Sonic names are so funny like. Sonic can run at sonic speeds. Tails has two Tails. Knuckles has large knuckles. Silver has grey quills. Shadow has black quills. Espio is a spy (espionage). Blaze is a pyrokinetic. Marine can waterbend. Tangle has a long tail she often gets tangled up. Whisper hardly ever talks above a whisper. Froggy is a frog. Big is big. This is top tier naming and I think more media should use this naming technique.
3K notes
·
View notes
sharkman visual novel could be a summer project? since the four bachelors and the island’s realized 𓆝 ngl I’m Clyde deprived, I miss my ocean man
407 notes
·
View notes
I had a really interesting day today. These past few days have been particularly hard on me from just the stress of the news media and also the frustration of a bigot and eugenics apologist living below me and actively making the lives of the unhoused people in our neighborhood hell. Today was just one of those days where I was hit with existential dread of it all and fear of what the future will hold.
Normally on the way home from work I wear my earbuds and just focus on walking from the bus to my apartment. Now a block down from me that I walk past literally every single day is a house I always assumed was a neighborhood daycare center. Today for some reason I just didn't bother to put my earbuds in and walked past just as a man was gathering a group of elderly people and asked if I'd like to join a meeting for a disability advocacy group to discuss getting a bill providing more disability care through our province. Long story short and three hours later I had the pleasure of sitting and talking with some of the most intelligent lovely people. People who lived in my neighborhood. My community. What's more I found I had a lot to add to the conversation and provide. There's something healing about not only gathering to express rage at a broken system but to actively seek solutions and change. I don't know how many will realistically come to fruition but I sure can go to local businesses and ask them to hand out flyers as well as use my knowledge of media and marketing. I left feeling refreshed in a way I haven't in a long time. Sometimes you need to simply zoom out from the bigger picture and focus on your local community. I can't single handedly take down the government but I can possibly change my city.
If you're an anarchist/commie/socialist trapped in mental philosophical doom scrolling go and serve the people around you. We have to be the change we want.
(oh and one Elderly Lady asked me if I was apart of an underground graffiti society in the city and I thought that was very cool of her. She is apparently a member)
111 notes
·
View notes
happy friday! nope. it's saturday now. happy saturday!
hi. here. have a thing. blame @gallawitchxx and @heymrspatel for sparking things. it's been a week around here, yall.
-------------
The lights are still on, but beside him, Mickey’s chest rises and falls in the steady, familiar beat of sleep. Ian knows he’ll be comatose for at least the next hour, always is when Ian works him over like that. But Ian’s wide awake, his blood still pumping too hard, energized exhaustion like after a long run. So he props himself up on his elbow and lets his gaze linger on his husband’s spent, naked body.
His eyes land on his misspelled name. They always do. Etched into Mickey’s skin in a desperate plea for Ian’s attention. Powerless back then but irresistible now.
Bruises bloom around the scared letters, small patches of skin darkening till they almost match the ink. Ian traces the circles with the tip of his fingers. Light, gentle, not enough to wake him.
He draws a path from mark to mark across Mickey’s chest. Some already fading to pink and will be gone by tomorrow. Others deepening purple and threatening to stick around all week. Ian’s favorite reminders.
Next, up to his collarbone, tracing the red crescent of imprinted teeth that's bumpy beneath Ian’s thumb, licking his lips at the memory of the taste of Mickey’s sweat. He slides his palm over the warm, raised scratches running the full length of Mickey’s upper arm, all the way down till his hand comes to rest over top of his husband’s. The same hand that not long ago was squeezing its own marks into Ian’s flesh and now lies lax atop his stomach.
Ian laces their hands together — the silver of Mickey’s ring shining bright under the light from the bedside lamp — and even in his sleep, Mickey’s fingers instinctively curl around Ian’s, pulling them closer.
How does he get to have this? When did this become Ian’s life? The freedom to let himself go, to release all inhibitions, to entirely consume the man he loves. And for that man to give back just as much of himself.
If someone had told a young Ian, cheeks still red and numb from an afternoon romp in the store’s freezer, that one day the boy he was fucking would be in his bed, exposed like this, he’d have laughed in their face. The boy who couldn’t even look him in the eyes when their dicks were out. Or even later, when things had changed between them — in private at least — the thought of leaving any trace, any evidence of their sins, would have sounded preposterous.
Now, Ian eyes the cluster of bruises extending along Mickey’s neck all the way up to his ear. Bruises Mickey won’t even bother trying to hide. Bruises he’ll wear proudly, “fuck you, you’re just jealous you don’t get dicked down this good” when one of the siblings gives him crap about it. His husband who is absolutely nothing like the boy he once was but also exactly the same.
Ian looks around the room littered with discarded clothes, half their damn toybox scattered across the bed, dried lube starting to form a thin crust of some of their favorites. But there’s no need to jump up and tend to any of it. This is their home. Their space. No one's going to walk in on their mess. They are safe here. Free. Together.
Mickey’s hand still wrapped around his own, Ian slides down, nuzzles into his husband’s neck, and closes his eyes. Drifts off to the soft sound of Mickey’s breath.
When they wake, he’ll fetch Mickey a snack. Make sure he drinks plenty of water. He’ll kiss each and every remaining mark. Apologize for being too rough, too much, and Mickey will tell him to shut the fuck up about it. But later, Ian will make it up to him anyway with another round of tenderness that they’ll enjoy just as much as the first. Because that’s the kind of shit they get to have now. All of it.
-------------
225 notes
·
View notes
Welcome to my art blog! Here's some links♪
✦Tip
✦Cryptid Crush
✦Commission Info
. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. • ° .• °
104 notes
·
View notes