#but I have other things to write...

[allthatmay]

"ask, prompt, or infodump?" so do you accept prompts? any prompts? if so, could you do a shanks+ace modern meet cute?

Oh, good question! I should probably write a post or something about it, but yes, I will happily accept prompts. I'd prefer they be within one of my favoured fandoms [OP, FF7, Naruto], but I'll give anything a go once, so you can always ask!

Having said that... Give me all the prompts!  ৻(•̀ ᗜ •́ ৻)

Sorry this took me so long to get done, but here's your Shanks/Ace meet cute! Thanks @chromotps for the setting; it was just so cute, I couldn't help myself.

It's not that Ace avoids becoming attached to the children he looks after, it's simply that he knows he shouldn't; that they'll grow up and move on while he's left holding them in his heart. There's been a few kids Ace has gotten just a little bit too fond of, and every time, he swears it's the last. Luffy might simply be the latest in the chain, but he's also, by far, the one Ace has cared for the most.

"C'mon, buddy. We've gotta find your shoes, or your dad won't be able to pick you up, will he?"

Trying to convince Luffy to do anything is a dangerous affair, unless one has food at the ready. The kid's prone to biting. Some people find it concerning, but it only endears him to Ace, who was an assertive child himself—to put it mildly.

"Dunno where they are," Luffy says petulantly. "Guess I'll stay with you, Ace!"

Ace shakes his head, biting back a smile. He crouches low in front of Luffy, holding out a hand that Luffy takes. "I've gotta go home, squirt."

"So I'll go with you!"

"But what about your dad? I bet he wants to see you!"

Luffy hesitates, worrying at his bottom lip. Finally, he looks up, excitement shining through his big, brown eyes, and says, "Then you should come home with us!"

A funny noise slips from Ace, which doesn't go unnoticed by Makino, who's been not-so-subtly eavesdropping from the doorway. She starts snickering into one of her hands but quickly straightens up when Ace cuts her a glance, returning her attention to the reuniting families outside.

"Aw, well, you know I love spending time with you, buddy..."

Luffy nods emphatically. His grin is missing a tooth. "Ace is great!"

"So are you, Luffy! But I can't come home with you. It wouldn't be right."

"Oh." Luffy's lip curls out into a big, wet pout. "Why not?"

"Well... Because I don't know your dad, buddy. And I bet he wants you all to himself!"

Luffy bursts into giggles when Ace tickles at his sides, all signs of sadness vanishing from his cherubic face.

"Okay," he says, although there's a determined line to his brow that raises Ace's suspicions. "Wait here!"

"Hold on, Luffy, your shoes—!"

Luffy, sans shoes, barrels past Makino and out into the playground where the parents are congregating, waiting to sign their children out. Instead of chasing after him, Ace starts the cleaning up, throwing pillows back in their places, returning pencils to their box. He's digging through the ball-pit—a likely hiding spot for Luffy’s shoes—when Luffy returns, announcing his arrival with, "Dad! Dad! This is Ace!"

Aw, shit. Ace has never been great at the 'meeting the parents' part; it's why he handles cleaning up while Makino manages parental pick-up. Still, for Luffy’s sake, he turns around with his most dazzling smile at the ready, throwing a stray ball over his shoulder.

"That's me!” he says, extending a hand in welcome. "I’m Portgas D. Ace. Nice to meet ya."

It turns out that Ace’s best smile pales in comparison to the one in front of him. Luffy's father has a certain crookedness to his lips that tells of mischief, with a small scar on his bottom lip that begs for attention—the pretty bait to a lethal trap, perhaps. Tanned skin is haloed by a head of fierce red hair, and yet it's his eyes that hook Ace in. They're as full of life as the warm, spring earth. Hard to look away from.

"The pleasure's mine," he says. He takes Ace's hand with easy movements. The smile lines around his eyes deepen, as does the fuzzy feeling in Ace's stomach. "I'm Shanks. Luffy's father."

"No kidding." Ace grins back. Before their hands release, Shanks' thumb slips across his, leaving a lasting sensation. Ace, to cover his abashment, crouches in front of Luffy. "So, Luffy, you gonna tell me where you hid your shoes, buddy?"

Luffy grabs his dad's trouser leg, playing innocent. "I dunno. Are you gonna come home with us?"

"Hmm..." Ace pretends to think about it, ignoring how hot his face suddenly feels. "Sorry, buddy, I can't. But I'll see you tomorrow, you know!"

"But you said that you'd come with me if you met my dad!"

"That's not—" Ace glances up at Shanks, who hasn't stopped grinning. "That's not quite what I said, buddy."

Luffy immediately looks to Shanks. "Dad! Tell Ace to come over!"

"We're not going anywhere without your shoes," Shanks says. He hoists Luffy up into his arms, who laughs. "Hot or cold, kiddo?"

"Cold!"

"Hm..." Shanks walks Luffy closer to the bean bags. "Hot or cold?"

"Hotter..."

Ace watches the two of them go over this a few times until, eventually, Shanks finds the shoes tucked inside the toy box. He gives them to Luffy then swings him up onto the table, kneeling in front of him.

"Alright, kiddo, left foot first. No kicking this time."

Ace can't help but laugh. Shanks glances at him, smiling, as he slides Luffy's foot into his trainer.

"There we go. Pull it tight. Great! Next one, Anchor."

"Anchor?" Ace asks.

Shanks gets Luffy's other shoe on, then helps him jump down from the table. "Oh yeah. Luffy's struggling to swim. Aren't ya, kiddo?"

"Not for long! I'm gonna beat the water!"

"Beat the water?" Ace repeats, starting to feel like a parrot. He can't help but laugh, warmed by Luffy's determination. "Well, I'll be sure to warn the oceans, buddy. Want to say bye to Makino?"

"Yeah!" Luffy looks at Ace, then his dad. "Stay here! Right here!"

"Cross my heart," Shanks teases.

They both watch Luffy run over to Makino, who looks down at him with a warm smile. She won't admit it, but she also has a soft spot for Luffy. Why else would she ensure he gets a space in her daycare every summer? But next year he'll be big enough to go somewhere else entirely...

"Makino used to be his favourite, you know."

Ace blinks, surprised to find Shanks is looking at him, not his son. The attention makes his toes wriggle in his boots.

"Used to be? Naw, Luffy loves Makino!"

"Oh? But I haven't heard about Makino in weeks. It's all about Ace and his super cool dragon drawings."

"Well, I do draw some pretty cool dragons."

"Among your many other talents, I’m sure.” Shanks winks. “He’s pinned them up around his bedroom, you know. You've got him wrapped around your finger."

"Really? Feels like the other way around."

"He does have a way with people. Something I hope he gets from me."

“He's got to get it from somewhere."

"Suppose I could test it." Shanks' grin is positively wolfish. "See if I can’t get you wrapped around my finger, as well."

Ace swallows, feeling hot under Shanks' unrelenting gaze. He looks from Shanks' twinkling eyes to his smooth, rose lips—and that damn scar of his, only visible in the sunlight—then back again. It's been a while since he's been hit on so obviously, and by someone so handsome. He flounders for a response, all too aware of his pinkening ears.

"I dunno. You're not as cute as Luffy."

"Cute's not really my style."

"I'll say," Ace mutters.

Shanks, his smile growing, steps in closer. “You, though? Very cute. Cute enough to eat.”

“‘Cute?’ I take Krav Maga.”

“Oh, so you’re cute and dangerous. And in such a pretty package.”

Ace laughs. “Wow, you’re an incorrigible flirt, aren’t you?”

“Truth be told, it’s been months since I’ve had a date.”

“What?” Ace regards Shanks from head to toe, from his silly sandals and floral pants to the loose fit of his shirt. “Months? But you’re—I mean—”

“Not cute?”

They stare at each other, equally silenced. Shanks’ smile slowly returns.

“Let me take you to dinner this weekend. Or to your Krav Maga class. Pottery, even. Whatever you like, I don’t care.”

“Really winning me over,” Ace snarks, like it isn’t the truth. “I’m covering a shift at my old job this weekend. Lifeguarding. We could do something after.”

“Oh? And Luffy just so happens to be struggling to swim.” Shanks digs into his pocket, retrieving his phone. “How about we hang around for an hour after you’re done? Give him some lessons. Grab some food.”

Ace is surprisingly touched by the offer. He tilts forward on his toes, glancing over at Luffy, who’s started saying goodbye to his friends as well. “You’d… really want that? What would Luffy think?”

“Something along the lines of, ‘Wow! Ace is here! Maybe he can draw me another dragon!’”

Ace rolls his eyes, grinning. “Alright, if you say so. Give me your phone.”

Shanks almost throws it at Ace in his haste to pass it over, and Ace has to bite down on his lip to stop his laughter from resurfacing. He’s just finished punching in his number when Luffy comes bounding back toward them, beaming.

“Dad! Let’s go! I’m hungry!”

“Alright, kiddo,” Shanks says. He takes his phone back with a wink, tucking it into his pocket. “But don’t you wanna say bye to Ace first?”

Luffy’s eyes widen. He rushes forward, wrapping his arms around Ace’s hips. “Bye, Ace! I’ll miss you!”

Ace puts his hand atop Luffy’s head. “Bye, squirt. I’ll see you soon. Stay out of trouble.”

“Nu–uh!”

Shanks takes Luffy’s hand when it’s extended toward him, then looks back at Ace. His smile pulls at the scar on his lip. “Bye, Ace,” he mirrors. “I’ll miss you!”

Heart stuttering, Ace scoffs, though the effect is weakened by the reddening of his face. “You’ll see me soon, too.”

“I’ll call you sooner,” Shanks returns. “Come on, Luffy. Spaghetti for dinner.”

“Yes!” Luffy runs toward the door, almost toppling poor Makino over. “Come on, Dad! Spaghetti!”

Shanks, grinning, shrugs at Ace. “Spaghetti,” he echoes, then follows in Luffy’s footsteps, disappearing from sight.

As soon as he’s gone, Ace sits on the side of the ballpit, knees weak. He feels like he's just gotten off a rollercoaster, and he must look it, if the way Makino is giggling is any indication.

"So,” she starts, a hand to her mouth. “Got any nice weekend plans?”

“Not another word, Makino. Not another word.”

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[noodles-and-tea]

Continuation of this

[hhhhunty]

How funny that she never considered that.

[yeoldenews]

A selection of strange and cryptic personal ads from The New York Herald, 1860s to 1890s. 14/?

[cracklewink]

Harmony Syndrome Part 5/5

The last chapter of my mlp infection AU! Thank you to everyone who followed along. Some final thoughts on my twitter @cracklewink if anyone's interested : )

[somanywhatifs]

[bacchuschucklefuck]

they tried to rebrand as The Criminals but riz is literally the city council's treasurer and also turns out people in their late 20s don't really name their friend groups. so now they're The Intrepid Heroes

[jomeimei421]

Felt a bit nostalgic watching RT shut down…Here are the og faves again for old times sake 💙

[vagueconfusion]

Feeling real ridiculous for not having realized that Baron's "stark father" was the Nightmare King until now

[a-dope-fiend]

It irritates me alot when people say that making medic more compassionate is ''missing the point of his character'' when he is literally shown to be in the comics.... did you miss the part where he showed concern for both sniper and miss pauling's well being in comic 5 and 6.

His actions are a combination of genuine attachment + clinical interest and these things do not cancel out one another. He is always pushing boundaries and going against the grain and i think this is what led to him losing his license in the first place. He felt stifled by the rules imposed on him.

He is shown to be extremely passionate so it makes sense that he would use his endless fascination with medicine as a way to show his affection. He loves his friends so he will find a way to make them borderline indestructible. Malpractice is his love language.

[help-itrappedmyself]

Dead on Main AU

Masterpost

Guys, I'm so sorry. But here's this!

~~~~

Danny blinks and he is somewhere else. He’s sitting at a dining room table, surrounded. There are so many people here. They’re all talking over each other, some yelling, some laughing. This scene comes as a great surprise to him, who -one blink ago- was trying and failing to do his homework at home in his room. Danny shoots up, his chair making a horrible noise as he pushes it away so fast it tumbles over. Everyone in the room turns to look over at him like he’s insane. 

“Oh my god, who are you people?” Danny did not mean to say this out loud, but at the sound of his voice he startles. Danny takes a moment to assess, and then, “Oh my god who am I?”  He is tall, and big, and this is certainly not his body, what is he wearing.

The boy sitting to the right of Danny, a little shorter than he is, with black hair and blue eyes (though now that he’s paying attention that does describe most people in the room),  starts chuckling lightly. “Uh, Jason? Are you good?” 

Danny turns to stare him right in the eyes. “What day is it?”

And he can tell the concern around the table is just ratcheting up every time he opens his stupid mouth.

“Did you hit your head on patrol?” The voice comes from the only blond and one of the only girls in the room, who's to the left of the person across from him. The person across from him is another boy with black hair and blue eyes who is studying Danny in a way that makes him uncomfortable, that under-a-microscope look that makes you feel like you’re failing at something.

“I have no idea if Jason hit his head.” Danny says. “I was just trying to remember if it was my birthday.”

And if he thought the room was busy when he first arrived here it is absolute pandemonium now. Everyone starts shouting and asking questions that he can’t even hear over the shouting. Someone with white hair in a suit just came through a door he didn’t even see earlier to stand by the only person not shouting, who -Danny would guess- is the only other adult in this room, witting at the head of the table. He also has black hair and blue eyes, and where almost everyone else’s reaction was panic, he froze instead. The person across from Danny also isn’t shouting, but the person next to Danny on his right has now fully stood up and looks like he might actually jump across the table to win the argument he ended up in. 

“Are you Jason’s soulmate?” is the main gist of the shouting that Danny can interpret but he’s more concerned with actual Jason at the moment. If they switched bodies... Then Jason might be in trouble…

“Hey, I forget, how long is this body swap supposed to last again?” Danny asks.

“Until you and Jason have physical contact. You have to actually meet.” The boy sitting across from him explains. He seems like one of the only ones that heard Danny talk, everyone else was still shouting. 

“Oh, that just seems terrible. What if we’re in different countries or something?” Danny complained. “Everyone in the world is just supposed to be able to drop everything and afford to fly across the world. The universe is really trying to screw people over now. Honestly, am I in a different country? Where even are we right now?”

“You’re in Gotham.” This voice was new, coming from the head of the table to Danny’s right. 

“Oh no. Nope.” Danny started backing away from the table, almost tripping on his overturned chair. “Absolutely not, no, how do I get out of here?” He starts earnestly looking for a door to get out of this place, but there are three doors he can see and he has no idea where any of them go, and doesn’t this room have any windows? What kind of a room doesn’t have any windows? Do they like to eat in a basement?

“Jason- not Jason. Uh, you need to calm down, everything will be fine alright, We’ll get you and Jason introduced no problem.” Danny swivels to track the voice and it’s the one who was sitting next to him, he’s walking towards him with his hands up and out in front of him. 

“I have to get home.” Danny breathes. 

“We can get you there, promise. Now, I’m Dick, can you tell me your name?”

“Your name is Dick? Who named you Dick?” Danny is so confused he’s stopped panicking. “How old are you for you to go by the name Dick?”

“Okay, rude.” Dick sounds like a petulant child so Danny’s estimations for his age are continuously dropping. “I’m 24.”

Danny snorts. “Okay.” The blond girl starts laughing over at the table. “I’m uh, I’m Danny.”

“Nice to meet you. Sort of. I’m Tim.” The guy from across from him had made it over to stand next to Dick. “There’s a lot of us here today so the one laughing like a hyena is Steph. That one there is Duke.” African-American, still with black hair but he has brown eyes and waves once introduced. “Damian is the short one next to him, and Cass was sitting across from Dick earlier. Our dad, Jason’s dad-” 

“Not my dad!” Steph interrupted. Tim waves her off.

“Everyone but Steph's dad, is over there, Bruce. Alfred, our butler is the one next to him.” Alfred gives a slight nod to his head. Bruce is just staring at him.

“So, names out of the way. You said you wanted to go home, where do you live?”

“Amity Park.”

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[lucabyte]

A belief in Nominative Determinsim

[stealingyourbones]

Never will I stop with the steadfast notion that folks in the DPXDC fandom should interact with at least some form of canon DC media.

There are comics, tv shows, radio dramas both old and new, podcasts, movies, magazines, so much shit that intentionally avoiding the media is simply preventing yourself from spawning new ideas and gaining a new appreciation for a fandom that you’re already in.

The Superman Radio Show has episodes 11 minutes long. A lot of the TV shows don’t have episodes that surpass 30 minutes and most are nearly fully clipped on the official DC YouTube channel. The amount of fan made motion comics is astounding. The amount of fanmade animations is equally as incredible.

[teethlordd]

There are worms in my head