asked for four cupcakes. Two in the front.” Chip looks at her like she’s lost, like Chip didn’t remember exactly where the diner was so she could drive hours back through empty farmland to be here. “And two in back.”

Brooke doesn't let up on the sharply pointed directions, "Meaning?"

“That I wanted to see your tits and ass,” Chip admits, at least finishing quicker than Brooke can pour a new cup of hours-stale diner coffee.

Brooke hums for a spell, and then, “You’re a pig. You know that, right?”

“Yeah I—”

“Ha!” Brooke laughs, mouth curling to show the neat set of bedazzled, overdue braces, and watching Chip blush through chocolate-chip freckles.

“I just wanted to show off to my brothers. Fit in with them while still being,” Chip mutters while fumbling at a pride patch evidently torn-off and resewn a dozen times over, “me.”

“They’re assholes, okay,” she offers weakly, “but they accept me.”

“And for hanging out with them, trying to fit in with them, that makes you what?”

“Also an asshole.”

“Ding!” Brooke snaps her fingers, and lets the dozen-or-so beaded and paperclip-chain bracelets slip down her coffee-spill burn-spattered arm. “You done?” she asks.

“Yeah. That was it. Sorry,” Chip says and glances towards the lot exit and the moon peeking over the decades-rusted diner sign. “Maddy, yeah? It’s an empty road so if you wanna watch and make sure I’m gone before you leave yourself—”

“No.”

“Uhh…”

“It’s a fake name on the uniform. You know for assholes like you,” Brooke says, and enjoys letting Chip bake in the discomfort. After a few aching moments she offers a reprieve, “I’m Brooke. And you are a chauvinist, leatherdyke asshole.

But— if I had to go home right now, I’d be fingering myself all night to you.”

Chip chokes on the gum that’s been circling in her cheeks for the past hour, and nearly tips her bike over from stumbling back into it, and doesn’t get any words out before Brooke’s popped the buttons of the undersized, clashing, retro-teal diner shirt, and dropped it on the concrete to show off the black lace push-up underneath.

It’s not hiding anything. It’s not meant to.

“Cupcakes, you said?”

“Fuck,” Chip manages to muster at last, and sees her own breath in front of her. “W-wait. Isn’t it kinda cold out here?”

“Then give me your jacket, and keep my cupcakes warm with your hands,” Brooke says straightforwardly, and once Chip shakes the stupor she hangs the leather morass over Brooke’s shoulders and lets it swallow her except for the bare front; runs her hands up to squeeze fat tits together, slipping a hand under the band to massage the marks from wearing a fuck-me bra to a nowhere diner for work all-day.

Brooke herself is looking down Chip’s arms, taking the scuffs and scars from stupid brawls with drunk brothers and learning to ride after to keep up with them. She lets her own hand push into Chip’s crotch, smiles when she feels how hard Chip is.

“You were thinking about this too, weren’t you?” she asks.

“Y-you don’t mind that I’ve got one?”

“No,” Brooke snickers, and then pauses to correct. “No, not at all.”

She leans in closer, letting her breath fall in Chip’s ear, the lust pulsing through her stripping composure, “But you’ve been thinking about it between my cupcakes. Haven’t you?”

Chip’s entire self shakes, as if she came just from hearing it. “Yes!” she blurts out. “I-I mean— yeah, totally, that sounds hot.”

“Hmm. Be patient then,” Brooke says as she pulls back, running through the split in Chip’s top to claw at her back and rake a hand through home-clipped hair. “Wanted to apologise,” Brooke parrots. “Sure. Wanted to get rewarded more-like, for fucking trailer-park chivalry.”

Every part of the giant butch melts between her fingers, except for the one part she can see fighting and losing to her thick, leather pants. “We’ll get to you,” she tells it. “First though…”

“Ahh! Hold on—” Chip squeals, as Brooke flips her luridly-short skirt up and mounts Chip’s thigh. It doesn’t even feel like she’s wearing anything underneath, and Chip shakes herself as she thinks how close her uninvited hand came earlier today.

“Shush,” she’s told, and it’s easy to be quiet and listen to nothing but the tatted-up, college drop-out dream that’s fucking herself on Chip’s prostrated, shuddering thigh to the tune of the thud-thud in her chest.

“They’re riding leathers,” Brooke reminds. “They can get wet.”

---

(Masterpost)

[fazcinatingblog]

Why is there a random guy doing that shaka hand gesture, only in Hawaii amirite

[serpentface]

This was going to be a panel of a little comic but I got too invested in drawing minute background details so, here.

[necrotic-nephilim]

what's fun about shipping Tim with Dick, Jason, or Damian is he has, at some point, hallucinated all of them to comfort himself. even when he doesn't like them or particularly get along with them, he has to imagine/hallucinate them just so he has the power to go on. Tim's concepts of the Robin mantle and what it should be is so fun, because he respects the others through the Robin mantle. Tim worships Dick because he was the first Robin. he wouldn't be Robin if Jason hadn't died in the mantle. and a lot of his frustration with Damian is he feels Damian isn't honoring the mantle correctly. when you ship Tim with the other Robins you can't divorce their identities as Robin from it because Tim will always see them as a Robin first and that's so fun and fucked up. like.

batman (1940) #456

Tim perceiving Dick as *Robin* cheering him on, not Nightwing, which is the version of Dick that Tim actually knows? that's just. wild of him. he will always view Dick as Robin first, his personal hero but also the original of the legacy. his love for Dick is shaped by that.

and then of course, even when he's hallucinating/imagining Jason cheering him on, it's *still* through the lense of being reminded how Jason failed? subconsciously believing that Jason got himself killed because of his actions, and that being a lesson for Tim to learn from? Jason isn't a person to Tim, he's a moral lesson about how to be Robin. any potential idolization he could have of Jason isn't because he loves Jason, it's because of the lessons Jason's death taught him.

and then, even though him hallucinating TIm is from the New-52, which makes characterization all kinds of questionable, i do think it makes sense for TIm to hallucinate/imagine Damian after Damian's death in an attempt to cope with it.

teen titans (2011) #18

to an extend, he sees Damian's death as in part his own fault. and even hating Damian, Tim needs the comfort from this to cope with Damian being gone. he's angry that Damian even was Robin, and has to learn something from Damian's death and how it impacts the Robin mantle, and teenage heroes as a whole. like, Tim can pretend he hates Damian all he wants, even getting taunted by the image of Damian, but there's still an underlying love to their relationship.

i think that's just the fun of shipping Tim with any of them. you will never divorce Tim's views of them from the Robin mantle and how fucking Unwell he is about anyone else who's been Robin before or after him, to the point he has to hallucinate them comforting him when he's at his lowest. it's always going to be a little unhealthy, a little toxic, and driven by Tim's relationship with being Robin as well. i need more Tim being weird about Robin in these ships.

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

Ngl it's weird finishing the Knuckles tv show and going to tumblr about it only for people (even who I consider bigger name fans) who also watched the entire show to claim that it "confirmed Knuckles Wachowski"

Like

I'm sorry

Did you somehow miss the part in the last episode where Knuckles had a whole montage of hanging with the Whipple family and Wade and saying "home" or something?

[crystalistrappedintheinternet]

adding tme to my bio bc while on one hand announcing my birth sex makes me dysphoric on the other hand. some of you are misogynists

[butmakeitgayblog]

Lotd have mer y ADC looks so good with her new selfie. And she’s posting flowers as usual 🥹

And wearing a white shirt. I'll say this, you can't accuse the girl of not staying consistently on brand 🥴

I will say also, she's never escaping the Victoria Pedretti doppleganger allegations any time soon (although I guess it'd be the other way around since she's older. Whatever) Anyway they neeeeeeed to play sisters at some point cuz what the actual fuck are we doing here like what is the point of all this if that never happens

[sysig]

Getting up to trouble is his speciality (Patreon)

[aq2003]

so john smith is a character that ten "made up" (ie. the tardis generated him to fit the time period it picked). a fundamentally empty person that he can't control will do. someone that is missing the inherent parts of what makes ten himself, like not just his two hearts but things that truly deeply matter to him. things like not hurting anyone or not abandoning a companion or not being someone that teaches children how to shoot a weapon and fight in a war. human ten might show echoes of normal ten here or there like the art or the intelligence but their differences are rly kinda the point of the arc. multiple times human ten is given the opportunity to give himself up and sacrifice himself for those around him and it's only until the very, very last minute that he makes the decision that normal ten would've done in an instant. this isn't your normal amnesia storyline; ten temporarily erased himself from existence to give the family of blood a chance of dying peacefully, and replaced himself with someone else who wouldn't do that same thing; who is so ordinary and complacent and cishet and probably even likes the texture of pears

[dnangelic]

tbh whenever i think about dark's ephemerality i think about kosuke bringing up how even though daisuke's already adjusted to having dark with him, it's still very strange for even kosuke himself, not to mention other people, and nobody but daisuke really knows dark either. because of the way he exists, he's not the 'main' personality and shows up then vanishes, shows up then vanishes in an instant all the time. i know it's a joke but i especially think about the one night magic comic where sugisaki switched up the genre for fun and made wiz a kaiju attacking the city, which daisuke then transforms into dark to solve and clean up - but dark only gets to exist for 3 minutes. there's also his complaint that he never gets to do anything during the day, or the asuka publication flavor texts bringing up the way he has to 'hide his face' and the way nobody knows him. it's all. hmmm. just a wee bit sad tbh

[bataranqs]

wang fu who was abandoned by his dad and left to become an attendant from a young age. wang fu who finally gets to meet his dad only to find it's one of the greatest villains of their age. wang fu whose one gift from his dad was taken because it was only gained from murder and crime and his dad never really cared. fang duobing promising wang fu some land and money but wang fu didn't really want that - it wasn't riches he wanted but his dad. wang fu whose whole life is so obviously rich and complex and painfully incomplete and yet is treated as a side note in the whole drama. ohhh i'm going to be crying over this forever

[bitchfitch]

"Yeah i have some weird tastes but overall I'd say my ability to empathize with non heroic characters in a story and tell horror from tragedy is pretty normal. Like, very average, on par with anyone with 5th grade or above reading comprehension."

a YouTuber: "possibly the biggest pill though is I'm now going to have to ask you to empathize with one of these shape shifting vampires even though they have absolutely killed people. this is phase 3 of "what the heck is going on in (the game he's talking about)" it's not actually a horror game. i know. it's a lot"

[boo-moved]

Astarion fans, explain to me why him hating the gur is justified without at all mentioning the fact he was almost killed by them. Look at the white *high* elf magistrate in a city who was getting hurt by a minority group.