EVERY SINGLE DAY there are MILLIONS of characters in their late 20s who get falsely accused of being father figures to teenagers when in reality the description of "weird older cousin" or "step-sibling that moved out before you were born" is 1000000x more apt

when we’re done with our overwhelming grief we’ll eat i guess

Danny: Hi, would you like to buy some cookies to support my education at Gotham Academy?

Bruce: Yes of course! How much are they?

Danny: ten bucks a box!

Bruce: Put me down for 50 boxes.

Danny: Really!?

Bruce: I have plenty of mouths to feed, trust me. By the way, chum, how did you get past the gate security?

Danny: eh, it wasn't too hard. Honestly sir, it felt like it was more design to keep people in then keep people out.

Damian from the second floor: I WILL NOT BE CONTAINED!

Bruce nods, ignoring Damian: Thank you for the feedback, my boy. I'll have it updated, but please feel free to come by anytime. I love cookies!

Bruce in the Batcave after Danny leaves: How did an uncoordinated nerd get past my systems!?

Tim: I don't know, but I've seen him around school. Get this, he's an engineering prodigy, but his family makes too much to qualify for a scholarship. They also don't make enough to afford his schooling, so he does odd jobs for cash. He creates gadgets for our classmates. That's a rouge in the making if I ever have seen one.

Batfamily time travel encounter but it's just a nice timeline.

Jason Todd: So who got to be Batman and fucked up everything because they got evil?

26 year old Damian Wayne: Nobody??? What the fuck?

Steph: So you telling us... There's no evil Batman? No one died?

Duke: Or got evil?

Dick: Or went rogue?

Steph: Or like I don't know- Like- There's like no ass to us to kick? To I don't know- fix up the time line?? No one to *gestures cutting a throat*

Jason: Not even Tim?

Tim: Okay fuck you-

Jason: sOMEONE HAD TO ASK-

26 year old Damian: No. No. No. No. And absolutely not. No one is going to kill Timothy, he's the best at what he does.

Tim, whispering: ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵘᶜᵏ

The bus is empty. It usually is this time of day.

The digital clocks stopped working a while ago, but my internal clock says it’s no later than seven in the morning, and the sun spills its first reddish light across the sky in agreement.

I’ve been up for hours. That’s part of the job. I suppose it can feel a little lonely in winter: waking up long before dawn to walk to work in darkness. I keep a flashlight in my pocket, but I never turn it on. It’s just a precaution. I think I prefer the dark, anyway. Its presence is so thick around me, it’s almost like a companion.

But even darkness goes away. The sun is rising now, as I take a turn down another abandoned road. Everything goes away.

I guess my job has always felt lonely. I’m nothing more than a cog in a machine, a servant to the endless push and pull of traffic; though right now, the only traffic is me.

People see me as an extension of this bus, a fixed part of their daily commute, more than they see me as a person. There used to be the occasional passenger who would smile and say hello, how are you, as they entered the bus.

I smile even now as I remember the old lady, Mrs. Brown, who used to take the bus every day at 9 am. She would most often sit at the very front and make idle conversation, with me and anyone else willing to indulge. I think she may have been as lonely as I was. Always said she was going to see her husband, and each day, I dropped her off at the stop by the cemetery.

She hasn’t been here for some time. I wonder if she moved away.

Sometimes the silence of the bus is suffocating. You get so used to the roar of the engine, it fades into the background. It stops being a noise altogether. I don’t turn on the radio anymore, so when the bus is empty, as it usually is this time of day, the silence is a living, breathing thing. It sits on every seat of the bus and breathes down my neck.

Then there are days like today, when the silence is almost… companionable. I hum the tune of an old song I’ve forgotten the lyrics to, and the engine hums along, and the silence, always waiting at the edge of everything, listens. Patiently. The silence knows I will stop humming eventually, and welcome it back inside the bus.

I reach the stop where old Mrs. Brown used to get on. She’s not there. No one is. Then again, I might be ahead of schedule. Without any traffic to slow me down, it’s probable. I activate the turn signal and drive to the side of the road by the bus stop. I kill the engine, and then it’s truly quiet. It’s not often I let myself sit with the silence in such an intimate way. You don’t think about how loud silence really is until it’s all you can hear.

There is a little bench next to the bus stop where Mrs. Brown used to sit and wait for my arrival. The wood has started to rot; it looks ready to collapse. It’s not safe for an old lady anymore. Someone should really fix it soon.

I think I sit there for five minutes, maybe ten. It doesn’t look like Mrs. Brown will show up today either, and I really should get going or I’ll get behind schedule. So I start up the engine again, and the silence retreats a little. Just to the seats of the bus, where it always sits.

People used to say insanity is doing something over and over again, expecting a different outcome. But I think I’m perfectly sane.

I drive until I reach the stop by the cemetery. The bus sign there has lost a brave battle to rust. It’s laying somewhere in the overgrown grass now, leaving the pole empty, naked, close to giving up itself.

I used to have my lunch break at the station not far from here, but that stop has closed. The barbed wire fences surrounding the place make it impossible to get in, and no one works at the deli anymore, where I used to grab lunch. Instead, I stop here and walk out toward the cemetery.

The air outside the bus wraps my lungs in a tight and suffocating fist, but I don’t let it bother me anymore. You can’t expect the air to be clean these days, certainly not in a place like this. Perhaps not anywhere. I wouldn’t know, my job keeps me tied down here.

There’s a perpetual fog surrounding almost everything these days, and it’s thicker here, where the dead are laid to rest. I don’t mind it so much.

I walk between the graves. There’s a limp in my step that always gets worse in the cold, but the dead aren’t going to judge me. I sit on a bench looking over a cluster of graves. This part of the cemetery is reserved for those who didn’t have any family to bury them. Small, impersonal stones are scattered across the lawn, with nothing but a name and some dates engraved. What a lonely fate. No one to remember you. No one to mourn you.

A distant part of me wonders if anyone will be there to bury me when I’m gone. I don’t dwell on it, though. It’s best not to dwell on things. I have a job to do.

On the way back to the bus, I stop next to a grave belonging to someone named Charles Allan Brown. Surely there are many people named Brown buried here, it’s not an uncommon surname. Still, I find myself picturing an old lady coming to this grave every day, bringing a fresh bouquet once a week, until one day she didn’t.

Are the dead lonely? I don’t imagine so. Loneliness is reserved for those left behind.

I walk the rest of the way back to the bus. It’s empty. It usually is this time of day.

from the homumiko mines

that ivan loves till is the most obvious thing about them

but. does ivan know that…?

the ivan that regards his own feelings as shallow, the ivan that learned how emotions are expressed only from copying others… does he even know that the love he’s felt for so long is love? probably not. and part of the reason is the one he loves himself

because the easiest example he has of love is till's feelings to mizi. till outright calls it love, and ivan watches him so much he has to be aware of this and till’s love to mizi is totally unselfish, right. he doesn’t seem to actually want much from her—just that she's still there and still "mizi"

but ivan can't be satisfied with just watching he… wants. ivan wants till’s attention, till’s affection—

surely this selfish wanting can’t be love

...no wonder he was never able to express his feelings straightforwardly when he belittles them so much but he can’t stand not having anything either, so he does… whatever he does instead to get any scraps of attention he can, from someone he's convinced doesn't care about him at all only showing affection when till can't see it, right until he knows he's going to die

but ivan's feelings for till are all he still has of himself... to think of them as shallow...

I've seen this translated as "I should've been kinder" to him (till) or to her (sua)

but really, the one he should've been kinder to was himself

I’ve been replaying Pokemon mystery dungeon explorers of sky these last few days with the skytemple randomizer... and this game is so fucking good ;;

Anyway here is my team (Big cat little dog >>>>>>)

And I drew some little scenes that made me laugh :)c

Garchomp and Mothim are brothers <3

What were the odds that team skull’s leader would be a  Mightyena- 

Thank god these Latias only knew helping hands (everyone clapped)

[PART 2]

so my frend made a Cruel evil joke (joke) about my last post about kicking arvo while he's shapeshifting. Because fun fact the reason why basilisks are so vulnerable during shapeshifting and why its a big deal to do it with company is that if the "shell" that forms (basically the skin/feather husk of their previous form) suffers trauma and bursts before the process is over, the half-melted half-formed meat goo will just come out. and sometimes its conscious before it inevitably dies. which inspired the first image (not canon dw)...

but that made me sad to draw so i sketched up a small comic instead. idk if its fully canon but either way itd happen post-story, during a time when folke is feeling discomfort and some resentment towards arvo... but the dream disturbs him even so

You and Miguel trip over each others feet, drunkenly, landing on the softness of your cozy bed with your back gently bouncing amongst the thick warmth of your blanket and his towering, stocky frame looming over yours protectively...admirably.

His soft hues of hazelnut irises gaze down at you with such tender and allure. Briefly glances down to the plushness of your pretty, fully lips promptly back up to your glimmering, hazy eyes. Contemplation roaming through his foggy mind.

Your gentle and sweet giggles lure him out from his thinking, eyes focusing more intently into your gorgeous eyes. Sinking and basking in the sheer beauty that resonates from your reeling optics. A lazy, half witted smile weaving across his strong cheeks.

"¿Qué es tan gracioso, preciosa?" he chimes with the same smile, watching you softly roam your tinier hands all over his wide, firm chest. Leaving a trail of arising goosebumps beneath the thin layer of his black shirt that snugged ever so nicely around his bulked stature.

"Y-you Miggy...you're so funny" you emit a small hiccup, fingers still grazing over the soft, light fabric that atoned to his fit body ever so perfectly. Your wandering irises stilling into his directly, nipping back your bottom lip as your palms smoothly, gradually glide their way up and around the juncture of his strong jaw to the back of his neck. Easing in the closeness between the two of you.

He raise a thick brow in curiosity and interest, chuckling lightly as he hums to the light invitation your fingers were hinting at, at the back of his head. Twirling and curling ever so delicately and diligently in between the soften locks of deep mahogany.

"Am I now? do share, dulzura" he keeps his adoring, flaunting smile on his beautiful face. Watching you ever so intently and longingly with every motion you'd make, consuming the intoxicating feeling of your welcoming gentle touches.

You giggle once more, another loose hiccup reverberating through your throat. Your hands clasping more securely around his neck and pull him down to meet your warm, tender lips. Hardly ghosting over the shell of his right ear.

"I can s-see you fighting back the u-urge to kiss me Miguel..." you whisper ever so daintly, smoothly deep into the depths of his ringing ears. You feel his muscles tense under your touch, arising a more coy and playful smirk to tug amongst your heated cheeks.

His head tilts lightly, lips skimming over the flush of your flawless skin, suavely rakes both of his large hands up along the strut of your calling body.

"...Would you be against it, mi amor?" his voice tremored with such lowered bass, rasp like as he grazes your cute cheeks with a teasing touch of his warm lips. Grinning oh so cheekily against the supple flesh as he feels you writhe and squirm a bit beneath him.

Your hands weave more profusely into his curly, brunette hair. Fingers curling and combing through each soften strand, as you pull him more closer towards you.

"O-of course not dummy...that's w-what I've wanted all this time" you breathe out faintly, listening to the sudden hitch of his breath settle at the back of his throat. His dilated pupils following over to remeet your coyish, yearning gaze.

It didn't take him much convincing afterwards to have his hungry lips lap over your own with such dire need and desire. A mixture of dizzying passion and aching want, fueling his ignited action against your lips. Devouring every moan, whimper and breathy gasps that slipped off your trembling, candied lips.

Diligently, wallowing in the devoted and amorous kiss.

IL PREDESTINATO VINCE.

(inspired by @scdria's super awesome monaco poster)

The emotion behind the way Edwin uses fuck is so heavy, because outside of the pilot episode and the scene on the stairs, he doesn't swear. He's a proper boy, repressed and focused and he bottles everything up.

In the Pilot, "The police don't know what to do with a fucking witch", he isn't swearing about the witch. He's angry, and he's upset, and he's frustrated. He's trying to focus on solving this case, saving the girl, doing the right thing, fixing things. Edwin spent seventy years in Hell, fighting for a way out (the detail in his journal, he didn't get out on the first try, he spent those 70s years trying over and over and over to find a way out - but that is a story for a whole other time), torture and pain and heartbreak, only to get out and fall into the school to find out no one cared that he died. "An act of God." The school wrote him off, everyone wrote it off and that was it, that was the end of it, no one cared that a 16 year old boy went to bed and was never seen or heard from again, poof, gone. He spent Charles' last moments with him to keep him company, and calm, and not scared, the two of them knowing what had happened only for the school to once again cover up the death of a 16 year old boy and pretend that whatever happened didn't. Edwin spent the next 30 years connecting with Charles, trying to help ghosts so they don't spend their entire afterlives in a state of absolute sorrow and heartbreak like has. We get such a bare taste of the ghosts they've saved and helped move on, who knows how much good they've truly done, how many they've saved from going to Hell on technicalities like Edwin had done. He's frustrated with Crystal, because he's spent 30 years working with Charles and only with Charles, he knows his friend, he knows how he behaves and how he works and how he acts, those two are connected on a level some people only dream about, and here she comes, she latches on, and she joins them to help but she's so hyper focused on herself and David (understandably so), that she isn't giving the same attention to the case that Edwin and Charles have always done, and he's angry, and he feels like it's going to happen to this girl, he is worried that her focus on David, is going to cause them to fail. Crystal has every right to be upset and scared and everything else that she is, but she doesn't consider, until that moment, that Edwin has a right to be upset about how it seems to be interfering with the case. The way that she reacts when he says "The police don't know what to do with a fucking witch," she realizes it then just how important this case is. Edwin was dragged to hell, the boys around him obliterated - leaving behind the idea that maybe he was, too - so to the school, maybe Edwin just disappeared, like Becky, like all the other little girls over the years in Port Townsend. Solving Becky's case is so damn important to Edwin that he is taking it personally. And while it's subtle, Charles reacts to him swearing, too, as though Edwin does not swear. And based on the rest of the season, it's clear he really doesn't. The way he swears in the pilot is from a place of complete and utter sorrow and anger.

In ep 7, it's different. He's spent the whole season struggling with who is he, trying to come to terms with a feeling he'd repressed for at least a century, and he's had to do it while dealing with the Cat King and Monty and watching Charles flirt with Crystal and struggle through his own rage, he's done it as quietly as he could, as if bringing it up out loud might ruin everything that he's worked so hard for. But now he's in Hell, again, now he's trying to get out, again. Edwin encountered the reason he was sent there in the first place, and found out what really happened. Edwin spent all those years thinking it was purely malice that got him sacrificed, only to find out it was just because Simon had a crush on him, and did an absurdly stupid thing thinking it was harmless. I think in that moment, Edwin realized how easy it is to misunderstand something - because clearly, Edwin had absolutely no idea that Simon liked him at all, until the moment he admitted it in Hell. And then Charles shows up. Charles came to save him, armed with a bomb, a Molotov cocktail, and Edwin's notebook with a map of hell on it. Charles came down, he listened to Edwin's directions, he ran behind him most of the time to make sure Edwin was going to get out. Charles was with him, saving him from one of the rooms, following him to the stairs and up. He stopped with him, even when they needed to keep going, Charles let him have a moment on the steps. Edwin is in shock, he cannot believe it. All these years, all these write offs, all these moments where Edwin genuinely didn't think he'd ever get out of Hell if he were to go back, believed that if they ever got caught by Death or anyone from the afterlife, he would be damned forever because who gives a shit about a technicality, who cares about the poor boy that was sacrificed and written off by the rest of the living. Edwin didn't know what else to do or say, the emotions he'd kept bottled up while he tried to figure them out were coming out one way or the other. "It's so fucking stupid, it's unbelievable." Edwin didn't think he deserved it, thought it was stupid to come down and save him, because who would do such a thing. Charles risked himself to come down to Hell to save Edwin. Edwin never thought he'd be worth it. And when Charles just shrugs it off a bit, reminds him that he was gonna do it, and he's so easy about it that Edwin just. Confesses. And corrects him, when Charles misunderstands for a second. Charles didn't think twice about "Great. Love you too. Can we go?" And he really didn't even hesitate to reassure Edwin when Edwin clarified what he meant, that they had forever to figure things out.

I just skimmed through the art part of your blog and holy bajeebus your LMK art is so beautiful and the headcanon ideas you come up with are so good I wanna steal em-

Kinda wanna see like a part 2 of the little angst you did between MK and Macaque a while ago. It's so interesting and I wanna see Macaque's reaction in your art style. (You don't have to of course, it's just a suggestion [idk if i spelled that right])

Thanks for reading and hope you have a good day/night!

Hope this is to your liking ^^

Part one here

Part 7

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homestars handwriting 2000 / 2005

felt kinda shitty earlier this morning, so i drew some comfort narrator for myself but i figured yall might want it too, so heres some comfort narry