#yes this is not the usual content

[parkerluvsu]

my thoughts on Ethel Cain's "Perverts" as i listen to it:

Track 1: Perverts

such a haunting way to open an album, i think it took 3 seconds for me to get chills honestly. hearing "nearer my god to thee" in such a different way than i usually do was so disturbing. the longer the song went (12 min), the more comfortable i felt sitting and listening to the droning sounds in the background. the last line, "it's happening again honey" is just such a great tie in to everything about the Ethel Cain lore.

Track 2: Punish

from the first time i heard this song (as a single), i was so glad to hear the piano that immediately took me back to "Preachers Daughter" and the vocals!! as much as i love instrumental tracks, it's always welcome to hear her voice. her voice is almost floating above the instrumentals and background noises (creaking?) and a contrast to the dark lyrics. the line "only god knows" is weirdly comforting to me, yet again reminding me of "Preachers Daughter" and of course the guitar when "they made me leave" is so amazing. the song is very angelic at the start, but a feel the frustration starting to build during the song, and like all her songs, it gives me chills.

Track 3: Housofpsychoticwomn

the clock (?) ticking immediately reminded me of my grandmother's house, spending the night there, sitting in silence except for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. the repeated phrase of "i love you" yet again sends a chill down my spine, overlapped with words and phrases i can't quite make out. it feels like im asleep and hearing people talk around me, or in another room, just laying there and trying to pick up what they're saying. in another way, it sounds like the inside of my head, indescribable voices having conversations while i try to comfort myself. there is almost a death rattle sounds that is intertwined with groaning singing or wailing. around the 10 min mark, i definitely started getting overwhelmed with all the sounds, and it was uncomfortable, but i suppose that is what the song wanted to do. it was a relief when the sounds dropped out, but i was totally caught off guard by the "boom" i guess you could call it, i didn't expect it at all.

Track 4: Vacillator

the drums are very welcome, and a great base for the rest of the track. the vocals are (of course) amazing, they're gentle, soft and sweet. it sounds like a "classic" love song at first, but listening to the lyrics it is pretty sexual, which is not surprising to me, but it is surprising to hear such (is vulgar the word?) vocals in such a sweet sounding song, but it's one of my favorite things that artists do. i honestly would love to dance to this song at my wedding (if i found someone as freaky as me), even though the lyrics are a little explicit, the song is so gorgeous overall.

Track 5: Onanist

the vhs tape whirring is a sound i always love that songwriters use, and the quality of the instrumentals sounds straight out of an old game, like im exploring an abandoned building or town. the vocals are almost sirenlike, pulling you in and layered in such a beautiful way. this song definitely feels like im getting lured in by something/someone, the vocals mixed with the harsher instrumentals that mix into it later in the song aid this feeling. another time where everything drops out, and is replaced with low droning and muttered words, "it feels good". this feels like a signature Ethel Cain track to me, and so far, is one of my favorites on the album.

Track 6: Pulldrone

the spoken words at the start of this song almost feel like they're being pulled out of someone, or it's something they've memorized or recited many times. the gong or bell or whatever that was, sent a tingle down my spine and through my eardrum. "i am what i am but we are not the same" future tattoo alert!!! constant shivers and chills throughout this one, the spoken word and the droning grating sound only getting louder feels like it's actually inside of my body. the droning going pretty much until the end of the song reminds me of track 1, leaving me to sit in silence and listen to what sounds like grating droning violins? yet again, one that makes me uncomfortable but one that is undeniably Ethel Cain.

Track 7: Etienne

this song absolutely sounds like a soundtrack for an old open world game or something, like i can imagine sitting in front of the tv and playing a game while this track is playing from the broken speakers of the tv. the peaceful music continues throughout the entire song. at the end of the song, it feels like im laying down on the carpet of my old living room and listening to an old record, it makes me painfully nostalgic.

Track 8: Thatorchia

starting out with a loud echoing noise was not how i predicted this to start after the last track was so chill, but it still keeps the same retro sort of vhs feeling that was very present in the previous track. the echoing vocals really make you strain to hear them over the harsh instrumentals, but to me, that only makes them more beautiful. the guitar is one of my favorite constant sounds in Hayden's discography, so i felt like a bit of a fangirl when it came in at the end. this song makes me feel like im running away into the woods to join a coven of witches.

Track 9: Amber Waves (my fav)

such beautiful guitar, the starting spoken word goes great with the mood the song has, sort of somber, slow but peaceful. the vocals come in yet again and im instantly transported to heaven. the harmony with herself sounds so so good, "days go by, time on without me/ill be alright" is so powerful and i feel like ive felt this way before, especially in depressive episodes, there's a lot of sadness, but eventually there's peace in that sadness, and it's beautiful. of course i think of "amber waves of grain" but also amber waves of hair, when looking at the title and lyrics of the song. it's a love letter to the empty country with nothing but fields of grain, but maybe also a love letter to a person, someone in the past where you can hardly remember anything about them, like looking in a foggy mirror, but you remember how you feel about them no matter how much time goes by. the guitar is so beautiful im not ashamed to say that i started crying and had to wash off my mascara.

in no way am i a professional music analyst or whatever, just talking about my feelings on my first listen. of course they'll change and grow over time but i wanted to document my first thoughts of an album ive been looking forward to since i knew of its existence. @mothercain thank you for all that you do and all that you are, and proving that it really is happening to everybody.

[endursent]

- Through the Dark

【 content; sunday x reader , astral express sunday , dry humping , a bit of pining , tight spaces , NSFW 】

【 note; i've never written smut/nsfw before, so this is treading new grounds for me, but I need to practice for gss because i want that to be juicy. expect more, lol. it'd also be nice to get requests/suggestions to stir by brain a bit if you'd like.

also, the reader's gender is never mentioned but there are gender-neutral they/them pronouns used twice in the middle to enforce that ambiguity. 】

【 word count; 3.391 | read on ao3 】

“Stop… moving so much,” Sunday strains through grit teeth, he’s trying not to sound annoyed or upset, but it’s an uphill battle. 

  “You’re moving first, I’m just adjusting,” you whisper back, you can’t tell what expression he’s making in the darkness, but you’re sure it’s on some scale of annoyance or frustration by the sound of his voice. 

  “You–”

  You hear footsteps approaching and slap your right hand over his mouth, your heart beats faster as they approach, quick taps against hardwood floors… you feel Sunday still completely, his jaw moves slightly beneath your palm as he swallows thickly. Neither of you move an inch until distant shouts sound and the footsteps fade. You still keep your hand over his mouth for a moment longer just in case. You can’t see out of the closet you’ve squeezed into… what if there’s someone listening on the other side? Just waiting for either of you to make a noise?

  Your heart continues to beat rapidly in your chest, you feel it hammering against your rib cage–and you’re sure Sunday feels it too.

  After a while, you take a gamble and lower your hand from his face, surely they’re gone now? 

  “...” Sunday doesn’t say anything, a tense silence falling between you. His voice is a whisper when he finally does speak. “... is this a usual occurrence?”

  You have to take a moment to try and understand what he means. “Ha? Being stuck in a closet?”

  “Yes,” he just grumbles, disapproval clear in his tone. 

  “... no,” you mumble in return. The how and why of the situation was irrelevant—mostly because it’s your fault and you don’t want to think about it—what was much more important is that you are stuffed into a closet with Sunday with barely any wiggle room and you’re not keen on facing a horde of angry guards who could potentially be hostile with only you and Sunday to fend them off. 

  Your limbs barely have any space, Sunday’s arms are above the both of you, his elbows on either side of your head as the space is so narrow he can’t even lower them—there’s no direction wide enough for his arm to bend. Your chests are pressed together so tightly that the ornament on his scarf has nearly poked you in the eye three times and you felt the tickle of his feathered wings against your cheekbone when you turned your head to the door.

  The rest… is the uncomfortable part—not that being pressed like sardines in a can isn’t uncomfortable in general. Sunday is slightly taller than you and has to spread his legs on either side of you so that he can fit—the closet isn’t exactly tall either, so the two of you are slightly hunched as well, thus you have to tuck your legs under him so that he’s practically sitting on them, your knees press against the wall achingly and one of your thighs is pressing very insistently and directly between his legs.

  The strain in his voice is probably only half due to the uncomfortable, hunched position, and half because with every slight move you make, you’re essentially grinding your thigh against his crotch. It’s hard not to notice the situation, but for his–and your own–sake you pretend not to. 

  Unbeknownst to you, Sunday is fighting for his life. He hasn’t been touched by another… ever? Not like this, even if accidental. He feels the tips of his fingers prickle and his jaw clench unconsciously as he tries his best not to react outwardly. 

  “Okay… they should be gone now,” thankfully your hands were bent downwards, and thus you could push against the closet door with your elbow.

  But it doesn’t budge.

  You press again, nothing. It’s locked, or blocked by something. No matter how you try and push, the door doesn’t budge.

  “What is it?” Sunday frowns, he can’t see what you’re doing and the closet doesn’t have any holes or window on the door to allow light in. “Open it, just…”

  “It’s locked,” you interrupt him. 

  He says nothing… and you can almost sense the mixture of frustration and disappointment in him, but a soft, warm exhale fans over your face, it almost tickles. “Try again,” he urges surprisingly softly. “Perhaps it’s just stiff.”

  You do as he asks, but no luck. “… it doesn’t open.”

  Sunday clicks his tongue. “Alright—stop pushing, be still,” he nudges your head with his elbow. With every press against the door, your body pushes away from it—and your thigh flexes, pressing against him further. 

  There’s another beat of silence, but you can’t stand it—thankfully, an idea flashes in your mind and you decide to give him a heads up… this will require some wriggling. “Sunday, my phone is in my pocket, if I can get it and send a message to the Express group chat, someone must be able to come and pry the door open.” Never have you imagined a more useful task for Dan Heng’s spear.

  “Can you reach it?” he asks as you shift your arm from being stuck between your stomachs and squeeze it between your bodies. His eyes squint at the feeling. 

  You bite your lip in concentration. “Probably… but I’ll need to try and stretch my thighs and waist to fish it out…” 

  “I see…” he understands what that entails, but he’s not sure he likes the idea. “Can you reach my phone instead? It’s in my coat pocket.”

  You pat around his side and try to find it, it could be easier… but to reach down you have to try and bend forwards—which means pressing your forehead and face directly into his chest. The scarf wrapped around his collar is soft… and it smells nice, like cinnamon. Though his chest itself isn’t very soft, he’s rather skinny. 

  But no matter how you reached and even tried to tug his coat up, the pocket was too far down and his phone even deeper inside. There’s no other way.

  “I’m sorry,” you truly are, you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. “Maybe if we just wait…”

  “No,” he shakes his head and you feel his hair brush against your nose. “Just do it.”

  Deciding to try and just get it over with, you nod and start shimmying your back and ass upwards as much as you can to try and create space for you to be able to tug your phone out of your pocket. And it has the exact effect expected. 

  Sunday grunts, he tries to bite back any noise and his thighs twitch before he presses them against your hips tightly, as if trying to close his legs… it’s torturous, your thigh drags up and shifts and moves against him as you fish for your phone, he can’t even reach down to still your leg or tug at himself—anything, his arms are at too much of an awkward angle to be able to bend down in the tight space, so he’s stuck just enduring the searing heat that’s pooling dangerously easily between his legs. 

  Finally, you get a proper hold of it and drag your phone out of your pants pocket, you settle back down which elicits a sound from him that shoots through both of you like an arrow. “Sorry!” you quickly try and apologise, but the soft twitching of his body signals that the apology will do precious little.

  Sunday swallows thickly, so much so that you could hear it. His body was warm before, but now it feels like he’s radiating heat against you. He doesn’t want to say anything, worried his voice might not sound right—but the position you realigned into is pressing him almost painfully flat against himself… which also means he feels every small drag or shift you make. 

  You try to tilt your shoulders in a way that lets you see your phone screen… if you can just text the Express group chat that you’re stuck, surely someone can put off what they’re doing and come let you out. 

  It’s tricky to turn the phone in your hand with only one to spare and try to unlock it without seeing the screen, where even is the messaging app again? You just try your best to guess… until you try and type, which is when your phone tilts from your fingers and clatters to the ground.

  “…”

  “…”

  Fuck. 

  An exhale leaves Sunday. “You dropped your phone.”

  “… yeah,” you sound like a puppy being scolded by its owner. With your phone facing up on the floor, he could just barely see you giving him guilty dog side-eyes.

  He couldn’t explain the frustration it brought him that now no one knew of your positions—you had managed to send a … half-message… but it probably didn’t mean much to anyone. 

—

[17:42] You: slfep dmgwlsGn f

[17:43] March 7th ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ: Huh?

[17:46] Himeko: Probably put their phone unlocked in their pocket again...

[17:49] March 7th ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ: lol

—

  The light from your phone turned off as it was left untouched for too long, and you groaned slightly. Great… now what? Surely you’re not going to be stuck here forever.

  He wasn’t going to be able to keep his composure much longer, especially not when your damned body is pressed against his like this, the smell of your clothes and the occasional brush of your hands when you move them in the little space they can be moved. 

  It certainly doesn’t help that he finds you irresistible. 

  How could he, after his world had been turned—his beliefs, his ideals and his goals all turned from reaching forward, to halting in front of a mirror, forced to confront his reflection and pick out the flaws in his own mind before himself. 

  And you treated him just as you would any other person, despite what he had done, despite his false sense of benevolence that he still worked to understand how to redirect to something more realistic, how to understand what it is that drives... 

  His thoughts are interrupted—unfortunately, because it was distracting enough—when you pat his coat again to try and find his phone, but his skin begins to tingle every time you touch him, his poor body highly sensitive from the growing tension in his pants. “S-stop, be still—please,” he breathes, his voice suddenly far closer to your ear than it was before, his soft hair tickling your cheek. 

  Oh, that was…

  You’ve never heard his voice sound like that—not that you’ve known him for long enough to hear many of the pitches of his voice could make, but the way it rose slightly and cut off before pleading with you…

  Why do you want to hear it again?     “Sorry,” you say again, losing count of how many times you’ve said it already. “Are you okay?”

  He wouldn’t admit to his predicament with a gun to his head, but… it’s impossible to ignore, and there’s no way you don’t know either. He takes a deep—shaky—breath. “You can’t… move your leg?”

  You don’t want to lie to him and say yes, your knee is aching from being pressed so firmly against the wall of the closet, and your tailbone isn’t faring better against the other wall. You can pretty much only move it side to side unless you try and straighten your knee out—which as he felt earlier, was far worse. “Not really.”

  He swallows again, Sunday is glad he’s wearing gloves and that the closet is dark, or else you would have felt his sweaty hands or seen it on his brow by now. “I see.”

  He can’t stay like this much longer, his heart thunders against his chest, he hears it clearly as his breath hitches when he tries to provide himself some relief by shifting his hips to one side—but only proceeds to drag against you again, causing maddening friction that makes his thighs flex. 

  The tension in the air is so thick you’re not sure if it’s just the fact the closet doesn’t exactly have a vent, or that your nose is a hair’s width from Sunday’s neck, but it’s making your head feel lighter and your breaths deepen the more he tries to find more comfortable positions and fail, letting out short breaths or grunts. At this point he might as well just find the relief he’s desperately holding back from chasing. It would be less painful. 

  “Sunday,” his name falls from your lips quieter than you meant to, and surprisingly, your own name leaves him equally shyly. A simple breath that made your spine straighten instinctively—causing you to poke yourself in the eye on the ornament on his scarf. “Ow—“

  “Stop moving,” his tone sharpens and you feel a palm on your head. “… nhh—“  Sunday’s body twitches, you feel a throb against your thigh and he fears he’s going to burst if this continues. “…”

  But he can’t in his right mind just ask you if he can use your thigh to satisfy this torturous ache. 

  Thankfully, your mind is usually not ‘right’. “Hey,” you muster up some courage, it helps that neither of you can’t see anything. “If you need to…”

  “No,” he interrupts you, shaking his head—and a wing slaps you in the face, you feel like your face is taking too many swings today. “No, absolutely not.”

  “You sound like you’re about to cry.” His voice is tight, but not because he’s about to cry—he might, if this keeps going for too long—but because he’s reigning in every single willpower he has to hold himself still. “Will it be better if I do it?”

  He clicks his tongue, this entire situation could have been avoided if someone didn’t trigger the alarm. He could’ve gone about his day and not had to—yet again—confront a side of himself left neglected. “No… fine, let me.”

  It was… tentative, shy, as if he thought that short and subtle movements would mean you wouldn’t feel anything or not notice too much. Every shot of warmth from his waist to his fingers and toes made him shudder and his chest tighten, it was a fight on all fronts to both keep quiet and focus on being careful at the same time. 

  It was hard to watch, or rather listen to, as the dark was still all-encompassing. 

  Maybe he would feel better if he didn’t have to think about the uncomfortable silence in the darkness. 

  You can’t reach up, your hands stuck below your chests, otherwise you would have touched his face first. He likely wouldn’t have been as startled as he was when your lips suddenly—yet gently—pressed against his. 

  “Wh—mm you—doin—m—“ it’s almost comedic how his question is only half communicated, surprised and confused by the kiss that he slowly eases into, accepting your offer and splitting his attention. 

  His hips grind against your thigh, slow at first and uncertain, but as your mouth takes half his mind off of it, he begins to move more desperately. He’s been held at a precipice for so many minutes, an agonising hour that felt so long that he thought he would surely explode in some form if it were to continue for much longer. Sunday’s lips are surprisingly soft against yours, warm and inviting as he pushes back, his hand above your head that laid on it is now searching for purchase, as if he wants to take hold of you properly. 

  The two of you pull back to breathe, and Sunday wastes no time to duck his head next to yours, damp lips brushing past your temple and to your ear. He plants wet, open mouthed kisses below it, the sensitive skin tickled by the sensation as his tongue drags against the shell of your ear. 

  But he doesn’t give up, taken by the heated moment and relaxed barriers, his hips continue to cant against your thigh, his worldview narrowing to the sensation of your warm skin under his lips, to the delicious friction created by both your pants. “Hahh…“ he breathes out, a string of saliva separating his lips from your skin. 

  You move your leg in tandem to his grinding, you can’t help but feel his pleasure as if it were your own, the way his body trembles with strain, the breathy sounds below your chin and flex of his hips. You feel your own body respond and warmth pool needily, but you ignore it—he’s the one that’s been suffering for an hour in this stuffy space, you can wait… you try to convince yourself at least, ignoring the subtle throb of your own, at least it was just against air and not pressed against something as well—or perhaps that’s worse. 

  It’s embarrassing, Sunday echoes in the back of his mind, not only that he’s had to resort to this, but also the fact that he wants more. He doesn’t just want to rut against your thigh like this, he wants to touch you with his hands, trapped at an awkward angle over your shoulders. He wants to feel your own heat, the warmth radiating from your clothes against his a tempting tease, a longing of seeing what’s beneath. Your skin, your hair, your eyes, your neck, your lips—he wants to feel all of it. 

  Sunday mumbles your name again before his lips find your ear and the top of your throat once more, a hint of teeth as he captures your earlobe between them, a shiver running through you, you can hear his mouth and tongue so clearly... he kisses a reddened spot left below your ear from his single minded focus and his hips falter and his body twitches together, but he only succeeds in brushing his bangs against your chin and his small wings fluttering outward. The surge of heat emitting from his straining cock was unbearable, he moved faster, a breathy sound of your name on his lips again, Sunday says it for the third time as tension fills his body and all he can focus on is the warmth of your frame against his—a bit too tightly in the cramped closet—the soft warm breaths against his ear and the way your hands unconsciously started grabbing at his coat. 

  You feel him tense and groan, the choked sound foreign on his lips, you never expected to hear such a bodily sound from him, nor could you stop it from raising every hair on your arms. You hold onto him as he practically falls against you, Sunday’s breaths are heavy and his arms tremble by your head, his mind feels like it’s been tossed around a bit before stuffed back in upside down, he can’t straighten up or lie down and has to practically sit on your thigh. 

  “Are you okay?” you prod and poke at his stomach worriedly. “Was that okay? Are—“

  “Please… j-just… one moment,” he pleads, not ready to answer a barrage of questions just yet. His heart is beating so fast it almost worries him, his throat feels dry and his legs are weak. He did nothing but drag his crotch up and down your thigh and this is the state he’s left in? He can’t imagine how you would leave him if he got a real taste—

  He shakes his head and you splutter as you get a mouthful of feathers. “I… might have dirtied your pants,” he says shamefully, the sticky wetness between his legs left behind from the height of pleasure was surely going to stain you too. Though it felt good, certainly, he is having some post-clarity… for you to see him so tense and desperate as this—he always has a careful front, not more so than before, but the habit remains. 

  “I have more,” you try to assure him… you don’t have them with you, but you do own more. “So…”

  He presses his forehead against your shoulder. “… I don’t want to talk about it now.”

  A small smile cracks your lips and you stroke his side. “Okay, we‘ll talk later… how about a second grab for your phone? Now that you’re all, eh… spent?”

  “… don’t send anything until we’re dry.”

[sarcastic-clapping]

sorry but it’s very funny to see maga idiots splitting with trump and feeling betrayed because he ran on such a huge anti-immigration platform, but now some of his closest high-profile business allies like elon musk are singing the praises of the H-1B skilled worker visa program and talking about how they should remove the cap on certain non-immigrant visa types that they depend on to run their businesses.

like. who’s going to tell them that trump is widely known to staff all his resorts and properties with foreign workers that are here on H-2B seasonal work visas? and that the justification he’s given is that they’re seasonal low wage jobs that don’t appeal to american workers? you know, because he’s not willing to pay a living wage or offer any benefits to make those jobs more appealing and would rather exploit cheap foreign labor for maximum profits.

it’s almost like….the issue isn’t immigration or immigrants “stealing” american jobs, it’s the wealthy owning class being unwilling to sacrifice even a minuscule little sliver of profit to offer fair wages and decent benefits for the work required to keep their businesses operational. but idk. just a thought.

[hypewinter]

So Danny's a clone of the bats right? (It could be just one of the or a combination of all of them doesn't matter) But he's not a very stable one. In fact if he doesn't get stabilized by his original donor(s) soon, he'll die in a couple of years.

This should be an easy fix right? After all, he lives in Gotham and the bats eventually find out about him and are more than willing to help.

There's only one teensy little problem. Danny wants nothing to do with the bats. He might also be a little too confident he can 'figure something out'.

Cue scenario like:

Dick: Trust me we just want to help you.

Danny coughing up blood: Don't worry, I'm perfectly fine. Already have a plan in motion.

Or

Jason: Your arm is literally falling off.

Danny reattaching it: Yeah, it does that sometimes.

Basically Danny would quite literally rather die than accept their help. No way are the bats letting that happen though. Since mansplaining didn't work and manslaughter is off the table their only option left is to manhandle.

[s-p-r-i-n-g-t-i-m-e]

mayhaps this is a hot take but I truly dislike “Loid gets murderous and overprotective of Anya dating Damian” content

like. there are sm reasons I dislike it

first off, just fundamentally, I hate that trope. I think parents being protective of children in general is cute, and even maybe protective against their partners to an extent, but it rlly feeds into the Western (esp American) notion of parents owning their children. it gets even grosser when it’s the dad and his daughter, it’s just a branch of ‘women and their purity having to be guarded until they’re properly married’ sexism

secondly, if this is pre-reveal (either Damian comes over/talks to Anya in front of Loid and it’s p obvious he has a crush, so Loid, of course, course notices, OR somehow, post-canon yet not revealed, they get together), Loid would absolutely use that to advance Operation Strix lol

obviously Loid is NOT a bad or uncaring father, he is absolutely not that, BUT he does also very vehemently care about achieving world peace thru his spy work, AND ANYA UNDERSTANDS AND EVEN AGREES WITH THIS (to the highest extent she can as a child, at least). he would never partake in extensive manipulation that’d harm Anya emotionally (or even Damian tbh, his whole goal is to create a world where no children have to cry) but he would DEFINITELY encourage their relationship in order to eventually, somehow get to Desmond the ghoul-eyed freak

thirdly, even if this is POST-reveal, I still don’t think Loid would be unreasonable. sure, he may apprehensive due to Damian’s family and more concrete examples of Anya growing up (MAYBE bc honestly I think Loid would be ecstatic with every milestone in Anya’s life considering how genuinely supportive and proud of her that he is) BUT. but

he, again, not only wants to create a world where no children have to cry, so he clearly values the youth and their quality of life, but ALSO KNOWS abt how shitty Damian’s father is. personally, I think he’d be GLAD that Damian has a safe place to come to, with ppl who’ll support him (unconsciously, bc Loid is very oblivious to his own emotions lmao)

anyways, tldr; the “Loid being super hostile to Damian dating Anya” trope is tired and sucks and we should move onto appreciating a trope that honours the CORE of sxf, more found family, where Damian joins the Forgers, even before he and Anya potentially marry (even before they date if possible tbh)

[gongyussy]

DOGSRED Chapter 1 by Satoru Noda [English Scanlation]

Satoru Noda's new project after Golden Kamuy: an ice hockey manga. "If he wants to go wild at the ice skating rink, isn't he better off as an ice hockey player?" Disgraced figure skater Shirakawa Rou moves to Hokkaido, and meets his unhinged match in a hot-headed hockey player.

consider this a placeholder until a proper scanlation group picks it up and does magical things like redraw art and weave in sound effect translations. also if you see spelling or grammar errors... no you didn't (none of us are native english speakers so rip, we ball 💀)

(part two)

[grif-hawaiian-rolls]

YOU'LL HAVE TO TRY HARDER TO SILENCE THIS CHORUS

Left to right: Valora "Volleyball" Balin, Katie Jensen, Charles "Charlie" Palomo, Antoine Bitters, John "Smith" Andersmith and Mitchell Matthews Definitely a picture taken post war to me, but I had to give the rebels some love they deserve <3

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Happy Pride month everyone B*) Allow me to reveal a little behind the scenes detail behind my Banner and Icon. Love was always winning <3

[leroibobo]

a carved mother-of-pearl quran box and matching quran depicting al-aqsa mosque from bethlehem, palestine, dating to the 1960s.

mother-of-pearl carving is a traditional craft in bethlehem, especially among women, historically using mother-of-pearl via oysters from the red sea. the craft is said to have been brought over by franciscan monks from damascus in the 15th century. the tradition is still going strong today.

[skunkes]

do you have any tops for finding good plus size references…i keep trying to google shit (with “” as well) and all i get is dehydrated gym rats 🫠

fatphotoref and nsfw selfie subreddits dedicated to the body type you're looking for (fr example there are a couple for "Big Handsome Men" and "Chubby Guys") are what have helped me, as well as keeping an eye out for SWers on twitter ^_^ morpho's book on fat bodies is also easy to find a pdf of and will help lots alongside dis!

[sp4ceboo]

hey so i did a thing

[ahwait-no-yes]

i don't see it talked about enough how much tsukasa cares about and trusts rui. especially in the scene of that last screenshot- tsukasa has a hard time generally when it comes to confiding in people, typically he deflects or dismisses it with something like "oh it's nothing!" but you don't see that here. because here, he opens up to rui and tells him truthfully how being in the presence of professionals had made him feel insecure, which is something he would have otherwise kept to himself. and rui responds in a way that is reflective of not only the lesson he's learned from the event but also what tsukasa *really* needs to hear (as the perfectionist tsukasa has a tendency to internally belittle himself and feel lesser for not being 'more' like the arcland members were). and there's something about the wording "it's oddly reassuring to hear that from you" that feels so soft and almost kinda vulnerable?? i think it's because he says its reassuring "from you". it could've been so easy to just say 'it was reassuring to hear' but no

these are only a couple screenshots as well, this doesn't even really mention how he's always trusted rui to keep him (and the others) safe even when his ideas are risky and dangerous. i havent read the halloween story since i first started playing but from what i remember, even in that he was primarily concerned for rui, because rui had started withdrawing and holding back from him (which tsukasa never would want!!) then subsequently in future events when he sees rui's pained expression stemming from being insecure about directing (be it due to other people or hurting the troupe) he's always trying to prevent him from holding back again and reassuring him!!

basically, tsukasa values rui's opinions, ideas and overall wellbeing so much!! even from day 1 of meeting him!!

[sepiamestus]

Very annoyed with the progression of 'platonic interpretations are just as valid as romantic ones' into 'im allowed to be as mean as i want about someone else's art if i think the ship is boring'

[kaytheday]

Sometimes your loser ex boyfriend is a trained self-turned vigilante that’s on first name basis with the entirety of your local police squad.

[gio-cosmo]

Discovering the Strega content from Tartarus Theater Wild is one of the best things to ever happen to me I’m not even joking.