#mutuals: pls know i'm reading all your tags and laughing at your jokes and approvingly thinking '[username] is so cool'

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HUNK!!!!

I love you so much <3

You make soup in a big bowl. You serve it in a smaller bowl. And then you convey it, using a spoon, to your mouth. But what is the spoon? Simply a smaller bowl still

One thing I really appreciate about Into the Spider-Verse that I don’t see people talk about very often is how competent they portray Peter B as.

Like, in any other movie, you’d have a similar character whose live has become a mess, and they’re sad and kinda pathetic to look at, and when the time comes for them to step up, they just sorta…flop. They’re held back by everything, and they just become incompetent.

But Peter B is different. Yeah, he’s a sad, lonely, middle-aged man who cries in the shower while wearing a spandex suit…

But despite all that…he’s still shown to be extremely good at being Spider-Man.

He escapes from being tied up while still holding a casual conversation

He takes down Miles in less than 10 seconds.

He strolls along the side of a building like it’s nothing.

And when you think about it, over the course of the movie, he kicks a LOT of ass. He’s a badass super hero, despite his flaws.

You ever notice how, when he puts on the mask, his gut sorta disappears? That’s too big of a detail to be an oversight. That’s intentional. I mean, in-universe, it doesn’t make too much sense, but to us, it’s meant to show that it’s not holding him back from being a hero.

He’s not held down by everything. Yeah, he’s a jaded, depressed, mid-life crisis Spider-Man. But he’s still Spider-Man.

They easily could’ve made Peter B sort of pathetic and had him be more of a hinderance than a help during battles. But they didn’t. And I feel like that was a really good way to pay respect to the character while still showing that he’s a heavily flawed individual.

Congrats to @bisexualbeowulf for having the absolute worst response to this post in the form of this tag

happy birthday hunk!!!!!

Ocean announcement:

Today is Isopod Sunday. Do whatever.

This includes murder.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

It is Isopod Sunday.

an unbelievably lovely gift i got from @ghostgetter that i’ll be absolutely crazy about forever!!!!! once again, thank you one billion times!!!!

artist: @arcavyn / @ _arcavyn on twt!! go check them out and give their other art some love as well!!!! so much beautifully done art that genuinely has me so so so obsessed with it

When Lance was young, really really little, he fell in love with stories.

His mother would squish up beside him in his twin bed, an arm curled around his back in a way that was somehow secure and cozy at the same time. Back then, they both could fit on that rickety bed with no problem, the star stickers in his room always glowing softly above them in the dim light. Maria would pull a book from his nightstand and flip it open to whichever chapter they were currently on.

“Do you remember what happened last time?” She’d ask, a manicured nail pressed gently to the big header with its number displayed in bold. He always remembered.

Then, without further preamble, she’d begin. Looking back, Lance wasn’t sure which was more captivating: Maria, doing all the voices with the dedication of a professional, or the words, which spun in mountains and rivers and battles and life and death above their heads. He drank it in greedily, and always begged for another page when she reached the chapter’s end.

“It’s time for you to sleep, my heart,” she’d laugh, tucking him in tightly so he couldn’t think to break free and read ahead.

Then, years later, Lance discovered the joy of reading himself. A book in his hands felt heavy, somehow, filled with endless possibilities and disappointments. Most of all, it felt like an escape. A door.

A long, long day of poring over math that made no sense meant an even longer afternoon spent sifting through fantastic images of dragons and magic.

A bad run-in with a bully who called him “stupid” and his ears “freakish” meant eagerly delving into a world of detectives fighting crime and wishing he had their long, dramatic jackets. He wanted that armor.

A fight between him and Rachel meant exploring the deep reaches of space in a book, adventuring across galaxies and planets, which of course led to him discovering the Garrison and Shiro.

Books took him everywhere that his life could not. They made him into a person he could never be. Even if his mother begged him to leave them at home—Lance, you shouldn’t read at the restaurant—he just couldn’t help it. Within those pages, Lance could be anything: a pirate burying treasure to be lost forever, a swordsman dedicated to his craft, a prince rescuing his kingdom from evil. Lance could be bigger than himself. A hero, even.

Maybe it was silly. Rachel definitely thought so, despite the fact that she consumed endless romance books. One time, she called him a nerd, and they wrestled until Maria had to force them apart.

“Lance,” she told him, her hands comforting and sure on his shoulders as they always were. “You’ve always been a dreamer. Don’t listen to your sister; she’s just teasing.”

So Lance kept dreaming. He dreamt so hard and so much that he somehow landed a spot at the Garrison, and sure, cargo pilot wasn’t ideal, but that made him an underdog. All heroes were underdogs at some point. At night, after ritualistic humiliation and failure in front of Iverson’s eyes, there were always the books to remind him what he fought for, why he kept waking up.

They promised more every time.

And when Lance sat in Blue, he thought, this is more. This is what it means to be chosen.

War was not like his fantasies. Or perhaps, Lance wasn’t like his imagination. Darkness crept in quickly, wrapped its tendrils around his ankles and tugged down, down, down. He did not hail their victories for long, not when he knew their cost and sacrifices.

Do you feel like a hero, now? A voice taunted him as he lit a fire in a Galra ship’s engine room.

Do you feel like a hero, now? A child screamed as he walked into their cabin, her hands reddened and blistered from some enemy gas.

Do you feel like a hero, Lance?

It’d be better if he couldn’t feel at all. The pressing shame. The constant fear. The homesickness and loneliness and heartache.

And, when he could admit it to himself, the disappointment. That this wasn’t what he’d expected. That he could have been made for a greater purpose. If anything, he felt more like a cog in a machine than a man.

He was right about one thing, as a kid: Shiro was a hero. And so was Keith, his ever-faithful loyal shadow, following right in his footsteps.

Now, though, Lance couldn’t keep pretending. Maybe he was a hero, in some other life, in some other pages. In this story, though?

He’d be lucky if he made it to the glorious, shining end.

you know when a bigoted woman has kept the secret of a dead misogynist's fortune for decades only to pass it down to both you and the gay detective who lied to the police several times to protect you and now you're tied by this secret forever and can never forget each other. you know when. that happens

see, it all starts with pidge asking a, seemingly harmless, question: are you actually in love with her? her, being allura of course.

and, the thing is, lance is supposed to say Yes. hes supposed to say yes, no hesitation, and yet he doesnt. he chokes out the "y-yeah" after a bit, but its not as sincere as its supposed to

so, what does he do? go to his best friend hunk for advice? to his team leader, big brother figure shiro or coran? no, of course not. he asks google

and boy, does it wield results

see, if you look up, "how to know if youre in love?" one of the first results will be a wikihow. obviously. and, like, who wouldnt trust a wikihow? and, besides, who'd know lance's feelings better than the internet?

so, 16 signs youre in love. easy peasy. he reads through the article and, with horror, lance realizes—hes not in love with allura.

but he just might be a tiny little bit in love with keith fucking kogane.

(fucking sign number 1? 'you cant picture a future without this person'. and what was that lance said?

hes, like, the future.

yeah, no. hes done for.)

bright futures

my piece for the @vld-aftermath-zine, a free digital zine available here!!! details & a little rambling under the cut :)

“intertwined, sewn together” but it’s the poets having that one thing that connects them all and what they think of throughout their lives every now and then.

And when Todd finally follows Neil into death, when they all do, they think back to the cave and their initials still carved into the walls

Blue moon

Lil doodle

motoGP keith‼️🏍️

closeups under the cut

happy holidays <3