#casual headcanon

[demigods-posts]

headcanon that annabeth once spilled sauce on her shirt during lunch. and proceeded to remove said article of clothing before wordlessly stripping percy of the shirt off his back and wore it for the duration of the meal. and from that point foreward. anytime annabeth needs a shirt. she'll look at percy. and he'll sigh in defeat.

[the-storyteller78]

I fully think Odysseus expects to never see Athena again after he turns down her offer. Yes, it’s clear she’s changed—the Athena he knew would never say something so sentimental—but he’s familiar with her nature. She won’t be back now that he has no use to her.

I also fully think that Athena would absolutely rock back down to Ithaca after a week of letting the family reunite (she’s taking this empathy thing seriously, guys) and just be chilling at the breakfast table in the morning. Just visiting. No biggie.

(This becomes a regular thing.)

[starry-bi-sky]

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.

[gojostan-doodles]

Sebastian has experience in the mines, he would DEFINITELY help you get resources!!

It's so funny too, cause sometimes he's like "Hey, I couldn't sleep last night so I took a walk in the mines. I found this gem... you want it?"

HOW FAR DOWN DID YOU EVEN GO TO GET THAT?? Good for him honestly. Go emo boy, go!

[cobaltfluff]

competitive aquarium date

bonus: the night before

[hey-heigo]

happy pride month

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Overindulgent father Astarion who tells his children they’re allergic to any kind of jewellery that isn’t made of the highest grade Dwarven crafted gold. 

It’s not even because Astarion might have a certain aversion to silver, no, he just raises his children to have standards, thank you very much. 

And it doesn’t end with shiny things, oh no… 

The Ancunín brood is known to be dressed in perfectly woven cotton, silk and soft leather clothes, no matter the occasion.

They’re seen playing with expensive toys, reading artfully illustrated books that certainly belong behind thick glass, not in children’s sticky hands. 

There’s even talk that one of the children is not as naturally inclined to music as his parents claim him to be, surely his lyre must be enchanted—the instrument certainly looks extravagant enough! 

And then there’s always this air of effortless haughtiness surrounding the Ancunín children whenever their nannies and servants are parading them through town as if they were perfect little dolls; objects to show off the wealth their parents acquired in quite the mysterious ways. 

So, it’s no secret that Astarion and Tav are pampering their children—some might say they’re even spoiling them rotten. 

And maybe they are, especially Astarion.

But he doesn’t see why he should raise them any other way, nor does he want to.  

When it comes to his children, Astarion has his own standards, and as long as Tav agrees with him nothing really matters. 

Because, these people, they don’t know anything about the Ancuníns. 

They don’t know that it’s not unusual for Astarion to wash out dirt and mud and strawberry stains from comically small finery, leaving behind only the memories of a day spent playing in the garden, chasing after ducks, picking flowers, lazing in the sun…

That any holes and tears the children’s clothes might suffer are quickly mended, making them look as good as new in no time. 

Nor do they know that Astarion doesn’t mind fashioning a brand new dress to match that of a favourite doll, either. Or to embroider a pretty vest with the likeness of that stray cat the children seem to adore, although their father would rather they don’t touch the mangy animal. 

No, those people know nothing at all...

“Not tired!” Astarion’s youngest cries; the vehement denial of her father’s earlier accusation is cut short by a telltale yawn.

The room still smells of fragrant lavender oil and peaches even when the bath water has already grown tepid, just one or two degrees above what Astarion would consider too cold to be enjoyable. 

Amused, he raises an eyebrow at the protesting toddler before he lifts her out of the copper bathtub with little effort. 

By now, he knows every step of this game.

“Tut-tut, my dear child, what did mama and I say?” Astarion kneels, quickly wrapping a soft towel around the child to keep her warm. “We only tell lies outside of this house.”

Unfazed by her father’s gentle scolding, the girl crosses her arms that haven’t yet lost their puppy fat across her chest, reminding Astarion a little too much of a very displeased Tav. 

Suppressing a sigh, he leans back to consider the pouting child, wondering what could possibly be upsetting her this time—the list is growing longer by the day, after all. 

“What’s the matter, dear?” Astarion asks gently, hoping it’s something easily fixable as it’s growing rather late. 

“Want apple!”

Decades ago, Astarion might’ve rolled his eyes—he knows exactly which stupid apple the child wants, it’s been haunting him all day—but once he started to treat his children’s problems as if they were his own, his life has grown somewhat easier. 

“Why, let’s get an apple on our way to bed, then. Would that be alright, Your Highness?” 

The girl promptly nods her head, allowing Astarion to pat her hair dry before dressing her in a clean night dress. 

She rests her cheek against her father’s shoulder as he carries her first to the kitchen to grab a fragrant apple and a knife, then to her bedroom where they settle on the cosy window seat, just like they do every night.

Soft moonlight is pouring through the windows; the child giggles at the way the knife’s blade is catching the silver light as Astarion peels and cuts the apple into even pieces.

“Here you go,” he finally says, giving the slice of apple one last examining look before surrendering it to the impatient little hands reaching for it. “A sweet treat for my little sweet. Doesn’t it taste so much better when we don’t eat it off the floor, darling?” And when it’s not crawling with ants…

The appeased toddler nibbles at the juicy fruit as Astarion carefully combs through her still-damp curls. 

Her hair’s getting long, he notices, knowing that taking care of it will become more time-consuming each day. 

Once, Astarion would’ve thought this task tedious, brushing out hair that’s not his own, oiling and braiding it for no other reason than knowing his children enjoy him doing it. 

But that’s why he loves doing it in the first place, he supposes.

Astarion can tell by his toddler’s heartbeat that sleep is about to claim her. 

The half-eaten slice of apple is still clutched in her little fist as he cradles the child to his chest, slowly rising from the window seat to put her to bed. 

He’s just about to lay the child down that the fruit drops to the floor, his daughter’s tiny hand clutching at his shirt instead.

“Thank you, papa,” she mumbles, more asleep than awake.

Astarion pauses.

He breathes in the clean, yet unique scent of the little girl that is forever engraved in his brain, the same way he knows under which exact constellation she was born. When she took her first steps, what her first word was. Soon, he will have to memorise her favourite colour, and what she likes to eat when dirty apples won’t be that appealing anymore. 

By now, Astarion knows this game by heart, knows that with every year that passes, he has something new to learn about his children.

And sometimes he wonders what it’s like to grow up with clean bed sheets and full bellies. Sleep filled with naught but warmth and happy memories. Ever open doors and tears that are dried by tender kisses. Living in a house where mistakes and anger are welcomed, safe. 

He wonders what it’s like for his children to know that their father’s love comes without conditions. Not now and not ever. 

Sitting down on the bed, Astarion holds his youngest a little closer to his chest, unwilling to let go of her, yet. 

He’s often accused of spoiling his children when most people can only just grasp the very surface of his love for them, the bare minimum of what he feels for his one and only, precious family. 

These baseless accusations are as unimportant to Astarion as the people voicing them.

He’s raising his children to have standards, wants them to take their father’s love for granted, to accept nothing less but pure devotion.

It’s the only way Astarion knows how to love them, the only way that comes most naturally to him. 

Astarion looks down at his little girl, now fast asleep, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. 

After all these years—all these children—he’s still in awe watching them sleep in his arms as if no harm in the world could ever befall them.

And it won’t—not if Astarion can help it. 

“No, thank you, my heart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the crown of the toddler’s head. 

When it comes to his children, Astarion holds himself to the highest standard.

[bitchapalooza]

Before Zosan got together, Sanji would watch Zoro get flirted with pretty obviously at the bars the whole crew would stop at. Either Zoro would give in to the flirting for the free drinks or he'd slink off with the guy for a while up to whatever they were up to, but no matter what Sanji would be feeling this cocktail of emotions he couldn't identify. Seething in his seat at the guy hogging all of Zoro's attention and didn't understand why (yet).

Then like 3 years into their relationship, Sanji shoots up in bed and shouts "I WAS JEALOUS" and Zoro is groggily like "you hwha?" But Sanji can't talk right now, he's kind of having a crisis right now realizing he liked Zoro much earlier than he thought he originally did.

[here-comes-the-moose]

Echo would 1000% drop the craziest lore in the middle of dinner with the batch and then just ask them to pass the peas and continue on like nothing happened, meanwhile the batch is like “you did what????”

[macncherries]

no one gets it. this is waht autism does to a mf. welcome to macncherries schizo-posting :(

[demigods-posts]

that moment in tlh when annabeth has an exact timestamp down to the second for just how long she'd been looking for percy makes me wonder if she always has an internal clock for everything. and like. this is further reinforced when she's timed percy's morning routine with a minute to spare in cotg. or in tlt!book when she used physics to calculate the best time to jump off the boat in the thrill ride of love. call it "scheduling" and "time management" if you wanna. all i'm saying is owls have an internal biological clock and it isn't improbable to assume annabeth inherited that trait from her mother, the patron of owls herself.

[foulwitchknight]

A!Eddie and O!Steve has been hooking up for months. Steve had been in love with Eddie from the start and is hoping that it’ll turn into an official courtship. He’s aware that Eddie’s feelings aren’t as deep and that he’s probably just something for Eddie to brag about to his friends but he can’t help but hope things would change. He thinks it has when Eddie starts being sweeter towards him and invites him to hang out that weekend seeming to imply it would be a date. Saturday comes around and they end up going straight back to Eddie’s trailer which is one of the places they hook up the most. Steve heartbroken tells off Eddie then heads home on foot. Eddie follows in his van but Steve refuses to talk to him or get in. He slams the door as soon as he gets home and cries himself to sleep. The next day he’s at the Family Video being consoled by Robin when Eddie marches in, stands on the counter and declares his feelings for Steve to the entire store. He then turns around and asks Steve to officially court, presenting his gift just like a knight would to his lady. Steve scrambles on top of the counter too so he can give the Alpha a kiss to accept.

[spiralling-voids]

I really love headcanons about Gerry being transmasc just because of the implications.

Like

Mary Keay, horrible person, horrible mother.

Gerry had to come out to her

she fully supports her trans child

doesn't misgender or deadname him

puts a him through the Horrors™ instead of a daughter, that's fine

Like it's so funny to me. Yes, she's horrible and abusive but don't even think she could be transphobic. Imagine someone misgenders her son on purpose. Can you imagine how terrifying that would be. She's controlling and trying to make "her Gerard" exactly the kind of heir she wants, but gender is not one of the things to be controlled, that's fine, as long as he carries on with their family legacy.

Plus even aside from transmasc Gerry headcanons she's also really supportive of his hobby and paintings like any mother and that's actually super funny now that I think about it. Just. Yeah she's messed up in so many interesting ways

[the-awful-falafel]

The Peppino dominance hierarchy

[lanawinterscigarettes]

house has low empathy autism and wilson has high empathy autism and that's where the majority of their differences come from. neither can imagine why the other thinks the way they do and both think their reasoning is superior to the others

[lunacias]

001: first shift