i had a strange dream in which Vasco and Machete were both a) in a modern day gang and b) were based on real people that you, the artist, personally knew. Someone made a trivia post about your blog saying “Y’know how all 12 of the high ranking gang members in that canis albus webcomic wear necklaces with a die hanging from them? (Both Vasco and Machete had four sided dice btw) This is actually based on a real thing that the real people who are in the gang it’s based on wear.”
then someone reblogged it with “I didn’t believe this until I learned that Machete’s real life counterpart is the one that designed all of them, and has spares of them all for safe keeping. Supposedly, his most unique password is the one that protects the safe that the spares are in, which, in turn, is based on the canis albus blog!”
idk if or how you’d even interpret this as a drawing, but i kinda just wanted to let you know that i dreamt about your pups
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"Grandfather."
Ra's knew who the boy was the moment he'd snuck into the room. He'd allowed the child--more man than child now, but everyone was a child compared to him--moments to steel himself while Ra's refrained from acknowledging his presence. The boy's breath was barely audible but unsteady, and a drop of something fell to the floor.
His grandson was injured. "Danyal," he greeted and finally gazed upon him for the first time in seven years.
Danyal had grown into his father's height, yet stayed lean in regards to his musculature. His black hair had grown out of the League-regulation haircut, held back in a messy braid. He held himself as strong as he could, but kept an arm wrapped around his stomach. His shirt--standard American teenage garb, he dismissed--was spotted with blood and he could see bandages poking out from under the cloth.
With great care, Danyal knelt before the Demon Head and recited the Oath of Loyalty.
Ra's watched.
The boy's tongue, fat with English, spoke the League's variant of Arabic with the grace of a mace to the head, yet his words were clear. He took his time speaking the oath, carefully sounding out words, working hard to avoid mispronunciation. The Oath in question was the older version, from before Deathstroke's insurrection, but Danyal spoke it with a calm certainty that it would be accepted.
And without a doubt, it would be accepted.
Talia's eldest son had been born from her body instead of through science, a mistake that nearly cost her the child and damaged him upon birth. While the best doctors in the world saved his life, Danyal Al Ghul would always be weak in a fight, always prone to illness, always struggling to excel. When it became clear that the boy couldn't become the next Demon Head, Ra's sent Talia to create a replacement while arrangements were made for her first child to be taught business and science, for the betterment of the League. Danyal, very much his father's child, thrived in his intellectual pursuits while Damian grew and developed into a budding assassin.
But Danyal was more like his father than he'd ever knew. Ra's couldn't miss the signs of one of his family turning away from the League. Not the mission--Danyal had written several university level papers defending the environment by the time the boy was 10--but Ra's methods...
Ra's had a conundrum. Danyal was a dedicated conservationist; once the boy was an adult, Ra's was certain he'd take the world by storm and bring the League to new heights. But if he forced his methods onto Danyal, he could create an enemy of him, just as his father was.
Ra's gave Danyal an offer; Danyal would be allowed to leave the League and live a normal life if and only if he faked his own death in such a way that reinforced Damian's loyalty to the League of Assassins.
Danyal had been hesitant at first, but past his test with flying colors. Instigating one of the more unstable assassins into organizing a coup, cutting the insurgents off near immediately, but "dying" protecting both his younger brother and mother. It was a masterful performance. Even Talia hadn't known about the deceit.
And yet, here he was, on his knees, pledging loyalty. Danyal knew what that meant, knew what he was returning to, which morals he would be allowed to keep.
"And what do you bring with you, child of no one?" Why should the League accept the return of this child, who left once before?
Danyal met his eyes. "I bring with me, my team, who are loyal to me and me alone. I bring with me, research surrounding the Lazarus Pits, in origins and further uses for the waters." Ra's raised an eyebrow, and Danyal smirked. "I bring with me, my knowledge, nurtured within this very home and sharpened in the world outside. I bring with me, my weapons, built with my own hands. I bring with me... my body, finally healthy and whole." He brought his head down to the floor, trembling with pain. "I bring my whole self to the Demon's Head, for Him to accept or reject."
Ra's smiled. "By the shadows that guard our order and the blood that binds us, I accept this oath. From this day forward, you are an instrument of the League, a harbinger of justice, and a weapon in the hand of Ra's Al Ghul."
Danyal returned to his feet, swaying percariously. He needed immediate medical attention. Despite this, he continued, "Long live the League of Assassins. Long live Ra's Al Ghul."
And he collapsed onto the floor.
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Jaskier is more than happy to care for his witchers when they return to Kaer Morhen in winter, not that it's a sacrifice to be surrounded 24/7 by manly, strong, beautiful men, but he knows that his wolves can't be pampered by him the rest of the year because he spends every season with Geralt.
So he comes up with an idea to make everyone see his witchers exactly as he sees them: heroic and delicious.
A few years ago, Oxenfurt put out a series of portraits of the most handsome professors to motivate more people to go to college. Of course, the number of students inside the classrooms grew a lot.
Jaskier wants to go further, so he tells Yennefer about making portraits of the wolves according to a different year theme. You know, a kind of calendar.
Eskel, sweet and strong, will be Spring. Lambert, young and virile, will be Summer. Vesemir, wise and serene, will be Autumn. And Geralt, mysterious and silent, Winter.
Jaskier can only be carried away by his fantasies.
Thanks to Yen and his magic, by the end of Winter, in every place of the continent there is a series of magical paintings of the witchers of the wolf school exquisitely depicting a whole season that motivates all people to be kinder and more helpful to them.
Some time later, wives and husbands convince their partners to call a witcher to solve their monster problems and give them generous tips, taverns fill them with beers for attracting so many people, inns give them the best rooms and as many bathrooms as they ask for, brothels fight to have one of them in their places and show off their charms.
Jaskier has just invented themed calendars and is happy to know that his wolves are fully appreciated.
The next calendar will undoubtedly feature Coën and Aiden.
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feliciafancybottom replied to your post "angelsadvocate96 replied to your post "I am…"
I saw one earlier about Michael setting such a fine example for straight boys who go through a 'phase' of crushing on men. Yeahhh. Michael "No closet can hold me" Sheen… Michael "Happy Bi" Sheen… Michael "I set David on fire fairly regularly" Sheen… Michael Sheen who did one sex scene with Stephen Fry 27 years ago and hasn't stopped talking about riding him like a bucking bronco ever since. Is that the right Michael Sheen? If so, I think someone needs to tell him that he's the Sheriff of Straighttown now because I don't think he got the memo.
@feliciafancybottom Oh my God. "A phase"...yeah. That's always the other one, isn't it. Never mind that he had a crush on John Taylor when he was a teenager, and then a crush on Jude Law during Wilde when he was almost 30, and now an overwhelmingly obvious crush on David in his 50s. Nope, definitely just a phase.
I just...I genuinely do not understand how anyone thinks that the man who made that "closet" tweet, who christened himself "THE southern pansy" during Pride Month a few years ago, who said he considers one of his characters (Roland Blum) to be pansexual, and who has been telling us exactly who he is in every way possible for multiple years now...is completely straight. And to then have the gall to dismiss Michael's sexuality by further referring to it as a "phase" is the peak of bi erasure.
On one positive note, I will say that "Sheriff of Straighttown" made me snort, and I'm now picturing Michael and David roleplaying that with Michael as the "straight" Sheriff and David as the seductive "saloon girl" who leads him astray, so thank you for that. Haha. Good times...
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read two insane wincest fics in the last two days and honestly i have no idea how to move on from them. they've bored into my skull like worms and i will not get over them any time soon
watch you weigh your powers
selfishly, i wish there had been more actual mind control in the fic because i have problems in my brain and the horrors attack me nightly, but otherwise this is just really great. i love the focus on sam's emotions and the fear and horror of what he's been doing. the paragraph spacing is all kinds of wonky and honestly really off-putting, but once i pushed past that, it was an awesome read.
camdon inn
deadass i think this author lives in my brain. i can't believe they wrote my exact kink, wrote it well, and gave it a satisfying ending all in one fic. i love how they executed their incest headcanons and developed the background for their relationship, and jesus christ i can't even stress how good this soulbond is. i can't be normal after reading this. author has a tendency to skip over words on occasion, but otherwise it's really well written and i'm so impressed with it.
i've never done a fic rec kinda thing before but idk leaving a comment wasn't enough for me. i need more people to read them. holy shit
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'I flirted with the idea that instead of being trans that I was just a cross-dresser (a quirk, I thought, that could be quietly folded into an otherwise average life) and that my dysphoria was sexual in nature, and sexual only. And if my feelings were only sexual, then, I wondered, perhaps I wasn’t actually trans.
I had read about a book called The Man Who Would Be Queen, by a Northwestern University professor who believed that transwomen who were attracted to women were really confused fetishists, they wanted to be women to satisfy an autogynephilia. And though I first read about this book in the context of its debunkment and disparagement, I thought about the electricity of slipping on those tights, zipping up those boots, and a stream of guilt followed. Maybe this professor was right, and maybe I was only a fetishist. Not trans, just a misguided boy.
About a year later, on the Internet, I come across a transwoman who added a unique message to the crowd refuting this professor. Oh, I wish I remember who this woman was, and I wish even more that I could do better than paraphrase her, but I remember her saying something like this: “Well, of course I feel sexy putting on women’s clothing and having a woman’s body. If you feel comfortable in your body for the first time, won’t that probably mean it’ll be the first time you feel comfortable, too, with delighting in your body as a sexual thing?”'
-Casey Plett, Consciousness
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