#Verse I: The Streets.

[fledermoved-too]

@wolfpackmuses​ asked:

“I don’t want to pretend I didn’t see it, because I did.” 

From Crookedjaw to Scourge!

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He winced, eyeing over the tom with disdain and bafflement. The mere fact in the admission that the trespasser had indeed seen the claw marks, smelled the border markers, and despite it all come here anyway... He had some gall.

A white paw extended, claws unsheathing emphatically as he spoke,

“Then why are you here?? How did you even manage to dodge my guards? They’re supposed to be posted, like, everywhere...?? ROONE! You did set the- You set the guards today, didn’t you?!”

“No, boss,” An old cat rasped, pausing her half-hearted grooming to respond, “That was Trixie’s job today.”

“Trixie!” Scourge exclaimed. “Trixie is the most bug-brained, twist-whiskered, dull-headed -”

Roone rolled her eyes, not particularly threatened by the tom’s rant, “We can discuss Trixie lat-”

“We can discuss Trixie later!” Scourge snapped, as if it had been his statement all along. He leaned in close, nose-to-nose with Crookedjaw. “Who are you.”

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[whaliiwatching]

one in a million admirers…

based on ofc this prompt

[valtsv]

god there was something so incredible about shrue condemning our inclination to hide behind stories as a means of denial and wilful ignorance, delivered to the listener through the medium of a story. of course shrue was talking more about the lies we tell ourselves to avoid confronting the hard truths and ugly realities of the world we live in than, like, fiction in general, but goddamn. what a fucking meta move. this is a story about stories, about how they can be used as vehicles for both beautiful lies and terrible truths; their limitations as a medium and those of language as a whole. of how we can talk, and talk, and talk ourselves to the end of the world, to the bottom of our self-made graves, but without action, that's all they are, and all they ever will be. words. enough to drown us all beneath the crushing weight of our conviction in them, but not enough to save us.

[leesbian42-rp]

Open RP

Saga - a young child with pale sunburned skin, very long platinum blonde hair and the brightest blue eyes, wearing a yellow 70s hippie dress - sat on the floor of her Dad's car, an old red one she didn't know the name of.

She pressed against the old weathered leather seats and hid as much as she could from the explosions and gunshots ringing from the outside. Her Dad had left to find something to eat a while ago, probably dumpster diving or pickpocketing, and he had yet to return. Saga hoped he was out of harms way, as well as anyone could living in Gotham City.

(She missed her home country, in times as these. The government and Authority had been the reason of her mother's passing, and the eviction of their tiny house in Falun. But she hadn't needed to worry about the violent fights as these there, hadn't needed to worry about her Dad getting in the crossfire or exploding alive. Barely had she needed to worry much about goons in general.)

Saga looked up through the windows again, fire casting orange shadows across the buildings across the street, hoping her Dad would hurry back so they could leave this city already. Or at least this part of it. She tugged her knees closer to her chest, hugging herself tightly as she listened to the quickly approaching fight outside.

She'd give Dad a few more minutes before she'd drive away from here herself, despite her being far too small for such a thing. Maybe they could try Metropolis or Fawcett next time? She thought that was the name of the cities at least... Or just some normal city for once!

She hugged herself tighter, covering her ears as the sounds got louder, tears threatening to fall as all she could only think was:

Where is Dad?! Dad, come onnn hurry!!!

Where is he???????

Dad, where are you? Come back! I want my dad, I want my dad, I want my dad-

Jag vill ha min mamma- I want my mommy!!

[rockybloo]

Sweetheart is a rap fan.

She fucks with all types, even the ones people deem too violent, sexual, or WHATEVER people use as an excuse to demean rap.

She listens to all sorts of subgenres in it as well.

Since she is a relatively well known hero in my storyverse, one of her favorite things is when she is listening to a verse and someone drops a ref to her in it. She gets the biggest grin on her face.

[sciderman]

After seeing Deadpool 3, not only do i think it was like a roided out No Way Home meets the Flash that works off of Loki season 1 lore without a soul, but i also pray to god there's never gonna be another movie where there's two Ryan Reynolds on screen together because they were so. Fucking. Anoying. The opening scenes described the movie perfectly: good music, really fun action for an MCU movie, hit or miss humor, 4th wall breaks that didn't really work for me, is metaphoricaly sucking Hugh Jackmans Wolverine off, defiles stuff from the past....love Dogpool tho

you know, i didn't watch the flash because it's bad enough having cast one ezra miller... but TWO?? dceu is insane for that. also will die upset that phil lord and chris miller were attached to the flash but didn't get to see it through. i think whatever they would've done with it would've been sexy. (they know how to make crowd pleasers)

that being said, picture: phil lord and chris miller attached to a deadpool movie. yeah. they'd do right.

[akkivee]

idk if i ever got around to just commenting how strange it was that juto and rei swapped palettes in their bp outfits but it’s strange that they did lol and now we got juto straight up wearing his blazer the way rei wears his fur coat in the mtc album art

and now i’m really wondering if there was more to those duos in the block party lol

[punkeropercyjackson]

Miles,Hobie and Gwen are SO Nico,Percy and Hazel i love them so bad and they make me insaneeeee

[iwasbored777]

When Gwen and Miles are swinging and she spots a thief and says "look at that dumb-dumb" it's giving me Ross Geller's meme "get a load of this guy" and I start laughing every time

crying

[sionisjaune]

No plot all vibes cokehead Nico ficlet that needed to come out tonight...

Nico shakes out a gram, cuts a line with a card pilfered from Lewis’s wallet, and snorts it straight from the dashboard. It’s his car—the Ferrari he was racing when Lewis first met him—so Lewis doesn’t have to worry about trace amounts of cocaine left over. Nico pinches his nose and shuts his eyes, and then he crawls back into Lewis’s lap. 

Lewis’s fly is still open, his dick damp and recently tucked inside his boxers, and when Nico settles his weight on Lewis’s thighs, his pulse spikes like he could go again given a few minutes and an incentive. It doesn’t help that the inside of the car smells like leather and fuel and Nico’s sea-salty cologne and the sour sweat drying on his own neck. Lewis is hardwired to respond. It’s hardly his fault anymore. 

Nico wraps his arms around Lewis’s neck and rakes his fingers across the short hair on the back of Lewis’s skull. He can’t help but groan and tip his head back against the headrest and gaze at Nico through the curtain of hair falling in his eyes, the ends curling delicately on his cheeks. Lewis brushes a strand behind Nico's ear and pulls Nico flush against his chest so he can listen to the arrhythmic hammer of his heart. 

It’s pitch black outside the car, and the windows are cold and damp with perspiration. Lewis’s Corvette is parked around the corner, where he abandoned it to congratulate Nico for almost—almost—beating him. Then Nico shoved him against the door, wrangled him inside, gave him sloppy, desperate head before pulling a clear plastic bag out of the back pocket of his jeans. 

Lewis leans up for a kiss, cupping Nico’s cheeks to keep him where Lewis needs him. Nico opens his warm, wet mouth to Lewis and sucks on his tongue. It's easy to imagine that Nico’s mouth is a direct line to his bloodstream, and everything intoxicating in him is flowing into Lewis and causing the woozy, lead-limbed sensation that’s been creeping over him. The last time he saw Nico, Nico asked if Lewis wanted to take an edible with him, and Lewis walked directly out of the hotel room and spent half an hour seething in the parking lot. Nico was gone when he went back. He should have taken the fucking edible. 

“Stop. Stop it,” Nico says. His palm is on Lewis’s jaw, pushing his head to the side.

Lewis blinks, and Nico’s bright shape resolves in front of him. Nico isn't still kissing him, which is a surprise.

“Slow down for a second,” Nico says. He’s talking like normal, but his pupils are completely blown, irises blacked out. “My mouth is dry. We’re not going to be teenagers about this.” 

Lewis swallows. His throat clicks. He sets his hands on Nico’s hips and grips too tightly. It’s good for him, and it’s good for Nico, who needs to be held down sometimes for his own good.

Nico leans off of his lap, twisting so that Lewis can see the curve of his spine through his thin shirt, and pops open the glove compartment to dig around. He comes up with a crumpled pack of menthols that he tosses on the seat, a miniature bottle of whiskey, a silver box that rattles, a string of seashells that might be a necklace, a jagged shard of mirror, and, finally, a plastic water bottle, half empty. 

After a long swallow, he licks his lips and offers the bottle to Lewis, dribbling a small amount down his throat. It's tepid and flavorless in a revolting way.

“Here,” Nico says. He screws the cap back onto the water bottle, tosses it on the other seat with the rest of his junk, and seals his lips to Lewis’s again.    

[fledermoved-too]

@storybounded​

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Street cats were milling about through the morning as usual, many recovering from recent scuffles among one another. Fights for shelter and food at the shop that had closed down.

Scourge, their leader, was no exception. The small tom was preoccupied with nursing a few infected scratches and sores when an unsightly creature assaulted his vision.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen The Tramp. It had been often, but the dog had kept his distance, running with the other strays of his kind. Today, however... It was something different. It seemed the dog was actually approaching him.

Slowly, Scourge lifted his head to address the mutt as his guards hissed and spat. He flicked his tail in signal to silence them before regarding the newcomer,

“So you finally dare to come close. What do you want, dog?”

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[insectduck]

My niche Keith Kogane headcanon is that "Thief" by Imagine Dragons from the Smoke + Mirrors (Deluxe) album is HIS song, no if ands or buts, it just screams mullet emo 'delinquent' in the desert bonus with space motifs. If you told me it was written by the angsty fuck himself I'd totally believe you lmao

[lazaruswitch]

Initially, Dick had thought that Danforth was a ridiculous place for anyone, let alone Lily, to try and lay low or avoid the bats. He realizes now that he might've been hasty in his judgement.

In reality, Danforth was both too close and too far from Gotham. Still within the bounds of Jersey, but on the opposite side of the state. Theoretically easily reachable, especially for the likes of the bats, but realistically-

Well. What the fuck would any of them be doing in Danforth?

Why would anyone be in Danforth, unless they lived in or around, or were visiting for a particular reason?

In truth, though the Bats traveled a lot, very often and very far, the kind of traveling they did was limited to certain areas, and more often than not for Bat reasons rather than personal to boot. From other capes' cities, to missions and sometimes fancy vacations in foreign countries, to lesser known or even secret territories, to even space - all of that was fair game. Random residential areas in America, or even around the state, with no unusual criminal activity and where the most interesting thing was the greenery? Not so much.

For all the time that's passed and all the distance - literal and figurative, physical and spiritual - that extends between them, Lily still knows Bruce and Dick in particular ways that few else do. They've all changed significantly and dramatically over the past several years (fuck, it's been almost two decades) but some things remain the same, if only by habit.

Ultimately, some slowly bustling little city (large town?) in North Jersey - about 40 minutes from NYC with no hero scene nor any Wayne-related interests - was never going to be noticed as it was. However random it may seem, Lily had done well in choosing a safe, convenient, and hidden place to make her home.

Hell, the only reason Dick was here now - or even knew she was alive and around at all - was due to a mission in Granada four years ago, pure fucking chance, and Tim Hunter.

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

I've been played before if you hadn't guessed So I kept my cards close to my foolproof vest But you called my bluff and saw through all my tells And then you went all in and we left together

…

But then you called, showed your hand I turned around before I hit the tunnel Sat on the roof, you and I I hope I never lose you, hope it never ends

…

Cards on thе table Mine play out like fools in a fablе Oh, it was sinking in Slow is the quicksand Poison blood from the wound of the pricked hand Oh, still I dream of him

[normaltothemax]

@therebetterbepie from here

Jason hadn’t celebrated his last birthday. His mom had been dead, his dad had been in jail or dead or who gave a shit, and he’d been on the streets on his own. Hadn’t even realized he’d turned eleven until a few weeks after the fact. If Dean hadn’t wanted to celebrate, Jason didn’t think he’d be that upset by it. Maybe a little disappointed, deep down, but really, in the grand scheme of things, who gave a shit about his stupid birthday?

Dean, apparently.

Looking up from his plate, his eyes scanned Dean’s face, not all that surprised that he did want to celebrate. With the emphasis he put on all of Jason’s accomplishments, the various (and sometimes seemingly random) ‘milestones’ Jason reached, this was very on brand for the man. Still, despite all the progress Jason had made, despite Dean proving time and time again that nothing was a trick or a trap, he still couldn’t quite tamp down all that suspicion every time Dean did or said something nice.

“Can we make one?” he asked after a few moments of watching Dean and thinking about it. “My mom always made cake with me.” If his birthday was on a good day, they’d sing and dance around the kitchen as they baked a cake from scratch, and then later she’d take him out somewhere—the park or the library for a new book, maybe somewhere like the zoo, if she could scrape enough money together. If it was on a bad day, they’d make cake from a box mix, more subdued but still generally upbeat, before the pain became too much and she got high after it was iced. No matter what, though, she always, always baked with him. Jason had been gutted last year, when he’d finally realized he’d missed that tradition and would never get to experience it again.

Baking with Dean wouldn’t be the same, but maybe it’d make him feel closer to his mom again anyways.

[damnedrainbows]

alastor dies and lucifer is dying and charlie is stupid and makes a deal with roo that she’ll free her to just kind of wander hell if she saves them. and. the comedy potential. of roo just popping up randomly through out hell like that ex you keep bumping into at the store, is killing me

she’s her mom’s weird sister that nobody in the family wants to talk to but keeps trying to cozy up to the kids.

al and husk at the gas station, al suddenly clutches husk’s arm in discomfort as roo is just there. sensually, slowly drinking a slurpee and not breaking eye contact with him

@gctchell I’m just. imagining lilith’s face in all this: