#calms the storms

[wisedreamerreview]

In That, There Is Peace

While the time spent yesterday at the mountain was amazing, the evening sure changed for polar different. After getting back home from South Mountain my son and I settled in our perspective spots and watched the race on television. After it was over my son decided to go hang out with friends at a family swimming pool. I had been invited to join them but all that hiking had me simply wanting to…

[dwuerch-blog]

Cruising with Jesus

Speaking from experience today. Embarking on a cruise with the love of your life offers sunsets, sea breezes, and an all-you-can-eat buffet. Now, imagine if this weren’t just a sea journey but a spiritual voyage with Jesus as your captain. Welcome to “Cruising with Jesus,” a journey as transformative as the destination, led by the Captain who famously walked on water. Setting sail brings a mix…

[pikavani]

Feeling strangely calm before the new TADC episode this evening...

Please enjoy Kinger playing the ukulele~

[seaofdaydreams]

Slumber party 💅✨

[theoldkyokodied]

Aaaaand more very quick stream doodles. This one shot was so fun to watch, it’s so sad that it had to end already. But oh well, let’s not dwell on that and let’s enjoy the good time we had, like disguised tiefling gale being both Karlachs and astarions type, wyll and gale having a spa day, bing bong in general (rip king, you will be missed), and of course the 8 strength fight for magic items <3 thanks to the cast for the chaos, I enjoyed it thoroughly

[euphorictruths]

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

What if instead of threatening to take Ford's eyes, Bill just took Fiddleford's?

Tate still remembered the night his father's sight was taken from him.

"What have you done to me, Stanford?"

He felt the storm coming even before the first lightning struck. From the very moment he opened his eyes that morning until the very moment he lay back down to bed, he could feel a vicious tension brewing in the otherwise serene household.

Storms were very uncommon at Tate's house, and on the rare occasions they did arrive, they never stayed for long.

Yet, after a quiet breakfast full of anxious, unmet glances and clattering cutlery that rang far too loudly in the silence of the table, he knew that this storm was going to be unlike any other storm he'd witnessed before.

A prickling, disquieting static seemed to have made itself at home underneath his skin, that day. It had made every hair on his body stand on end, and an odd stinging sensation to dance across his spine and tongue; an uncomfortable urge to duck and take cover low on the ground nearly overwhelming his every sense. It was like waiting for the shattering thunderclap to sound after the sky turned white with a blinding flash of light. He knew what was coming, and the anticipation was unbearable.

His mother and father had acted as though nothing was wrong; as though they didn't feel the looming presence of the darkening clouds growing like a murky gray forest on the ceiling.

He hadn't been able to fathom at the time how adults could seem so all-knowing, and yet simultaneously be so utterly clueless about the very obvious happenings that surrounded them. Now, though, he just found it strange how adults often tend to assume children don't feel the stifling weight that they hung around themselves; as if children didn't breathe the same bitter choked air as their parents did. It wasn't even as though they did a very good job at pretending; his parents always were terrible liars.

When the lightning finally struck, it set the house ablaze.

He heard the thunder from his room, and felt the crackling heat crawl up the stairs and seep through the gap beneath his door. He'd laid in his bed, hand clasped nervously across his chest and looking up at his room's cloudy, weeping ceiling as a cacophonic explosion of noises came bursting from the living room downstairs. The fight had erupted with such unprecedented force that in Tate's young mind, he'd felt genuine fear of the house collapsing atop them all from the sheer force of the yelling.

The smell of burnt tongues gently wafted through the air, and Tate briefly wondered if it hurt his parents when they scorched their mouths with such scalding words just as much as it hurt for him to hear it.

It was a big fight; a terrible, big fight; so loud, and so very angry, and helpless, and desperate, and betrayed, and sad.

The back and forth screeching seemed endless, and eventually the screaming words began to muddle and merge into one another until they hardly even sounded human anymore. Suddenly there were animals wailing in the living room downstairs, and Tate could do nothing but listen helplessly and grip his interlocked fingers tighter; hoping that if he stayed still enough, then the growling beasts that were shattering plates downstairs wouldn't come upstairs.

But then,

then,

something changed.

The shift was all too sudden; too abrupt; too quick even for the usually sharp witted child to catch on, and before he knew it, the screams of anger suddenly shifted into one of pure, unadulterated horror.

"Fiddleford, your eyes- good lord, your eyes! Let me look at them!" "Don't touch me! I- I must call Stanford, he's done something to me. Him and that demon, they've cursed me." "For Heaven's sake! Please, forget about that damned Stanford of yours for one moment and listen to yourself! My husband's gone mad, mad!"

And suddenly his parents were human again.

Tate was restless in his bed as his heart seemed to beat bruises against his ribs, his sweaty fingers digging crescent shaped grooves into his skin as fear enclosed its frigid claws around his throat in a vice-like grip. He couldn't breathe.

The storm was over, and it should have reassured him, and yet he was anything but.

Curiosity and fear had been what forced him to kick the sheets off himself and creep his way down the rickety wooden steps. He had to know what happened, he had to know what damage the storm had caused, he had to know.

His steps were far from quiet, and the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet hardly did him any favors, but no one answered the calls of the squeaking wood. No one came peeking out from the living room to stop the obviously sneaking presence that was tip toeing through the halls; No one called out to check on their little child; all was silent, and calm, except for his mother's soft sobbing coming from the kitchen.

When Tate eventually found his father, he saw

devastation.

The storm had been merciless. It had left nothing behind but a shuddering husk of a man. His father was shaking like a leaf, shoulders tense and back hunched over as though bowed by an incredible burden. The telephone receiver was held in his hand like a lifeline; as if it was the only thing in the world that was keeping him tethered to sanity, and somehow, Tate didn't doubt that it was.

Curled up on the floor in the dark, muttering and trembling, he dared say his father looked... small.

It almost felt surreal to see his father in such a state, like witnessing a God collapse, or a star's light dim to nothingness. His father had always been a solid, permanent pillar sho seemed able to hold up the whole world on his shoulders, and still stand tall and proud despite the weight.

And yet, the crumbling remains of a once impermeable monolith now lay scattered across the hallway floor and splattered across the walls.

The sight had scared him.

At the time, Tate hadn't known what had happened. Even to this day, he still wasn't too sure he understood what exactly had taken place in that living room for his father to have so sudddenly gone from seeing to blind in the matter of seconds.

His mother had tried, in vain, to explain it to him later, to try and make him understand when he was eventually old enough to hear the gruesome tale; but still, he struggled to fully wrap his head around it.

"It was as though his eyes just sunk into his skull," his mother had recounted to him with a haunted look in her eyes. "They suddenly just vanished into the empty sockets of his face, like someone pulled them out from inside his head. There was no blood, no resistance, no tearing. It was as if his eyes were simply plucked out of sight by some invisible hand."

There had been blood on the walls when he had found father back then, a long trail of gorey wet red smeared all across the lovely yellow wallpaper. He realized only now, recalling the memory, that the blood back then had not been from his father's eyes, but from the deep gouges he had dug into his face with his nails, his searching fingers desperately looking for eyes that weren't there beneath his empty eyelids.

"What have you done to me, Stanford?"

Tate had never heard his father's voice sound so raw, so afraid. It was so unlike the familiar comforting drawl he'd grown to love and recognize, it almost sounded alien, coming from his father.

"I can't see, Stanford, I can't- my eyes, they're gone. Why are they gone? What have you done?" "Answer me, damnit, what have you done?"

His father never got his answer, because whoever was on the other side of the line soon hung up, and his father was suddenly left blind and alone.

[cutetanuki-chan]

I have this unfinished art with griddlehark after the pool scene

I like the angle but I also hate drawing backgrounds

[screechingfromthevoid]

Dorian's "I want nothing more" during his confession gets to me because yeah it's him not pushing Orym into anything sexual that neither of them are quite ready for.

But also if you listen to the little bit of longing in his voice. It sounds like "I want nothing more in this life than to hold you. I've wanted to hold you for so long." It feels very akin to his "oh Orym my heart aches that I cannot be there to help you" where you can hear the yearning in his voice. You can hear how much he's wanted to have Orym in his arms. How much he wants Orym in his arms.

Idk I think that's neat

[bluerosefox]

One in the Same

Hmmmm

Hmmmmm

So we know during the time Tim lost in spleen (his Red Robin run) and wakes ups next to the pit he almost believed he had been tossed in the Lazarus Pits.

What if

Now hear me out.

What if he actually was.

But what if instead of gaining Pit Madness, he unlocked his past life memories.

His memories of being Daniel 'Danny' Fenton and Danny Phantom.

And once the memories returned so did his ghost form and powers.

And as Tim sits at the bottom of the pits, crossing his legs and letting all his memories slide back into place he questioned what to do now. He pondered for a moment and hummed tapping a finger to his chin.

Maybe he'll play the Pit Madness card? After all Ra's chucked him in here to either turn him into a mindless rage machine he could manipulate or see what the Pits would do to a mind like Tim's. Or Tim could pretend to be a silent rage, a calm before the storm.

Well, Tim grinned his eyes glowing green as he stared at the surface of the Lazarus waters above him, he was very good at lying this life time around. After all he was Tim 'I can even lie to Batman and get away with it' Drake-Wayne and he did used to be Danny 'Commit to the bit' Fenton/Phantom.

He was going to have fun playing that fruitloop named Ra's like the cheap kazoo he was.

[wisedreamerreview]

In The Storms

Good morning all. As usual here I sit, a calm beginning to a day. This morning the sun is shining brightly in a clear blue sky. The winds are calm, even as the outside temperature is on the cool side. I can see the leaves are still saturated and anything outside that would hold water is full. We are being notified, warned actually that round two is coming later in the week. While yesterday is…

[raileurta]

It's so funny to watch people go about their tasks normally not knowing the complete shit storm that Etho & Grian are creating.

[chippuyon]

a love letter to episode 9

[wigglebox]

Suptober - Day 4 | Birthday

[beloveu]

"I told him it was time to drink nog until we couldn't remember what a Krampus was." "It can be hard sometimes to find a moment to celebrate when you're lost in the cold... but it's easier with new gloves."