#Idk what I ended up making

[poptarts-box]

Feels good to have a character I can position as my muse finally, been a while since something lit a fire under my ass to draw

[starry-bi-sky]

don't you want to be a cult leader? - danyal al ghul au

this is mostly a joke post but i thought it was funny and had to share so--

his first mistake was, obviously, inheriting his father's inability to see an injustice and stand still. -- actually, danyal's first mistake was his lair being so big. a mountainous island with a large temple in the center resembling his old home in Nanda Parbat? With sprawling foliage and rivers and streams and waterfalls galore? What was he going to do with all that space? Let it go to waste? He had plants there! Native trees of the ghost zone growing from the soil! He couldn't let it all be left unchecked!

So naturally after helping a fellow teenage assassin ghost -- who he later learns is named Akihiko, -- from Walker of all people, he sent them over to hang low at his lair until it was safe enough for them to wander around the Zone. Walker couldn't get through Danyal's astrofield if his life depended on it, and trust him -- he's tried. Danny was clearing out debris from his stupid transport vans for weeks.

Honestly it wasn't so bad, he and Aki really quickly became fast friends and Danny loves having a sparring partner close to his level again -- he hasn't had this much fun fighting since he left the League. Aki was very dedicated and levelheaded, the both of them clicked really well because of it.

Nonono, the real trouble began after Danyal met some long-passed League members and allowed them to come join his island as well. Apparently they had made a few enemies of the zone, and maybe Danyal still felt some loyalty to the League. He couldn't just let them be left to rot. Their zealotry could be overlooked so long as they kept it contained and helped him take care of his island.

And it.. snowballs from there? He meets a teen squire aptly calling himself Ambroise -- whether that was his living name or not is yet to be seen -- who died during feudal france, who is just about as dramatic and passionate as every french stereotype makes them out to be. He calls Danyal "my moon and great muse" -- which is both flattering and little uncomfortable, but Danyal's grown up in the League as the Grandson of the Demon Head, he is used to mild worship. he passes it off as nothing more, nothing less. -- and while his energy is overwhelming on the worst of days, he helps Danny draw out of his shell more in ways that Sam and Tucker still struggle with.

Him and Aki butt heads a lot, but the two seem to hold the other in at least some positive regard, so Danny doesn't worry too much about them fighting while he's gone. It only becomes a mild issue when Aki also begins calling Danny "my moon". It's a little sweet, so Danyal brushes it off.

Then he takes in a troupe of ghosts some time after he defeats Pariah Dark and they begin calling him "great one" just as the yetis do in the far frozen. This is where he meets the twins -- a pair of sibling ghosts who call themselves Trixie and Missy (short for Trick and Mislead) -- who aren't quite as passionate as Ambroise but more energetic than Aki. Eventually they also start calling Danyal "my moon" and attach themselves to his hip, even within the living. They like to hide in his shadow and cause trouble for the rest of the students. He makes sure they don't hurt anyone.

He's pretty sure Aki is jealous, same with Ambroise, but he can't be too certain other than the fact that they become much more lingering (re: clingy) whenever he visits the island.. Something he's trying to do much more often these days due to the increasing amount of people living there now. Since when did he become so popular?

Then there's Pēnelópeia from the Greater Athens, who ran away from home and joined his Island after he ran into her while she was being chased by Skulker -- and he's pretty sure the reason was because of her chimeric appearance. Her strange eyes and mismatched wings and lion's tail and talons. She assimilates into his friend group very easily, she gets along well with Ambroise and Trixie and Danny usually finds the three of them climbing the trees to pluck the most fruit from the top. They can fly and he knows it, but they prefer to climb.

Then finally there's silent poet Akkara who comes from ancient mesopotamia, who gets along most with Aki -- which is no surprise there considering their similar personality dispositions. he watches Aki and Danyal fight each other and leaves comments on this or that that he notices. He writes Danyal poems on clay tablets and leaves them by his room.

They're one big mismatched group of outcasts, and Danny's got the other ghosts on his island to tend to, because they're living on his island and he wants to be hospitable even if he struggles with that. But he spends the most of his time with them.

Sam and Tucker are making fun of him. Tucker jokingly tells him 'careful Danny, at this rate you're gonna start a cult'. Danny really wishes he had taken that joke more seriously.

He just. keeps. collecting people. Wayward souls lost in the zone, looking for shelter or refuge from something or other -- whether that be another hostile ghost, or a past afterlife, or just a purpose. Danyal finds them, he takes them in, offers them a place on his island until they are ready to leave. Many seldom do. He's not complaining -- he has the space, and it feels like it's only ever growing.

His close friends, his "inner circle" as he's heard the others call them, keep insistently calling him "my moon". He starts calling them his stars, because then it only feels fair. They're his stars, this is his constellation. It becomes a thing; little star halos begin forming behind their heads, picking them out from the rest. He loves them so much, it's hard to place. Sam and Tucker are also his stars, but they reside in the living realm, they're his tie to Life. Meanwhile, his friends here know what it's like to be dead, and sometimes its nice to relate.

Those living on his island keep calling him "Great One" and he's beginning to notice zealotry in their care for his island. He really, deeply appreciates it. His close friends gain nicknames -- as his stars, it's only natural for him to pick them out from the cluster in the skies. Akihiko, his Sirius and bright star. Trix and Missy, Castor and Pollux, the twins and troublemakers. Ambroise, his zealous Antares and close friend. Penelopeia, chimeric and loyal Vega. And Akkara, his Arcturus and strength.

It's ridiculous how long it takes for him to notice; he is, of course, a deadly trained assassin. He is meant to be observant -- and normally he is! But somehow this becomes a blind spot. One that becomes too big to be dealt with by the time he realizes it.

He should've noticed when Aki, his Sirius, stood beside him one day while Danyal looked over his island and saw the sprawling spirits carrying on about their afterlife and bowing to him as they saw him, and said: "I looked down into the depths when I met you; I couldn't measure it." They aren't one for flowing prose, it took him so off guard he was silent for over a minute before he finally spoke.

Danyal should've recognized devotion for what it is, and yet he didn't. He should've recognized it when Antares began spouting praises about him, crowing about his radiance and resplendence to the heavens. He just brushed it off as Ambroise being Ambroise. He should've recognized it when Trix and Missy nearly broke Dash's leg after he knocked Danyal's books out of his hands, he excused it as them being protective. Of them coming from times where such violence may have been customary -- after all, that's what he used to be like. What he was still like, sometimes, when his emotions nearly got the better of him.

He should've noticed it when the people living on his island followed his word like gospel, looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky. When his friends gifted him a shawl with the moon phases delicately embroidered into it, with silver, shimmering thread and moving stars lovingly stitched into it. Their constellations seen clear as day in the dark fabric. When he found small shrines dedicated to him -- but they lacked any image of him beyond stones carved to look like moons, so he ignored it. When the religious imagery began popping up.

He really, really should've noticed it when a bunch of cultists accidentally summoned Antares, and Antares had turned to him when he arrived and called them heretics. But he was so centered on the fact that they had kidnapped one of his stars, that he hadn't paid much attention to what Ambroise had said.

Sages say that faith is blind, they should also say faith in you is even blinder.

It really only hits him one afternoon while he's sitting in Sam's room studying with Tucker, Missy and Trixie lounging at his feet, Aki sat on his right, Penelopeia braiding his hair, Ambroise draped against him, and Akkara lurking over him. Its one of the rare few times they're all in one room together.

It hits him like a bolt of lightning. He looks up from his textbook. "Oh Ancients," he says in no amounting shock. Everyone looks up to him.

"I've become my grandfather."

[mourning-at-night]

jace i don’t feel good was so funny but also made me so sad. like that’s a teenager with a strawberry squishmallow keychain and a tamagotchi and she doesn’t feel good and she's tugging on a teacher’s sleeve about it. a teacher who should have been responsible for protecting her in the first place and didn’t. who is manipulating and using her and her friends to help fulfill the desires of a wrathful power-hungry egomaniac. porter and jace it’s on sight >:(

[meamiiikiii]

silly comic based on a time i struggled to read live on stream :thumbsup:

context clip compilation below ASDASDFASA

(cw for brief mention of hospitals/strokes)

[froglover7789]

every iteration of the doctor can be categorized into two categories: dyke and twink

[turtleblogatlast]

AU where Leo is trapped in the Prison Dimension for months instead of minutes and the only way he gets by with his sanity intact is through recording himself talking to his wrist comm.

When they finally manage to get Leo back and make him rest up to heal, Donnie can’t help but listen to the recordings left behind.

He’s not sure what exactly he’s expecting, only that his subconscious is screaming at him that it has to be heartbreaking, that it has to be torturous.

Instead, what Donnie is subject to is a full thousand hours’ worth of Jupiter Jim and Lou Jitsu crossover fanfiction. More than one part in the series. Spanning well over a million words.

(The worst part is that it’s actually good.)

[nekrosmos]

Cigars touching 🚬​

[bacchuschucklefuck]

while teen while goblin while aroace while injured while doing your best

[micamone]

hewwo

[bunnieswithknives]

I feel bad for neglecting Hazel so much, I do have many thoughts about her.. and also a mermaid au that im probably not going to do anything with

[musubiki]

.🖤🔄🤍.

[racewinnerlandonorris]

this year as a lando fan while it’s had its highs (it been great to witness everything he’s achieved) it’s been an absolute struggle more so than any other year, i’ve feel myself becoming less and less attached to the sport and to do so in the year he got his maiden win and was “fighting” for wdc feels so shitty. and the fact is it’s got absolutely nothing to do with lando himself, i will continue to support him no matter what, but the discourse surrounding him, people trying to minimise every achievement he got, the bombardment of hate towards him has been nothing less than disgusting, psychotic and heartbreaking. i used to come on this site and go through landos tag to see if id missed anything he’d been up to and it was something that brought joy to my day, however now i can’t scroll through the lando tag without seeing hate directed his way by people, (who are not only losing a few braincells with their inability to correctly anti tag), who just think it’s fun to wish injury and death on people and dont seem to understand the irony in a lot of their posts. not forgetting the insane lando hate anon, while yes i enjoyed laughing at, would flood lando fans inbox’s with hate anytime he so much as breathed. anytime i go on twitter i see more hate for lando from other drivers fan accounts than i see positive things about their drivers. the anti lando hate train that some people think is cool to be on isn’t. and it just shows how rotten of a person you are if no matter what your supposed favourite driver does the first words out of your mouth are about lando norris and reason 626174 of why you hate him. it’s very telling when people who claim they aren’t fans are more obsessed with talking about him than those who are, i beg you all seek help and get a hobby because this type of behaviour isn’t healthy both for yourself and for others around you to witness.

[3amfanfiction]

Simon Finds a Toy pt 2

Serial killer Simon takes you with him on his outings. How does that go? Cw: Stockholm Syndrome, period play, blood First

You watched at first.

Simon was beautiful in his brutality. You knew something was wrong with you for thinking it but it was the truth. The control he had over his body and the environment was truly astonishing. It was as if nothing could go amiss when he was watching.

It turned you on.

You weren't going to do anything about it of course. That was crossing a line. But you couldn't help how your body responded to him. It was just human nature. No one would be able to blame you.

Not that you spoke to anyone else. That was a step too far for Simon apparently. While he trusted you to leave the cabin with him, he got downright antsy if you began talking with people.

It didn't bother you as much as you would expect it to, having gotten used to only talking to Simon and Dog. The cabin had been a lonely place, isolating. Some days you wondered if being there warped who you were or if it only allowed it to flourish.

You're not sure you want to know the answer either way.

You watched as Simon worked his way through an office building. It was late, the sun having set long ago and the temperature was frigid in the evening air. You shivered from your place tucked into a little leeway near the back exit, tucking your hands further into your sleeves.

You heard the occasional low scream through the walls. Faint, only noticeable because you were actively looking for it.

That was a while ago though. It had been quiet for the last little bit which is why it surprised you so much when the door you were standing near burst open—slamming back against the wall before bouncing back, a man stumbling out in a panic before collapsing on the little concrete landing pad. You didn't say anything as he laid there and breathed, little sobs breaking through his panting as he tried to gather himself. There was blood copiously covering him and it looks like Simon has been toying with him for a while if the knife marks are anything to go by.

After a few short moments he gathered himself enough to lift his head, pushing himself to his knees slowly, clearly in pain. You must have made some sort of noise because his head whipped around towards you as he threw himself backwards, hands coming up in front of his face in protection.

Please, please no more.

You don't say anything, you can't say anything, can only watch this grown man begin to cry where he's huddled against the building, the sounds echoing softly in the night air.

He realized quickly that you weren't the monster that had been chasing him and switches gears abruptly—begging you to call the police, to help him, to get out of here. He cycles through them all rapid-fire, not giving you a chance to respond before the door slammed open again, this time much more controlled.

You saw Simon standing there, covered in thick canvas and looming like the specter he fashioned himself after. His white mask splattered with blood only increased his frightening demeanor.

The man who had been pressed to the brickwork of the building yelped and dove for you, grabbing your hand as if to tug you with him as you ran. It was kind of sweet how he was worried about leaving you behind.

You didn't say anything as Simon walks over and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, twisting a tight fist into the fabric to more easily corral him. You stood still as he began to walk back inside, dragging the whimpering man behind him. You didn't flinch as the man looked at you with a betrayed gaze.

As the door slammed you heard the quiet wind blowing through the trees again, crickets beginning to chirp after a few moments more.

\\\

You weren't talkative on the way back to the cabin.

You didn't feel particularly bad, which is what made you feel kind of bad. You didn't even want to help when that man made it outside. It was the same thing as a car passing you on the freeway. Something that was there but didn't elicit any sort of response. He was a non-entity.

Even when he grabbed you, trying to save the both of you, he didn't endear himself to you beyond a thought. You were more excited to see Simon walking through the door—looming, menacing—than the thought of the man getting away.

Isn't it a human concept to want to keep those around you safe? What does that make you then?

Simon let you stew in peace.

\\\

You didn't go with him next time or the time after that, instead choosing to stay home with Dog. He was lonely without the both of you, you told Simon, it's not fair to leave him alone for that long.

So you stayed. And you thought. And you tried to figure out what type of person you were. Did it really matter though? Deciding your placement on a scale of how 'good' you were wasn't going to change your actions. You let him die and you felt nothing about it.

Honestly, you still felt nothing about it.

\\\

Dog has two new tricks learned by the time Simon got back—stay and fetch. Well, there's about a 50% success rate on both of them so you're not quite sure if you can claim them as tricks learned just yet. But you were optimistic.

He didn't say anything when he walked in the house. Simply came over to kiss you dirty before going to wash up. You licked your lips and nearly trailed after him before you stopped yourself.

You could at least wait until the blood is gone.

\\\

"My period is ridiculously heavy this month. I don't think I've bled this badly in years," you said miserably, thunking your head down on the table. "The cramps hurt so much," whining to Simon, unable to do anything else.

He didn't say anything as he continued to clean and sharpen his hunting knives. The now familiar smell filling your brain and turning it hazy and warm. It would be a perfect day if your insides weren't trying to become your outsides in such demand. You rocked your head to the side so you could watch him, admiring how the streaming sunlight was bouncing off his face.

He was covered liberally in scars but you never found you minded much. Not even in the beginning—he'd always been handsome in your eyes. You watched, eyes at half mast while he rasp rasp rasped the blades against the whetstone, shining where it had been doused in oil. His strong fingers and thick wrists led up to his delicious forearms. Watching the tendons flex and move while he worked the blade against the stone had you shifting in your seat, prior complaints forgotten.

As he set down a completed knife and reached for the next, you found yourself blurting out, "I want to fuck your face."

Silence.

Why did you say that? Why did you say that? You were on your period, even if you wanted to you couldn't, plus you'd never said something like that bef—

"Okay."

What?

Simon put the knife back onto the towel it had been waiting on, ready to be picked back up later. He closed the oil tin and began to push away from the table before you were able to get your thoughts in line again.

"No!"

You backtracked when he looked at you, eyebrow raised, "I mean, no we can't do that. I'm bleeding right now, I don't even know why I said it."

"It doesn't bother me."

It doesn't bother me It doesn't bother me It doesn't bother me

It kept repeating in your mind, a circling echo as you mechanically removed blankets and laid out towels on the bed. Simon was stripping off his shirt but leaving his pants on, unbuttoned over his hips. He gestured impatiently when he caught you staring, prompting you to finish pulling off your bottoms. The pad you were using plopped heavily to the floor, already saturated even though you'd replaced it less than an hour ago. You ended up pulling your top off too after a moment, feeling a bit like Winnie the Pooh with a shirt on but no pants.

With a careful crawl you made your way to the center of the bed, already feeling a trail of blood making it's way down your thigh almost to the halfway point. A gasp and a clench when Simon swats at your butt as you moved past him caused the trail to gain several inches quickly.

A final shuffle and you made it to the towels, spinning around to lay on your back, watching Simon through your spread knees. Without any further delay he planted himself flat on his front, face hovering right above your cunt.

He didn't do anything but stare at it at first—watching the blood pool in the slit, filling it until the lips couldn't contain it any more before it spilled down to be collected by the towel. You're embarrassed to admit it but him just laying there looking at you is enough to begin feeling warm, the involuntary twitching of your cunt the last straw before he slid two of his fingers in to the base in one smooth movement.

You yowled at the sudden stretch.

There was practically no drag with how much you were bleeding but the stretch was still shocking. The wet squelching immediately filled the air, Simon thrusting his fingers in deeply before dragging them out, rubbing firmly along your walls as if he was trying to scoop the blood out.

You quickly began to pant, fisting the sheets below you as you struggled to keep still. Your little aborted thrusts were mostly ignored other than the grumbled, lay still. You were mostly successful until you felt as his rough fingers grazed a sensitive spot inside causing you to arch up and away involuntarily. With a snarl, Simon had you pinned down with his free arm across your pelvis—not letting you go anywhere.

Oh! That's . . . oh.

With a shocked gasp you finished, covering Simon's hand and forearm with bloody liquid, contractions doing the work of pushing out any back-pooling of blood. With a throaty groan Simon dove in—mouth first into your cunt.

"Simon!" you yelped, only just finishing the aftershocks of your orgasm. "Be gentle, please!"

If he heard you he didn't bother acknowledging it—simply continued feasting on your bloody cunt. You looked down to see something out of a murder scene. Blood was smeared all along his cheeks almost to his ears with how it was transferring to your thighs and back onto him. You were sure you'd be finding blood in his hair once this was over.

His mouth and nose were the worst of it with vivid red so thick you couldn't see the skin in some parts. He moved up to focus on your clit, his eyes glancing up at you and you jerked when you saw pools of black—his pupils completely eclipsing the iris.

He looked crazed, like the killer he was, an insane murderer who wanted to bathe in blood.

He looked as if he were smothered in decadence.

You noticed him humping the bed right before his fingers found their way inside you again, playing you like a fiddle. He was well versed in all your buttons and he quickly brought you back up to another peak.

As your breath grew shorter and whines started to fall from your lips he groaned into your folds, his rocking hips developing a frantic pace.

He came from dry humping the bed while eating you out. Your cramps having abated along with the itch under your skin. You could stay here for ages—keep him between your legs, worshiping at your center. Nothing to be done but splay out and take the pleasure as it came.

—you could ask.

You didn't get the chance before he's diving back in, ignoring your squeal at the overwhelming sensation so soon after your orgasm. He pinned you down again as you squirm, muttering about, never get to play in it, they're always screaming, tastes so good coming from you, want your cum mixed in with it.

When Simon pulled away, you looked down to check on him. You saw him holding a bloody clot, rolling it back and forth along his fingers, squishing and manipulating it—playing with this piece that had just been inside of you.

You were coming to the realization this was going to be an every month type of thing. Maybe playing in blood wasn't so bad.

\\\

Simon didn't ask you to come with him, he simply made it clear that you were welcome.

A second bag is sitting on the table, waiting to be filled, to be used. Simon ignored it and you as he stood there packing his own. He's going to the other side of the country for this outing and would be gone for close to a week.

You watched his bag fill up, items being tucked away and placed in pockets while the second bag sat there empty and flat.

He didn't say anything when you stood next to him and packed your jacket.

It was a completely uneventful trip for you.

\\\

You'd fallen into the swing of waiting by the back door, just in case, but Simon was good about keeping everyone where they should be. It seemed after the first one he was a little hesitant about leaving you alone with one of his victims. Were you a victim too? Or were you a participant at this point?

It's warmer now—not quite the full weight of summer heat but close to it. You were staring at the closed door, wondering what you would see if you opened it and walked inside. Did you even want to see anything? What did you think you'd get out of it? Maybe you were trying to punish yourself.

You already knew what Simon did. Seeing it wouldn't change anything . . . would it? You imagined how he looked when he was in complete control and your will wavers with the dangling reward. Maybe a little peek wouldn't hurt.

You hadn't taken more than two steps before the door burst open and oh, you were doing this again weren't you?

This time it was a young woman that stumbled out. She's pretty, you noticed offhandedly, even with her torn leggings, bloody nose and mascara tear-tracked face. She saw you and immediately jerked back, smart enough to know anyone standing outside a murder building probably had something to do with the murders.

Her expression wavered as you just stood there looking at her, not saying anything. More tears spilled over her lash line as she stared back, not giving an inch.

She took one step towards freedom and you yelled.

I guess that answers the participant question.

|||

Story Repository || Main Repository

[violetscanfly]

Today is a very special day isn't it

Bonus:

[reds-skull]

Price plays poker properly only when Ghost is involved

(I don't remember how to play poker so they're also playing wrong now)

[crowsgrudge]

fionna's world being represented by a dandelion makes so much sense ... they're weeds. yet people make wishes through them, changing their whole meaning from something meant to be destroyed to something hopeful.

dandelions are also resilient and it makes sense that something associated with them would. you know. perservere despite the destruction caused by the scarab.

but ultimately i think what REALLY made me tear up over this is that dandelions are really boring plants. when you're a kid you blow on them and make your wish but they're not eyecatching or anything but still, fionna's final wish was for her old world to still exist as it was when she left it (> plain and simple. boring even).

like the moment she realized she would lose her friends, and that her friends might forget each other if the world got its magic back, she immediately decided she didn't want it and I think that ties back to the dandelion metaphor so well... like, do you really need magic to be real to find it everywhere? or can you turn something boring into something magical?