#and he just SMILES

[lanternlightss]

littol notebook ->📒(For the ask game!! :D)

(ask game)

*sounds of papers being dug through* OKAY. SO !!!

nameless bard and collei, right ?? (technically. actually. this fic wouldve been part of a series where nameless bard came across many many people of teyvat who happened to venture into old mond’s ruins, or the edges of mondstadt, or where simply wandering, and talked with them, about anything, about nothing. this all stemming from ,,, a small hc au thing where a ghost bard takes care of those that venti cannot immediately reach, or when he is preoccupied by something else. mond’s silly little grandpas.)

but back to collei and bard. two characters who have such a relationship in regards to gods. this fic would’ve had collei come swinging by mondstadt for a visit, and, perhaps, got lost in a storm on the way there. ending up huddled into a corner and devastatedly watching as her stuff is tossed into said storm. there, she meets a stranger who looks awfully like that one local bard amber and lisa talk about, who has run in to find her, and take her to safety.

throughout the way there, she wonders. why is it that this storm is so peculiar ?? mondstadt’s winds are never quite this strong !! is barbatos … angry, maybe ? was something done to have upset him ? (did they ever get angry at her, for when she …. )

“is barbatos ever upset?”

“upset?”

“would they ever get … you know, angry at someone, for something. if they hurt people.” (off note, HOW much of mond’s history does collei know, bc i feel like she would be interested in it, and amber would be more than willing to tell her about mond details.)

and bard … pauses. scowls. laughs. it would depend, wouldn’t it ? how are they hurting people ? are they malicious about it ? they are a kind god, see, and often go around to inconvenience those who have wronged them or their city. (they don’t answer, there are times barbatos is seething, times where people are reminded that the reason the mountains around them were halved by this same god, that the wind is playful, sweet—and dangerous, ruthless.)

then bard goes on to be like. why. if barbatos were to be angry at anyone, that honor would go to me !! my, if they knew of all the offerings ive took from them, they surely would smite me. (the entirety of the time, i just want the vibe that bard is assuring—you are not from here, no, but you are more than welcome as a free child all the same, you who have gained your freedom from despair. you who lives her life reaching for each new opportunity given. you are doing good.) also bard slightly. kinda. vagues at decarabian and other gods at some points.

i just think. bard, who lived his life under a god who did not understand them. collei, who lived her life thrown to the wolves, stuck with remains she did not ask for, who felt betrayed by the heavens for how they failed her.

and mondstadt, and barbatos, who may guide their people, but leaves them largely to make their own decisions. barbatos, whose appearances made are when their people are in distress, who would rather cut their wings off than leave mondstadt to burn. and how they would feel about that—about how this city has turned out, how it helped them, or !!!!!! just !!!!! yeagh

[wasabi-gumdrop]

local ladies man’s signature move totally useless against autistic monster enthusiast. more on Kabru’s fumble era at 6

[mydairpercabeth]

Everyone holding Annabeth to an impossible Standard

And then there’s Percy

[chloesimaginationthings]

Glamrock Freddy's life is so hard in FNAF...

(Based off @/sweepswoop’s comic)

[tiredpinkpanda]

DogDay deserved better, change my mind.

[brainrotcharacters]

the next time Logan does this, wade is going to keel over CACKLING

[hinamie]

yuuji smiling and sukuna making a face like That did u really think i wouldn't do a panel redraw

[egophiliac]

he did it! 🐍 and it only took...uhhh...well, there probably could've been less punches, but why hold back!

PUNCHES FOR EVERYONE

[weewoo911]

Buck taking grainy, zoomed-in pictures of every single helicopter he sees and sending them to Tommy like “dis u babe? 🥰”

[zillychu]

human form reveal! he wears his hair in a variety of styles, which include: whatever Sam or Tuck want to do that day (if left alone he will simply do nothing and get it caught in everything)

[trashmakerarticle]

Everyone thinks that dick was the golden child when in reality it was Jason.

Clark: Bruce who was your favourite robin?

Dick: obviously it’s me?

Tim: it’s dick

Damian: I am superior robin, it will be me.

Bruce: it’s Jason

Everyone: WHAT?!?!???

Bruce: why are you so surprised? He didn’t jump on too my chandeliers which I had to replace each week

*everyone looks at dick*

Bruce: he didn’t drop out of school

*everyone looks at tim*

Bruce: I didn’t have to stop him from killing everyone who annoyed him

*everyone looks at Damian*

Bruce: in fact, he enjoyed school and handed all his homework in on time, we would spend hours in the library reading his favourite classics. He even helped Alfred with most of the cooking, He was my little boy

Jason: stop spreading lies, I hate you go away

Bruce: my precious little boy

[demaparbat-hp]

She will (and he'll let her)

[bonerot19]

I know we like writing fics where Jason is all "I'm not the kid you lost" and "he died and I'm all the worst parts of him that came back" and whatever. but lately I've been thinking about a Jason that's angry bc everyone thinks he came back wrong, because to him, he's the same as he's always been. sure, he's more upset and angry and traumatized, but he's still Jason.

I've been thinking about a Jason that spent most of the time since his death underground and then catatonic. to him, hardly any time has passed at all. to his family, three years have gone by. and Jason knows he looks different than he did, and he knows he's sharper around the edges, now, but he's still Jason. he's the same kid that died and now he's back and why doesn't anyone see that?

they're the ones that changed, not him

[amberluvsbugs]

Animation study with Catnap. He desperately needs head pets...

[bi-writes]

can't stop thinking about dark!simon with a sunshine!curvy!fem!reader, it's gnawing at my brain. (18+)

greeting him when he comes home in a little apron with dough smeared across your cheeks. you're bouncing in the kitchen, giggling as you wrap your arms around his neck. one burly arm hooks around your waist as he palms one side of your ass, and you kiss his lips over his blood-soaked mask again and again as you coo, "missed you so much, made you chocolate chip..."

you talk and talk and talk and talk. you're always talking. you're always whispering in his ear and chattering as he drives and telling him some story about something he missed while he was gone as you tidy up the flat. you never stop talking, never run out of things to tell him, and despite the monotone voice and the lack of response, he hears every single word that you say, and he forgets nothing. when he makes his way back on base, johnny is waiting, eager to hear an update about the receptionist at your work and if she is actually sleeping with your manager.

you wash his clothes without even blinking. you're at the sink, a bucket of cold, suddy water there as you scrub at his shirt. there's peroxide at the side, and you use a delicate hand as you scrub at the stains on it. ghost watches from the doorway as you hum to yourself, in a little pair of shorts with your hair tied up as you rinse the shirt clean. blood runs down the drain, and his shirt is clean as new.

you always find some kind of weapon around the house. you bend down to brush crumbs off the kitchen chairs, and you scold simon with a glossy pout because he left a bloody knife taped under the table. you whine when you find a grenade sitting in the same drawer you keep your tampons in. you complain when you take out the jar of rice to make dinner, and there's a small handgun hidden between the grains. but your face always softens when he cups your cheeks with two big hands, kissing you warmly, muttering, "gotta keep y'safe, luvvie...know there's a bloody line waitin' for a taste of y'r cunny, baby."

you visit him on base once in light wash denim and a white tshirt, sneakers hitting the linoleum and purse swinging as you wave at him. he's standing in front of a line of privates, watching them do jumping jacks, and his eyes light up a little when he sees you waving at him enthusiastically. when he finally makes it to you, he shoves you into the nearest supply closet and tugs your jeans down just enough to fit his cock between your thighs. when he's walking you out, the boys watch as you cling to simon's arm, a lovesick grin on your sweaty face as you flutter your lashes up at him.

he loves when your manicured hands touch him. scratching along his scalp, tracing the edge of his jaw, cupping the bulge in his pants. you're so sweet, the most giggly girl, and he loves tasting the strawberry of your gloss as you make him cum with your hand, cooing against his lips about how strong he is, how much you love him, how you would do anything for him.

he loves it most when you see him for what he really is. when he comes home battered and bruised, bloody clothes sticking to him, a snarl to his voice and the adrenaline of an op still pumping through his veins. he loves that nothing about him scares you. that even like this, you lean up on your toes and kiss him softly, that you get some of the blood and dirt smudges on the pink of your pajama pants, and you don't care, that he strangled a man with these very hands only hours ago, and you still want him to touch you.

he loves that you love him. that when he feeds his cock into you that night, in nothing but your baby pink lingerie, that you barely need any prep at all from how wet you are. thick thighs spreading apart, sticky slick shining on your skin, cunt nice and ready for him because you have missed him that much. he loves that no matter how ugly he feels, you always find him attractive, that no matter how many people he tells you that he killed tonight, all you do is smile and pucker your lips, and tell him, "it's okay, teddy bear, they deserved it, didn't they?" and yeah, they did, cause it is kill or be killed, and there is no universe where ghost does not fight to get back here, to get back to this pretty pussy, to get back to the bed he shares with you so he can watch those pretty tits bounce every time he fucks his cock into you.

ghost loves his pretty girl. all smiles. all soft, so cute, just perfect. ghost casts a shadow over the room, and you just brighten it right back up. ghost tracks blood into the house, and there you are to cover it all up with citrus and soap.

yeah. always just sunshine and smiles at home.

[deadpoets]

DEAD POETS SOCIETY (1989) dir. Peter Weir