#and near-sighted

[tinartss]

glassesifies ur haikavetham

[bayesic-bitch]

my third eye just opened but the psycho-ophthalmologist says I need glasses for it. :/

[hey-hey-j]

last night's cooldown. I am once again here to spread the good word of near-sighted JD

(★ my Ko-fi)

[temeyes]

megane-kun problems

[snail-day]

Imagining geto tying a little ribbon around readers neck, with a bell attached so he can hear exactly where she is.

Of course he would do some complicated bow she can't get off without strangling herself. And if she ever manages to cut or rip it off maybe next time geto's present is her hands bound behind her back

THIS. A thousand times this. It’s sweet and docile, just the way he made you. The way he likes you. The tiny bell at your throat sings with every step, a fragile, trembling sound that fills the silence between you. He never has to wonder where you are, after all, he tied it himself a silk ribbon, soft as a caress, woven into a delicate bow at the nape of your neck. The kind that tightens when you struggle. The kind you can’t remove without strangling yourself. It sits snug against your pulse, a collar made for something small. Something meek. A slaughterhouse collar, disguised as something pretty.

He just loves to watch you move, watching the careful way you step, as if you know what you are. As if you understand what waits for you at the end of the line. When you lower your head into his open palm, he hums in soft approval, fingers playing with the ribbon’s loose end. A quiet flick, and the bell rings. His lamb. His offering. His property.

But lambs shouldn’t struggle. Lambs should know better.

So if you ruin his gift, tear it off, cut it away, try to silence the sound he loves, he will have to choose something more fitting.

No more silk. No more gentle warnings.

Next time, it will be cold steel biting into your skin. A padlock at your throat, heavier than the air you try to pull into your lungs. Chains looping from your neck to your wrists, binding them behind your back. No more bell. Only the sound of metal clinking, the weighted drag of captivity.

Suguru doesn’t like doing this to you. He really doesn’t. But you leave him no choice.

When you finally break, when your body trembles against his, breathless and small, when you whisper I’m sorry, eyes wide and wet, his answer is always soft and gentle: "You will be."

Then the chain tightens as he secures you to the cold floor of a darkened room within the estate. The links rattle, settling into place, trapping you in a space where time has no meaning. From the folds of his robes, he retrieves a small vial, the glass catching what little light remains from the hallway. Unscrewing the dropper from the vile, just a few drops to the tongue would be enough for a week. Made from the vilest of curses. His warm hand tilts your chin up, a thumb pressed against your tongue. You attempt to plea, lips trembling in weak resistance, but it’s futile. A few bitter drops spill onto your tongue, sharp and acrid, seeping into your senses before you can even think to fight it. He waits for your pupils to shift, unaware of the horrors his sweet lamb will face. Before he leaves, he ensures that your wrists are bound; he doesn’t want his sweet lamb to hurt herself.

Sweet little lambs aren’t meant to fight. They’re meant to be kept safe, tucked away with the rest of the livestock, docile and obedient. Perhaps after a week in the dark, you’ll remember that. Perhaps after a week in the dark, you’ll remember that you do love being his little lamb.

Perhaps then you’ll be ready for that silk ribbon again.

[bluerosefox]

Bellatrix Star

A TaliaxDanny idea that came to me.

Damian, Bruce, and the rest of the bats discover the Talia al Ghul they had been fighting against, the one that cloned her own son, had the clone kill him, plant a control device in him when he broke his spine, etc etc was actually not the real Talia al Ghul.

Turned out Ra's had cloned her and killed the original when she discovered his little plans to take over Damain's body and she confronted him about it. Ra's had to make a clone when after tossing a dead Talia into the pits but never returned (he meant to kill her as a warning, as a "you may be my blood but will not hesitate to end you Talia.") It explains so much to Damian when remembers how out of nowhere his mother changed, her training him changed from harsh to deadly, the soft motherly love she would give him when behind closed doors suddenly stopped, the tales she would spin for him about his father no longer whispered to him for bed.

How this was find out?

Well it's hard to ignore the facts that when your foolish grandfather in his quest for immortality summons an eldritch being known as the Ghost King into the Mortal Realm and uses Damian as a sacrifice while his (not) mother watches emotionless.

When the being appeared, plunging the room from green glowing flames and the glow of the Lazarus Pits into darkness before a cosmos exploded to life, its glowing green eyes snapped open in the stars and stared at them all. Making every single one of them feel small, so very small.

It took a single glance around the room before stopping on the al Ghul's. It's eyes widen before a steel and firm look entered them. Just as quick as the cosmos sprang to life, it suddenly swirled away into a ball, putting them all back into the Lazarus room,and reformed in front of them to a more humanish height and body.

When the body, around the height and build of Batman, was done forming it took a step forward and suddenly as one blinked a man stood in front of them. Or rather floated. Snow white hair that flickered and wisped towards a crown made of fire and ice, glowing green eyes that held none of the madness but all of the power the Lazarus Pits could give. His clothing were tailored made that were tastefully a mixture of black and white with some silvers and greens, clothes fit for a King one would say. The cosmos that once engulfed the room had shifted into a cloak that hanged around his body, on one side more than the other (think like how CW wears his only the hood is down).

This, this was no doubt the Ghost King, he stood tall and regal and made everyone in the room feel the need to look down, to bow ones head for even just a moment. Even Ra's had trouble disobeying the urge to do so.

"Well..." the being said, his voice deep but not as gravely as Batman's was "What an interesting way to meet my In-Laws and Step-Son..."

He has said that as he looked towards the al Ghul's. Damian flinched back with a frown of confusion and disbelief while Ra's looked panicked for a second when the words registered into his mind, meanwhile Talia... looked emotionless and barely even twitched.

"What the fu-?" Someone began only to stop when the King lifted his hand and with a snap of his fingers a green portal appeared, it looked almost like the Lazarus Pits but it felt... cleaner? Less angry?

"My Bellatrix, my warrior star. I believe I've been summoned to your home dimension. And judging by the looks of it your father created a barely functioning Mirror of you and planned on using your son as a sacrifice to me." He spoke out towards the portal before holding his hand out.

A hand appeared from the portal, a slender hand and with green and black painted nails manicure to perfection before someone walked through it as they took hold of the Ghost King's offering hand.

Standing in front of them was another Talia, only this one looked a tad older than the one in the room. She wore clothing that matched the King to a T but even then, as always, Talia looked deadly in it. Beautiful but very deadly. From the heels she wore to the crown upon her head, a crown made of not ice and fire but of stars and black jewels. Her eyes were sharp as she stared at everyone in the room, frown on her painted lips, but her eyes lit with a small soft joy when she saw Damian only for them to turn poisonous when they landed on Ra's and the other Talia nearby.

"I should had know you would had created a Mirror of me instead of admitting to my son you killed me Father." Queen Talia spat out. "The least you could had done was not make my Mirror so cheaply, it doesn't even have a proper soul attached to it."

[thebekashow]

I personally have a theory/headcanon that Bob has Myopia.

Now you could say, "Oh well, Beka, that's stupid," BUT LISTEN. This mother fucker has missed stabbing LITERAL CHILDREN.

This dumbass mistook meat for children. He only stops once they start MELTING. He couldn't even tell which one was the REAL skid and pump

Even in the car scene, he cannot reach them and proceeds to miss SEVERAL times.

"Oh but he's just fat." Sure.. but even a guy like him would know to just, reach in further. Unlesss he can't see them.

We have seen COUNTLESS times in spooky month drawings that Bob wears glasses.

"Oh but beka, how then would he kill his victims?" CONTACT LENSES.

All of the victims' dismemberment could even back it up since they probably took those out when they arrested him. And when you can't really see who you're murdering, you're more than likely to make a mess..

But yeah, just a mini headcanon/theory :P

[weirdteawriting]

Please share your reasoning in the comments! *Evil laughter*

[canisalbus]

I don't even know if this is a dog or what, I just think this creecher I saw kinda looked like Vasco.......sighted in Südtirol

.

[turtleblogatlast]

One of my favorite Leo headcanons is that Leo could not for the life of him tell you what a country looks like or where it’s located on a map or even what its name is, but show him a picture of some random dirt and he’ll pro geoguesser his way into instantly knowing where on the planet that dirt’s from (because he’s accidentally crashed face first into it enough to Know.)

[textless]

Butterflies and a stealthy praying mantis, with zinnias.

Cochise County, Arizona, August 2024.

[dark-lord-ivy]

Malevolent au where everything is the same, except John can manifest as a rat. I call it: The Horrible Ratatouille AU

[dueling-jesters]

Here's a little fun fact that I didn't notice until recently:

The cover illustration on Masters of Mayhem is actually a redrawn iteration of the cover of MAD's Big Book of Capers and Other Surprises!

The Big Book is the earliest version of the art I could find. It was reused for the back cover of the Omnibus:

I had a sense before coming to this realization that the art felt familiar. I wonder if the one from Mayhem was drawn by Prohías himself or if it was done later specifically for publishing Mayhem, which is technically a re-print of an earlier anthology.

[imjustavenuxwithaboomerang]

listen, i genuinely feel bad for janet but if i was maddie, i would be beating her to a pulp I'M SORRY

[rollforjackass]

sometimes i wonder if all those times that john constantine allegedly appeared to his writers irl weren’t actually meant to be read by them as an endorsement of their talents or his personal acknowledgment of their influence in his life (the way i used to generally romanticize those stories to mean), but were maybe more intended as like…..a Straight-Up Threat. or, more charitably, as some kind of flying-too-close-to-the-sun warning. just because it’s funny to me to think how (almost) every writer who “encountered” him decided without question to fuck off posthaste, and equally funny to wonder how — assuming he actively chose to make himself known to them, rather than merely running into them on accident — constantine wouldn’t have seen that reaction coming from a mile away.

i mean, if anyone should know best about constantine’s penchant for bringing down disaster on anyone & everyone around him, it would be him and the people who officially contributed to enforcing that penchant, right? so it’d just be common sense for the intelligent, meta-aware fictional character to think: “if i — the living breathing embodiment of a rockfall zone caution sign — go up to the dudes who made me this way, they will probably (wisely) assume my presence indicates that they are now in higher-than-previous danger of being hit by falling rocks — a danger which will only increase the longer they stay within my immediate proximity — and they will surely feel compelled to bugger off accordingly.” at which point he could logically conclude that there are undoubtedly better, less-mortally-endangering methods of paying respects to his creators than popping out of a sandwich bar stairwell and scaring the shit out of alan moore.

(unless john thinks his writers would get just as much thrill from that kind of adrenaline rush as he does, given they thought to make him that way; which, tbh, i would not put past him to assume. or unless he simply does not care to expend all the extra energy on plotting a meticulously inoffensive approach just to tell someone ‘hi’, which i also would not put past him.)

as much of a shit as he can be, i can’t really picture john constantine making the conscious decision to put the fear of god into the writers who made him without a really good reason for it. he doesn’t believe in fate or destiny or anyone pulling his strings, so even if he didn’t like something they wrote, i figure he’d just set his mind to changing it rather than lending credence to the writers’ supposed influence over his life by taking his grievances up with them. so if constantine were running around the real world actively jumpscaring the people who are most likely to genuinely fear him, knowing they’re the people most likely to genuinely fear him, i can only imagine it being a choice he makes to jar his writers out of some complacent drift that’s been leading them over the line between fiction and forbidden knowledge; or something to that effect. a scare tactic, but a preventative one.

anyway, all this said to provide context for the entertaining mental image i had of constantine rocking up to some stranger’s party in 2009 all cool & confident, thrice-assured of his ability to rattle his writers just by showing his face, only to have to beat the hastiest of hasty retreats with fresh horror in his soul after notorious freak-shit woman-hating character-mangler peter milligan gets one good look at him and comes barreling down the pipe trying to ask what john thinks of the college-aged deviantart-emo wife.

[eightspringdays]

the meronia reunion