#I will be stewing on this for the whole week

[jupiter-dragonsong]

WIP Wednesday!

Aries still feels the loss of his sibling like the loss of a limb. There’s a gaping, bleeding hole in the place where Ram’s heart once beat. And when the wound is barely beginning to heal, his father just has to open it again.

“What do you mean, you ‘unghosted’ her?” he snaps. The glass that was in his hand shatters on the floor. He doesn’t care. “She killed-“

“Ram has made their peace with her,” Lyrennus says. “As have the others. As must we, Aries.”

“What about the rest of them?” hisses Aries. “What about Lynx? Tsuki and Corran? Arda? Do they know that R- that she’s back? Or are they just going to run into the person who killed their loved ones in the markets?”

Lyrennus hesitates. “I… will let them know.”

“You should have let them know before you invited the coward back into our home. You shouldn’t have done it at all. You shou-“

Channary hasn’t spoken a word, but now she lays her hand on Aries’ shoulder. She looks profoundly sad, as she always has for the past two and a half years. “If Ram forgave her-“

“It doesn’t mean I have to.” He walks out, as his father sighs with the weight of the world on her shoulders, as his mother starts to cry. They’re miserable, of course, their older child is dead and their youngest is useless and full of rage. Well, Aries is miserable too.

He settles onto the lowest branch of the old yew— the only tree his parents ever let him climb as a child— and sits down, stewing.

He’s still stewing when Gemini runs to the tree, scales the thing, notices him, and scurries down to the branch above him. Her hair is seafoam green this week, streaked with red.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey yourself.”

“So you heard, then?”

Aries clenches his fists in response, stares off into the distance.

“I take that as a yes.”

He nods, curtly.

“You probably feel pretty sucky right now, yeah?”

“More than sucky.”

“Would a juicy little tidbit of gossip make you feel better?”

“Not really.”

“Well, I’m going to tell you anyways. Ready?” She gives a dramatic drumroll, best she can, on the tree’s twisted bark. “There’s a human in town.”

Aries turns his head so hard his neck nearly snaps. “WHAT?”

“I know, right! He came in with— well, you know. But a real human! In Silvergrove! Five fingers and everything! Better than those traveling acrobats who came when we were little. Or that whole Bloodmoon Huntress thing. A real human!”

“Please tell me you’re not going to try to flirt with it.”

“Who, me?” Gemini says, sticking out her tongue so he can see all three piercings. “That’s disgusting, Aries. Even I wouldn’t sink that low. But she might. I think they might be together.”

Of course. Stands to reason she’d be a traitor too. He bites back the bile rising in his throat and spits out venom instead. “Who do you think is paying whom?”

Gem laughs so hard she starts coughing. “Good question. Do you want to go have a look?”

“I think we should ignore her.”

“Ugh,” she says. “You’re no fun, you know that?”

[musicinherhead]

I cannot stop thinking about the kiss, yes, but the second kiss? When Laudna admits to thinking she’s a bad person, and Imogen refuted it and Laudna kisses her again before explaining everything that happened with Bor’Dor and Delilah???? What if it was a kiss she took out of fear Imogen would rebuke her for her actions? What if it was a kiss she took because she wasn’t sure she’d get another????

Imogen would never turn her away but what if Laudna truly didn’t comprehend that in the seconds before the second kiss? What if she thought it’d be their last??? What then???

[kineticallyanywhere]

just

the way Normal sees a chance for kindness and someone to find solidarity with in the same creature that caused Hero's childhood to be irreparably marred by trauma and blood, but she doesn't even suggest Normal turn away from it and even offers to help if he really needs it lIKE

[wackachewbacca]

I love that Calamity introduces us to the city of Avalir as like the epitome of a wonderful advanced civilization in an age of opulence and yet towards the end of episode one so much about what the city represents feels so hollow. Yes the city is still beautiful and far ahead of anything that we have seen in any of the three main campaigns but it’s really small things like they can’t grow real flowers in their gardens or the people experience weather for a very short period of their entire lives

Even the people themselves (at least those in higher society) have such extreme contempt for people who worship and champion the gods. I cringed during the entire scene when Purvan was present at the gala and he was turned into a spectacle of how quaint and backwards people who don’t live on Avalir are and was being mocked because of his status as Champion of the Raven Queen and no one even gave a shit if they were rude to this one man who was just doing his job because they wanted to have a dick measuring contest against a goddess who frankly has more important things to do than appease the whimsies of vapid mortals

Really it’s like what Brennan and Travis say at the beginning of the episode: it’s a beautiful day in Avalir but not on the inside

[gayemoji]

this week on I DONT THINK HE WOULD FUCKING DO THAT: house ramming a car into cuddys house while she has guests

[lesamis]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you to get to know your mutuals and followers

(hello dear friend, tell me of your latest little joys please 🧡)

thank youuu for sending this along 🌱 i had an excellent time thinking of these!

swimming 😌 being by nature an anxious little beast i love anything that will cushion Bad Sensory Things (loud, warm) in cool, smooth nothingness. huge fan. submerge me in cool water at any given moment i'm going to love it

the neighbourhood cats

sending & receiving mail! i love stationery and i love handwriting things, and it always feels wonderful to be reminded someone's thinking of you

against my better judgement, peanut butter?

the spot on top of the hill where i go to read :') it's a different kind of stunning in each season.

[famewolf]

I made a big pot of soup that's been simmering all day. And very soon I'll be eating a bowl of it and watching space movies with the family

[adhdphilosopher]

im so full of anger every day that it makes it hard to function. what do i do

[sysig]

Those quick-jumps out of prison leave something to be desired... (P1 | P2 | P3) (Patreon)

[confetti-critter]

The night is young and I am free to do whatever my heart desires but unfortunately I have once again found myself trapped in the Time Prison and so I

[loverboybitch]

idk man idk!!!!!!!! having two jobs is so crazy one of them is like literally we hate you please die and then the other one rules and everyone is so nice to me all the time and makes me <3333. anyway guess which one pays me a livable wage lol.//.

[swoo-bats]

Tim knows something is up. He doesn't know what, exactly, yet. But he will find out. Earlier he caught Cassie and Kon whispering before they noticed him and stopped. They keep darting their eyes between him and Bart when they're all together. It's clear to Tim that they think something is up between him and Bart but after reviewing the past few missions and hangouts, he can't pin anything down for what they think, or why. He's almost given up trying to puzzle it out by himself when Cassie basically tells him.

"You know, Kon and I won't care if you and Bart are dating."

She's leaning against the wall by the door in Tim's room with her arms crossed and attempting to look nonchalant.

Tim has to take a moment to digest the sentence.

Implication 1: He and Bart are dating.

Implication 2: They chose not to tell Cassie and Kon.

Implication 3: That Bart could be any amount of subtle if they were dating and trying to hide it from their best friends.

Safe to say, he needs more information. How did they arrive at this conclusion?

"What makes you think we're dating?"

Cassie looks annoyed by his evasion, but goes on to explain anyway. "Kon said that he saw you guys holding hands walking around his campus. You were wearing one of Bart's jackets. The other day I saw Bart's sketchbook and it has so many drawings of you it's nauseatingly sweet. Plus, recently Bart's been getting distracted daydreaming with this lovesick look on his face which is really annoying during training." Her nose scrunches at that last part.

With the new information, Tim can finally draw some connections.

"First of all, that alone isn't evidence of dating. Secondly, I'm not dating Bart." Although he had a sneaking suspicion he knew who was.

Danny had told him that he was accepted into Missouri State University and was going to major in engineering. Why Danny chose Missouri State Central City is still lost on Tim. When moving into his dorm Danny texted Tim, jokingly complaining about rooming with an art student which could theoretically be Bart. But... Bart and Danny? Tim has such a large mental divide between those two aspects of his life that imagining them rooming together was strange. He almost felt off-kilter.

Cassie is saying something about how there's no way the two of them would act like that if they weren't dating, but he wasn't paying attention to it now.

Tim stands, moving away from his desk. "Where's Bart?" Cassie says that Kon was going to talk to Bart and should be with him, wherever they are.

They find Bart and Kon in Bart's room. Tim overhears what sounds to be the tail end of Kon's confrontation with Bart.

"—not dating Tim! I'm not dating anyone!"

When Tim enters the room, he can see Bart with his hands exasperatedly thrown up. He decides to butt in before Kon can continue.

"So you're not dating Danny?" He quirks an eyebrow up and though he's wearing his mask he knows his friends can read him.

Bart hesitates to answer which gives Kon and Cassie time to simultaneously ask, "Who's Danny?"

Since they've already stuck their noses in this far Tim just shrugs when he says, "My twin." And relishes the looks on their faces. Then focuses back on Bart and raises his eyebrow again, still waiting for an answer.

"I've been meaning to ask! It keeps slipping my mind, okay!?"

Tim just stares with a disappointed face. He knows how effective it is, he copied it from Alfred, after all. And though he may not be as close to Danny as he is his bat-siblings, he feels he gets to judge his twin's potential partner at least a little, especially since it's one of his best friends.

"Don't give me that look!" Bart shouts and points a finger at Tim. "Danny could bring it up, too! I'm not the only one!" Then his expression turns unsure and his hand lowers, "Plus, what if he doesn't like me and I just make it super awkward and he won't wanna be dorm mates with me any more and then I'll never see him again because he'll avoid me and our majors are totally different?"

"That's not going to happen."

Kon displays an impressive feat of speed by cutting off Bart. "Wait wait wait wait. How come we've never heard of Danny before if he's your twin?"

Aiming for casual, Tim shrugs again. "We were separated at birth and grew up with different families. And he doesn't know about the whole Bat thing so you guys can't just show up and start asking him stuff."

Cassie crosses her arms defensively. "We weren't going to do that."

Kon also crosses his arms. "And even if we were, we totally know how to be subtle."

"Uh huh."

—

Danny: either im hallucinating or i keep seeing wondergirl and superboy on campus

Danny: i s2g if some superhero bs gets my classes cancelled

Danny: idk what ill do but it will be Drastic

Tim: You literally chose a school in the same city the Flash operates in

Danny: yeah but hes chill

dpxdc twins au except it's no-pulse flavored

Bart’s new roommate looks a lot like Tim. 

Like, suspiciously like Tim. 

Danny’s the same height, has the same shape of nose, same shade of hair, and even frowns like him. He would have been a perfect copy if he acted more like Tim, but Danny definitely holds himself looser than Bart’s ever seen Tim. 

But he still has his face. So, obviously, Bart has to investigate. Maybe he’s a clone, or a shapeshifter, or maybe one of the Gotham rogues decided to get facial reconstruction surgery to look like him, and this was all a ploy. 

Okay, probably not that last one. Bart doesn’t think Tim’s enemies know his identity. 

Anyway, investigation! Bart’ll figure this out himself, and deal with it if Danny needs to be dealt with. And the investigation will start right after he comes up with an excuse as to why he’s back in their third floor apartment when he passed Danny in the hallway a few seconds before. 

Danny stares at him, and Bart stares back. 

“Must’ve been a doppelganger!” Bart blurts out. 

Danny’s silent for a second before nodding enthusiastically and noting that everyone's supposed to have like seven in the world anyway and wow what a wild coincidence that there’s one in their building. 

Bart extends the same courtesy when a week later he walks in on Danny with an iced over pan on the stove. Danny says they should really get their freezer checked out and Bart agrees and asks if he can use the ice for a painting study. 

(They never get their freezer checked.)

Bart finds that Danny’s great at setting up fun things for him to draw, whether he knows it or not. Like the ice, or his collection of rocks, his astronomy textbooks with the pretty covers, his gestures as he rants about his classes, the excited glint in his eyes when he’s talking about his next repair project and how his eyes almost look like they glow in the right light. 

Hm. A good portion of his sketchbook is drawings of Danny, and yet he’s still having trouble with getting the right blue for his eyes. At first glance they’re Tim’s shade of blue, but when he keeps looking they seem to get lighter. Maybe greener?

He should probably stop staring into his friend’s eyes. 

Well, maybe not. Danny doesn’t seem to mind. 

Just like he doesn’t mind when they started regularly sitting very close on the couch, or falling asleep together, or Bart borrowing some of his jackets, or-

Okay, Bart’s kinda seeing a pattern. He and Danny should really have a conversation about if this is platonic behavior or not. 

But not right now, because Bart brought Danny across the river to raid Wally’s board game closet in Keystone. 

And Wally, who’s used to this, just passes by them with a, “Hey Bart, hey Tim.”

“Danny, not Tim,” Danny replies almost absent mindedly, then looks back at Wally, who’s also staring at him now. “Wait, you know Tim?”

“OhmyGod I was supposed to investigate!” Bart says, face palming. It just slipped his mind! And Danny was distracting him with his pretty face that he totally wears better than Tim!

“You know him too?” Danny asks. But he doesn’t look suspicious of them, more amused. 

“How do you know him?” Wally squints at Danny, eyes briefly catching Bart’s in question. 

“He’s my twin,” Danny answers easily. “The Drakes only wanted one kid, so they gave me to their friends the Fentons, who wanted a second one.” He shrugs and goes back to digging around the closet. “Tim and I were always in contact, though. Letters and phone calls and texting, you know?” 

He says it all so casually while Wally and Bart are sharing increasingly concerned looks behind his back. 

Do the Waynes know about Danny? Has Tim never brought him up? Why? Does Danny know about Red Robin? Does Tim-

“Holy shit does this mean Tim has ice powers too!?” 

Or: Tim and Danny are twins. Through a series of coincidences, the first people to find out that aren’t Fentons or Drakes are the flashes.

(This post was brought to you by me recently finishing the 1995 Impulse run, and wanting an excuse to share this panel:

Look they both got called twinks clearly they're soulmates)

[unknownersirius]

made a twitter account

I can post my depressed ramblings there and also more notes on art and basically really let loose on the schizo lifestyle to the maximum.

[veiledfox]

She feels like she was called out sometime somewhere for some reason.

[half-as-big-as-life]

Eated all the stew

[bi-writes]

the new baby you take care of is the cutest baby you've ever met. (a lil dubcon, baby trapping, 18+)

he has a big head with a tuff of little blond waves, and he has the brightest brown eyes in the entire world. he smiles at every face you make at him, and he takes a bottle like a champ and will nap for hours as long as you're quiet.

his father has a strict schedule set for him. when you met that big man for the very first time, you were speechless. your teeth had clacked together with how fast you tried to close your gawking mouth, but it was impossible not to with how much he towered over you, nearly touching the top of the doorway.

he is methodical, down to every minute. tacked onto the fridge, he had shown you his son's current schedule, which he emphasized with a dead glare must be followed to a T.

two feedings in the morning followed by a nap. another feeding. a longer nap. another feeding. another nap. all separated in increments of 45 minutes, with instructions on how to use the bottle warmer and how to measure the formula.

his son does not cry. his father had told you, if he cries, y'r doin' somethin' wrong. and he was right. the baby only cried when he was hungry, and he would fall into a dead sleep as soon as you gave him a bottle.

it's odd, to take care of someone else's baby. especially this man's. there's no woman in the house, as far as you can tell. the whole house is decorated very minimally, cozy and in shades of warm greens and cool blues and browns. there are no heeled boots by the door or pretty fur coats, and whenever you pass by his bedroom, only one side of his bed ever looks lived-in. there are no pictures on the walls, no makeup in the bathroom drawers, and no pads or tampons under the sink.

just a big, unfeeling man and his big, adorable baby.

but you think that your actions to get this big, unfeeling man to like you are starting to have the wrong kind of implications.

it starts with dinner. you start to make it, using the ingredients from his fridge to make stews and buttery mashed potatoes and roasted veggies. the image of you stirring a pot with his baby on your hip has not left him, and whenever you don't have some kind of meal cooking when he gets home, you answer to someone curt, annoyed, and cold, even to the touch.

then it's the decorating. you thought his couch was a little bare, so now there's a few throw blankets laying across the back of it. there's a vase of pretty tulips on the coffee table. you're growing herbs on the windowsill, little pots of thyme and rosemary and basil. you leave house shoes by the door now, and even when you're not there, he sees those fuzzy pink slippers in the foyer, and he can't help the way he chubs up just seeing them when you're not around.

you start to bring some extra changes of clothes. after the baby spit up on you more than once in a day, you bring a duffel bag with you once a week with extra changes of clothes. he snarls when he sees your clothes in one of his drawers; pretty black panties and matching bras, all laid out under your lounge wear right next to his fucking socks.

the toothbrush next to his in the bathroom. the multi-colored chapsticks in the drawers. tampons and pads organized in the cabinet, your moisturizer next to his shaving cream. he smacks his fist against the wall when he sees the finished package of your birth control in the trash because wot the fuck are y'doing taking those things when y'know i want another--

he can see you in the baby monitor. swaying in the dark of his son's room, the baby's head on your chest as you rock him softly. you're singing a little, a gentle hum to soothe him enough that his eyes start closing. he groans a little when he sees your eyes shut as you kiss his son on the forehead, cooing at him as you pat his little back and tell him to have sweet dreams.

you're making brownies when he comes home that night. his son is seated in his high chair, clapping his hands, and you're smiling at him and cooing in that baby voice you do as you take the warm brownies out of the oven. when you see him emerge from the darkness of his living room, you smile at him, taking off the oven mitts.

"hi, simon," you say softly, and his pupils dilate when you slip a hand over his son's head to soothe him. "i made some dessert, hope that's okay. thought you might wanna try my new recipe."

simon comes into the kitchen as you take his baby out of his high chair. you hoist him up against your hip, and when simon comes closer, you giggle as tilts his head to the side and stares down at you both. you tilt your head back a little, blinking up at him, and the flutter of your lashes is enough to have him rock hard in his cargos as his hands curl into frustrated fists at his sides.

"i'm gonna put him down for bed, it's a little late," you tell him. you hoist his son up a little higher on your hip, picking up his little chubby arm and waving up at simon. "say goodnight, daddy."

simon grins under his mask at the soft lilt of your voice. you try not to squeak when one of his big hands slides around your waist to hold you at your back, and he bends down to kiss his son's forehead through his mask.

"goodnight, my boy."

you try not to linger on the idea that he may have grabbed your ass as you walked away. no, his arms are just so long, they grazed you while you passed by him.

the baby always goes down nice and easy. one bottle later, with a full stomach, he's rubbing his little eyes and fussing in your arms as he tries to fall asleep. he's a mover, simon's little one--always grasping around with his arms and flopping onto his side in the bed. oftentimes, after a nap, he's facing the opposite direction and on the other end of the crib when you come to get him.

so you shouldn't be surprised when as he's falling asleep, his little grubby hands reach for you and pull.

your eyes widen when you hear the pop of buttons. you look down, gasping, when you see his son has grabbed onto the front of your blouse and pulled the first few buttons out. they clatter onto the floor in a mess, and you're not able to see where they go with it so dark in his room.

"oh, god!"

you try to be gentle as you set the baby down in his crib. he immediately sticks his thumb in his mouth with his head lolling to the side, and you try to pick up anything you step on as you hurry out of the room, trying to hold your shirt together.

it's useless. you're standing there in the hallway, hastily shutting the baby's room closed, tits out at eight in the evening.

"tha' why he so good ta ya, mama?"

your eyes bug out of your head when you see simon there. he's standing at the end of the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes are focused on your poor open blouse. the bra you're wearing leaves nothing to the imagination--just mesh with underwire, and when simon comes closer, there's virtually nothing separating you when he reaches up with that gloved hand and cups one breast, thumb smoothing over your nipple before he tugs on it gently.

"wha--simon--"

"thinks y'r his mum, pretty tits out like tha'," simon hisses. "'f ya wanted it so bad, why didn't ya just say?"

"simon--"

he tsks, using both hands this time to grip your blouse by the edges and tug it down your arms. it falls around your elbows, and he takes the straps of your bra with it, until it's pooled around your waist and your tits fall free.

"fuckin' hell," he breathes, and your lips part gently as he hikes up his mask and spits on your nipples before sucking them into his mouth. "mmmph..."

you arch your back as he rips the rest of the buttons off with one smooth tug. your blouse falls, and your bra follows it, until you're in nothing but your skirt, backing up into the darkness of his bedroom as he kicks the door shut. you scramble to get him back on top of you when your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you're laying down--grabbing around his shoulders as you try to guide his mouth back to your breasts where he can suckle on them with that filthy mouth of his.

"knew it--" he rasps. "fuck, i knew it--"

your eyes squeeze shut when he ruts his hips against yours. your panties are ruined, slick wet and digging uncomfortably into your folds, but the scratch of simon's jeans have your back bowing at a hard angle, your fingers sliding between your bodies as you reach for his zipper. you gasp when you feel him under your hand, straining against denim, the girth of him tying your stomach in hard knots as you think about what it'll take to get you open enough for him to slip in.

"keepin' me fat," simon murmurs. "holdin' my baby like tha', wot did ya think was goin' ta happen, eh?"

"h-huh?"

"'m gonna make you fat, too, swee'eart," he says, smoothing his hand over your tummy. "saw those little pills in y'r bag. it won't take today, but we'll try again tomorrow, yeah?"

you're drooling as he fucks you. your hips are hiked up, your skirt flipped up as his thighs smack against your ass. you're not privy to the way the fat of you shakes every time he's buried to the hilt, but simon appreciates it, tongue out as he watches you push back against him to try and get yourself filled quicker. he traces your spine with his fingers, leaning over you as he watches your fingers dig into his dark sheets and grip for dear life as he gives it to you fast and deep. it's a mess of wet between you, and you know the bed underneath you will be soaked by the time he's done with you, but you can't think about that when the very thing you've been wanting since the day you met him is so close, so within reach.

you haven't taken a single one of those pills since the first week you met that fat, beautiful baby. maybe simon didn't take too close a look at the dated little pills in your bag and in the bin, the little calendar you used to mark rotting away in a forgotten pocket, gathering dust.

when simon comes, your mouth is filled with saliva, and you gurgle between barely-lucid giggles as your hips sink into the mattress. he's saying something, but you don't hear it. instead you reach down with your fingers and stuff them inside, trying to gather as much of his cum and keep it. when simon tries to cum in your mouth later, you nearly bite his dick off.

how dare he try and waste it?