#could be a different song
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if i woke up in taylor swift's body id tweet out "watching hetalia! it's SOOO funny" and turn my phone off
#i would then quickly compose a song clearly about germany and italy hetalia and drop it#yeah i could do it in a day. ill get chatgpt to do it her fans will not notice the difference
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Excerpt from The Song of Roland, translated by Norma Lorre Goodrich (Medieval Myths)
#THIS HAS BEEN A PET PROJECT. I FUCKING LOVE THE SONG OF ROLLAND#song of roland#clay does art#so. okay bear with me#the song of Roland / chanson de rollanz was an epic poem written in the 11th century about the real battle of Roncevaux Pass in#the 8th century.#so 11th c ? we are smack in those middle ages#and its old copies were recorded as illuminated manuscripts#yet! it is technically an epic!! its an epic poem!!!! I don’t believe there were many written between Roland and the Aeneid (19 BCE)#in the west?#so like . WILD COMEBACK!!#this comic (?) is me playing with this idea of both muddling and clarifying the reality (8th c. real battle. he died.)#with the context of the poem (11th c. chivalric code. this was the hamilton of the time I must assume)#the translation from old french (flows better in modern English than it does in modern french apparently?)#and me. making it a scrolling comic. inspiration from real armor of the 8th century#although 11th c manuscripts armor them like they’re contemporary#I did hand lettering! as a manuscript would be!!#but my composition is wildly different than theirs#I could go on ! but I shant. ty for reading#no id#< I do not. know how . I would do this one#long post#kinda
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Fabian Seacaster, Maximum Legend that you are
#My art#alternate titles include “the only my-own-his-darling-man-boy in the whole world” and “sir tap shoes are NOT a practice piece of casual wea#Anyways I love him. He’s so fun to draw actually he’s so pretty#I tried to keep him looking a bit like Lou with the nose and mouth but I’ve always pictured him with a much softer face? Than he’s usually-#-portrayed? At least in all the official art. Idk I think it’s because he’s a half-elf but it might just be vibes#also I tried giving him arm and chest hair but it looked wrong. He’d probably wax anyway#anyways this is sorta inspired by the cover art of Leon Bridges’ “Gold Diggers Sound” album#Ironically enough I was listening to a Leon Bridges song from a different album the whole time I was drawing it#fabian aramais seacaster#fabian seacaster#fabian seacaster fanart#fantasy high#fantasy high art#d20 fantasy high#dimension 20 fantasy high#fantasy high fanart#fantasy high junior year#fhjr#d20#d20 fanart#d20 fhjy#d20 art#dimension 20#intrepid heroes#lou wilson#I had SO much fun doing the patterns for this as well!!!#The sheet had one originally too but it looked too busy with the shines as well#But for the shirt I used the radial symmetry tool: I included a sword some waves and a music note if you can find them all!#and for the pants I just fiddled with a squiggly line until it lines up so I could repeat it then I just copied the layer flipped back and-#-forth till I got a whole pattern
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television drastically shortening the amount of episodes for shows really is ruining what would otherwise be Good stories because i feel like most of the complaints this new season of doctor who is receiving are due to things that could've been fixed by articulation and lengthier build-up
#doctor who#fifteenth doctor#if thirteen and fifteen were given the same amount of actual time the other doctors had i'm sure people would be singing a different song#but i get that that's also to be expected. like most people aren't going to like something based on what COULD be there#they just take things at face value and the face value is that 8 episodes is almost invariably not enough for a season of tv
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you can't stop me lovin' myself ♡ for @kimtaegis
#userbangtan#usersky#annietrack#heyryen#userkelli#usermaggie#useremmeline#userpat#tuserandi#raplineuser#usersolis#useryoonqiful#usermizuoka#userines#nuggettracks#rjshope#dailybts#mine!#park jimin#btsedit#btsgif#bg images from freepik <3#OKAY all of that is out of the way!#HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEET ANNIE!!!!!!!!#i really made like 4 different things and kept changing my mind because nothing was good enough for you :(#i knew that i wanted to make something from idol though because i know that that's the one song you wish you could see live!#since i can't bring bangtan together for a concert and take you to it right now i thought i would make you this#since jimin slayed this dance intro to pieces#anyway. i'll write you something more personal in your messages but i love you soooooo much thank you for being born#& for being one of the kindest souls on the whole planet
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Pt. 3
Again, the timing is icky but pretty much everything about it is icky.
——
Bruce wondered when Talia al Ghul would stop upheaving his life.
He loves Damian, but one surprise child was a lot, considering the cult deprogramming they’d had to do.
A second, older, surprise child? That was a bit overkill.
At least this time, the conception was consensual.
Bruce cradled his head in his hands, still-gloved fingers gripping onto sweat-soaked hair. The glow of the bat computer shone on his lone figure, sat huddled before endless screens of investigations and the unraveling threads of Bruce’s sanity.
How was he to cope with the knowledge that a child- his child, like Dick and Damian and Tim and Jason and- suffered so at the man he thought he had beaten so soundly?
It was his fault, Bruce thought, that Ra’s al Ghul tortured his… Bruce’s… daughter so brutally. It was no doubt, a way to assuage his anger at Bruce’s denial of being his heir.
His mistakes always came back to haunt him, but it never laid its furious eyes and hands on his own person. No, when Bruce made mistakes, his loved ones paid for it.
He tried his best, pushed harder as Batman, in penance. But this… his unknown daughter, trapped in the shadows of the league where it is cold and cruel and brutally painful…
How could he repent for the sin of letting his daughter suffer and chained at the hands of Ra’s al Ghul? How could he show her that the shadows could be kind? That he would rather break his own spine and get lost in the time stream again before he could even fathom hurting her? He found himself stuck in the same loop of thoughts that plagued him when Damian first came into his orbit.
The screens turned black, and Oracle’s call sign flashed onto the dark pixels.
“Oracle. I hadn’t finished looking at the cases.”
“Go to sleep, Bruce.”
“No, there is still work to be-” his voice, dipping into the growl, died a quick death when Barbara cut him off.
“Your daughter is coming tomorrow. So, unless you want to look like a disheveled grease racoon when you meet her, go shower and get some actual sleep.”
Bruce paused, feeling oddly offended. His eye bags weren’t that bad.
Bruce caught sight of his reflection in one of the blacked out monitors.
…Nevermind.
He sighed. “…Thank you, Barbara.”
“Anytime, Bruce. I’m always here to kick your ass into gear.”
Bruce huffed, but obligingly got up to change and shower. Alfred silently appeared at the elevators, polished shoes tapping against the stone floor as he raised an imperious eyebrow at Bruce.
“I see Miss Barbara has managed to persuade you to retire at an hour common to regular man, Master Bruce.”
“Ah, yes, she… did.” Bruce felt the urge to apologize, because if Alfred’s up because of him, it’ll wear down harsher on the older man’s health. If there was one thing he took seriously, it would be the health of his loved ones. “Sorry, Alfred. I’ll head up to bed soon.”
“See to it that you do, Master Bruce. I will warm dinner that you had missed by many hours and bring it to your room.”
Bruce lingered as the butler turned around and began making his way back to the main house.
Alfred paused and turned around once more. “If I may offer you some advice?”
“Please. Always.”
Alfred sniffed delicately, most definitely thinking of the times Bruce decided not to take his very well reasoned and seasoned advice. “You have done well with Young Master Damian.”
“Most of that was Dick,” Bruce interrupted, man enough to admit that he wasn’t a present or a particularly good father figure before his jaunt through time and space. Alfred shot him a chiding look, reprimanding him for interrupting. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
“Perhaps, but you have put in effort towards all of your children in a way that I have yet to see since Master Jason had… gone.”
“I’ll never make that period of time up to Tim.” Bruce whispered. Another thing he was guilty of. Tim still avoided some spaces in the manor, even when Bruce had-
“That is because you sit here, wallowing in your guilt,” Alfred returned. He added a belated “Master Bruce,” and it sounded like ‘you utter buffoon.’
“But…”
“You must take the first step, Master Bruce.”
“What if she hates me? What if I’m not ready- what if I can’t help her?”
“You will try. She deserves that, at the very least. You must try. Even if you are not ready for the day, Master Bruce, it can not always be night.”
“… You’re right.” Bruce straightened his shoulders. Time doesn’t wait. He, of all people, knew that.
“You will find that I am hardly ever wrong.” Alfred primly rested his hands atop each other.
“Thank you, Alfred.”
“Of course. It was also meant literally, Master Bruce, for the sun shall try its best to peek out of Gotham’s smog in approximately three hours and fourteen minutes.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” Bruce grouched.
——
Her mother gave her a slow, cautious hug, akin to approaching a wild animal.
She huffed, and pulled her mother into a crushing hug. She allowed herself, for the first time in a long time, to linger and cling onto her mother’s shirt. Another tendency that Ra’s had thought he’d beaten out of her.
“Be careful,” the reincarnation whispered.
“You as well, my beloved daughter.”
‘You do not have to remind me that I am beloved, mother. I know.’
Talia al Ghul tucked a strand of the reincarnation’s curled hair behind her ear. “No, I do not believe that you do. But that is… my own fault. I will tell you and remind you that you are beloved to me as long as I can. I have two decades of it to make up to you, habibti.”
The flight attendant- a League operative- returned from placing her bags onto the private plane.
——
A sleek car made its way up Wayne Manor’s winding driveway. She’d declined the offer to pick her up from the airport. She had wanted a vehicle of her own, and some time before she met every one else. No doubt, knowing what she knew of her brother and Bruce Wayne, not to mention the little photographer, they were most likely tracing her path to Wayne manor obsessively.
She tapped her nails on the wheel as she drove towards her brother. Brothers. And… Bruce Wayne. On one hand, she’s kept them safe. On the other, she’d sacrificed years of getting to know them. It was odd, to feel this intensely awkward and nervous after years of intense hatred or apathy sprinkled by the the occasional love and fondness for Damian and her mother.
“Hmmm.” She hummed, slight smile spreading a bit more as the sound came out without pain. Two weeks, and the novelty of freedom had not worn off. She thinks that it would never wear off. She cherished it.
The gate had opened without needing a code, so they most definitely knew she was here. It’s a good thing she had prepared gifts in advance. Dodging Gothamites as they drove and jaywalked had been a rather unforeseen ordeal that she was not looking forward to repeating.
She rolled to a smooth stop at the front doors, giving the intricately carved oak doors a passing glance. She huffed a laugh as she saw Damian, flanked by Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth, staring proudly outside at the front door. They’re anticipatory of her arrival. Warmth spread through her heart, and for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t the heat of rage.
She opened the doors with a quiet click and hiss, stepping out onto the heated paved driveway, and closed the door. At the steps, the two older men had frozen but Damian had come walking quickly towards her.
“Damian,” she whispered as he came near her, suffusing as much fondness as she could into his name. Her little brother all but sprinted towards her, screeching to a stop in front of her with excited eyes.
“Welcome to Wayne Manor, ukhti.” He said formally. Her eyes softened and she pulled him into a hug.
(yā waṭawāṭī alṣṣḡīr is the phonetic spelling.) ("وطواطي الصغير" is the actual spelling. I think.)
“I have missed you, ya wat-wat alssgirr,” she whispered. The familiar endearment, “my little bat,” rung warmly like a warm crease ruffling his hair. The silks of her clothes and the ever present warm sand and candle scent wrapped around him like a hug… like the hug she was currently giving him.
(Her clothes were in blues and silvers. It suited her, she who had been forced in green and golds and cuts of black.)
“I still can not believe you all but told me who father was and I still could not figure it out until mother told me.”
She pulled back. ‘Damian, you were five.’
“I have little doubt you were smarter at my age, ukhti, so do not lie to me.” Damian grumbled. Nevertheless, he stepped back.
‘No, you were smarter.’
And to her, he was. It’s not like Damian had the edge she did, and he wasn’t the one trapped for twenty something years. She had foolishly thought that Ra’s wouldn’t dare to harm her too much, seeing as she was his blood, but Damian knew from day 1. She made sure he did. If she was half as smart as Damian, she would have bent her knee and obeyed, no matter how she felt about killing. She would have taken warning Ra’s issued and soaked in the poisonous praise to bide her time to escape. She could not- she did not- do what Damian found effortless, and paid the price for it.
“Unlikely,” Damian said, turning around fully, but she could see the tips of her brother’s ears burning. Ah, perhaps she had been to stingy with compliments if he was shy hearing a mild one, sincere as it might have been. “This is Alfred Pennyworth. He is the butler, and an integral part of the family.”
Damian glanced at her, taking in her suddenly impassive face, and nods. Good. His attitude towards Pennyworth when he first arrived was… mildly shameful. His ukhti was smart enough to know that and therefore he won the argument.
On her part, the reincarnation followed along like she hadn’t mildly stalked this family for decades. It was nice to see excitement rearing on her brother’s face. It was rare in the league and Gotham’s gloom had ironically cheered him up far more than the suns of desserts ever did. She nodded at Alfred Pennyworth, who had admirably recovered from his earlier shock.
“And this is… Bruce Wayne. Our father.”
She tucked a strand of curled hair back, impassive blue eyes meeting her… father’s.
She offered him a short nod.
——
“My word,” Alfred Pennyworth muttered as his charge’s (his son’s) daughter step out of the car. Her steps were silent, graceful, and lighter than a gazelle.
The way she moved, even as she hugged young master Damian, whispered of leashed lethality and treacherous waters. She moved like if grace had a form and Alfred was willing to bet his entire career that not an iota of air got close to her without her knowledge of it, and it reminded the aging man of the young Miss Cassandra. He knew then, that she could have pretended to be unassuming and that he would have had a hard time equating her with danger. That she showed them her potential for death was a sign of trust.
But it was not the way she claimed death as her own name that caught the former spy’s attention.
No.
It was her blue eyes and the way they ever so slightly crinkled fondly as she laid eyes upon her younger brother. It was the way her hair, curled in a nostalgic style, that curtained her face as she spoke to the young Wayne heir, though he could not hear her voice. It was the way that she tucked Damian against her side, protective but encouraging.
It was the way that she, despite Talia al Ghul’s features, resembled his dearest friend, Martha Wayne, in her every movement.
Alfred Pennyworth felt like he was decades younger, standing before Martha as she fondly tucked Bruce against her side and successfully needled Thomas into going to see Bruce’s favorite movie.
It felt like he had his best friend once more, just a little.
From the way Master Bruce stared, it seemed as though he thought the same.
Alfred straightened when young master Damian introduced him. He was the Wayne Family Butler. And she was definitely a Wayne.
Master Bruce stood there like a lout as his daughter greeted him. Alfred shot him a scathing look- he had taught Master Bruce much better manners than to gape, the nerve!- before smoothly directing the attention away. His hands moved as he spoke.
“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss-”
She made a sharp motion to cut him off and signed something. Alfred might be a tad rusty in Arabic sign language (like he and the rest of the family hadn’t spent the last two weeks frantically memorizing and brushing up on their sign language) but he knew a name sign when he saw one.
“al Ghul.” Damian recognized. He did not use regular Arabic Sign Language with her often, vastly preferring their own established sign, but that did not mean he slacked. “You may call her al-Ghul.”
‘Or nothing at all,’ Damian’s sister signed. She looked at him like she was waiting. A test, Alfred realized.
Alfred pushed the slight twinge of disheartening disappointment away. He had wanted to call her Miss Wayne, to perhaps indulge in a bit of nostalgia for a while longer. But he shan’t do it at the expense of his charge.
“Miss al Ghul,” he continued, not missing a beat, imitating the name sign with pin point accuracy. She lifted her chin. Alfred sighed in relief. He passed. And now, perhaps he should revive Ra’s al Ghul and have a nice, entirely civil conversation about Miss al Ghul’s expectation that her wishes would go ignored.
Alfred will bring his shotguns and most likely would abandon pretenses as soon as that old goat got into his crosshairs. Old as he might be, he was still a very good shot, and civility was reserved for those with honor.
“Please head inside. I am sure young master Damian would love to guide you on a tour,” Alfred continued like he didn’t think of violent second deaths for Ra’s al Ghul. “Perhaps Master Bruce will join you, if you are amendable, once he has managed to stop imitating the rather life like form of a smooth brained sloth.”
Alfred congratulated himself on the small crinkle of humor that graced Miss al Ghul’s otherwise expressionless face. Well, expressionless to those that did not know where to look. Fortunately, Alfred and the rest of the family were used to stoic caveman micro expressions, courtesy of Bruce, and therefore it would not be much of a problem.
“I will bring your bags up to your room.”
She scrutinized him and then dipped her head.
‘Be careful. There are dangerous things in there.’
“I assure you the utmost privacy in regards to your belongings,” Alfred said.
“Pennyworth will not peruse your belongings, ukhti. He has more honor and respect than that.”
Alfred would like to interrogate Talia al Ghul to see who he must introduce some lead to, that clearly disrespected Miss al Ghul’s privacy like so. But for now, he will bask in the warmth of young master Damian’s implicit trust.
Miss al Ghul nodded. She opened the trunk of the car- the interior of which Alfred could now perceive to be entirely customized and of extremely quality material. She handed the keys and gave him access to her luggage. Then, placing her hand at young master Damian’s shoulder, followed the young master into the halls where she ought to have been raised. Or, at the very least, ought to have taken a step in at least once before today.
Master Bruce lingered at the doorway, torn between following the siblings and helping Alfred with the luggage (read: running away.)
“The daylight is wasting, Master Bruce.”
Master Bruce skittered in behind them like a newborn colt, wobbling and anxious.
Well, it’s time for Alfred to do his job. There was only a single duffle bag.
Hm. He’ll have to tell Master Bruce to take her out for necessities. He hardly doubted that a single bag could last her very long. And Alfred Pennyworth was hellbent on convincing his granddaughter to stay, may the gods have mercy on whichever poor soul that tried to convince her otherwise for he won’t.
——
She followed Damian as he led her deeper within the walls of a home she knew by heart from afar. She was like the little photographer in that way. Bruce Wayne trailed behind them like a particularly awkward ghoul, and she found it amusing to equate this turtle necked man was the illustrious Dark Knight. How dangerous.
“This is the first parlor. It is for guests of the… regular persuasion.”
Ah, for the civilians. She nodded.
“Ah, the silverware was selected by Alfred.” Bruce interjected, gesturing to the display silverware by the door. Their cabinets were intricate without taking away from the paintings upon the delicate ceramic.
She looked at him, wondering why he was following before giving up and nodding. It was his house.
(Bruce, for his part, felt like his daughter had laid judgement upon him… and found him lacking.)
‘It is… adequate.’ She sighed to Damian. Damian tutted.
“It’s fine to say quaint, sister. It could hardly compare to the palace.”
Bruce jolted, plans for converting the manor into a palace already in the making.
No, he couldn’t. Alfred would murder him with his favorite dish.
‘I like it, even if it is smaller.’
“….you do?”
‘You are happy here. It is warm to you. I like it.’ She repeated.
Damian latched onto her sleeve. “I- I shall show you my art. And then introduce you to the rest of the bumbling fools we have for brothers-”
She tilted her head. Bruce paused as well when Damian’s words cut off.
“If… you want them as brothers. It would be… helpful, to integrate.”
She waited.
“But… I am the first. Your blood. And-”
‘I will make room in my heart for them, if you wish it. I already know some of them.’ She allowed a small smile to show. ‘But that does not mean you will ever lose your place, little bat.’
Damian felt extremely thankful that father had not managed to pick up their version of sign language yet.
“Well… as long as you’re aware.” He marched further into the manor. She followed, once more, a look of fond indulgence gleaming in her eyes.
——
She stood in front of a painting her younger brother had done.
‘I made it two weeks ago,’ he’d told her, fingers curled into her palm.
It was green. She hated green. And gold. And ominous. Rage. Harsh, bold strokes and spots where the texture of the canvas were either globbed over or painfully showing through.
Her hands traced the single stroke of blue amidst the turbulence of green.
She tucked Damian against her side and realized that perhaps he understood after all, what it felt like. Perhaps not all of it, but enough.
——
“Here is your room, ukhti.” Damian stood watch as his sister scanned the room. She quickly removed three listening devices as Damian sighed.
‘You’ve gotten better.’ She crossed the room and plucked the listening bug from its place on the door frame.
“Clearly not good enough.” Damian huffed. “But I have beaten your knife game record. What do you think of the room?”
His sister rolled her eyes and handed him a blade she pulled from somewhere on her person.
An implicit challenge.
“No cutting your fingers off, please.” Father interceded.
“Begone, father. We are doing sibling bonding, something I remember you insisting that I participate in.”
Damian shut the door on his stupefied face, matching his sister’s sharp smirk as he splayed his hand on the dresser and raised the blade.
——
Alfred walked in with a covered plate and paused at the sight of the dresser.
Then, he looked on as Damian sat at the desk, rapidly signing to his sister in their own version of the language as said sister pulled out an entire wardrobe and a half to fill in the walk-in closet.
Alfred made a note to study some more magic.
“Miss al-Ghul. I bring you a snack that young master Damian made and to inform you that the others will be arrive en masse, within an hour.” Alfred paused. “Might I interest you in a mat before the two of you decide to… take a gander at furniture redecoration in the future?”
“Of course, Pennyworth. Apologies.”
“I’ll try to make sure they won’t overwhelm you. They can be a lot, at once.” Bruce said from the doorway. Miss al Ghul glanced at him and dipped her head in thanks. Her eyes wandered right back to the dessert.
Alfred made another note.
‘You made this for me?’ She asked, switching to standard.
Damian grumbled. “Do not eat it. I could not get the spice quite right, no matter how many variations…”
‘I am sure it will be good.’ She took the plate from Alfred’s hand and uncovered it.
They all had the fortune of witnessing a true, genuine wide eyed smile from a stoic face.
Alfred inhaled sharply. He had thought Master Bruce and young master Damian had inherited Thomas’ dimples. But she had inherited his entire smile.
‘Bstilla!’ She turned to Damian. ‘My favorite! You made this?’
“I know that. I am not incompetent as to not notice when you snuck three of them from the palace kitchens. You must give me the recipe from the cooks. I could not get it to taste like the spices they used. I even imported spices!”
Miss al-Ghul, like she had forgotten he and Master Bruce were there, stabbed a fork into the pie and put it into her mouth.
“Ukhti! Don’t- do not eat that! Spit it out! The pastry is too thick and-”
She held up her hand. ‘It’s good. I know what it is missing.’
She strode to her magic bag and pulled out a bottle.
She sprinkled flakes on top and offered a forkful of b’stilla to the young master who, shockingly, did not insist on his own utensil.
His expression lightened. “This is it. What is it? You know of the chefs’ methods?”
She sprinkled the mysterious spice on the food. ‘You’ve never eaten anything the chefs have made. I made your food by hand to prevent assassinations and inoculate you against toxins. Also, this is poison.’
Alfred stiffened.
“It’s what?!” Bruce spoke up, rushing into the room, finally to try and look Damian over.
‘It is fine. He has been immune since he was three.’
Miss al Ghul placed a piece of poisoned b’stilla in her mouth and ate. Young master Damian batted his father off, saying that poison inoculation was hardly a surprise. What was a surprise, though, was something else.
“That is- you- you’re the one who made my meals?” Young Master Damian demanded, looking guilty. “But- I- why did you not tell me? I made all of those demands in the middle of the night- what about the time I sent back the knafe fifteen times?”
She nodded.
“Why would you- why did you not tell me?”
‘You knew what grandfather thought of women. And besides, it was the only time I was allowed sweets. He did not want me to ruin my figure as it would lower my marketability.’
Alfred itched for his gun.
“You are not a commodity,” Master Bruce stated, intense as he tended to be. Miss al Ghul blinked at him.
‘… I am aware. But… thank you.’
“Ah. Yes. Of course.” And there went the emotionally intelligent Master Bruce. May he rest in peace until the next time he decides to make an appearance.
“I believe today is a chocolate chip cookie day, do you not, young master Damian?”
“Yes, Pennyworth, I believe it is.”
‘I have never tried it before.’
“You will love it. Pennyworth’s cookies are the best in the world, as is expected.”
Alfred watched as young master Damian tugged his sister out and marveled. The sides of his grandson they rarely get to see was so easily pulled out by his older sister.
——
Y’all I wanted to write her meeting the siblings but Alfred came out of no where and went haha nope feel the angst of a man who lost his best friend and had to raise her vigilante child.
Alfred, seeing Bruce put on the bat cowl for the first time: martha, why have you forsaken me
——
Me: what would baby assassins play as a binding game?
Me, remembering my past as a kid: I Spy, but with trackers and bugs. oh wait… THE KNIFE GOES CHOP CHOP CHOP
——
Also, I think B’stilla was food meant only for royalty and was probably rooted in slavery, so I thought it would be a meaningful nod to her position of privilege and how she are like a king but was treated as a… bed warmer and a slave. Yeah. If anyone knowledgeable on food history wants to school me on b’stilla, feel free to do so. I did like, a cursory research at best.
#Bruce Wayne#Bruce Wayne’s guilt complex#Bruce ‘everything is my fault’ Wayne#no Bruce not everything in fact is about you bby#ras al ghul#Ra’s was a jackass long before you were born#oc in dc#batman#tim drake#damian wayne’s older sister#damian wayne#Bruce took his guil and fucking sprinted with it#he’s also making a lot of (very fair considering the circumstances) assumptions about oc#did I write that entire first part so I could make Alfred quote a poem?#yes yes I did#technically it’s also a part of a Kanye west song or whatever#oc: my brother is so cute look he’s so excited to see me#everyone else: what? hes walking so elegantly and calmly???#sleep deprived me did not do the difference between habibi and habibti#Alfred Pennyworth#Alfred Pennyworth was besties with Martha Wayne#Martha Wayne coming back to haunt the Waynes via her granddaughter#Alfred calling Ra’s and honorless goat#a couple thousand words of Alfred being sassy
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More about Loser Baby but about the moment where Angel calls himself a “coked up dick sucking ho”
He calls himself that to demean himself. Many other characters (antagonists usually) use the same kinds of words to demean Angel and imply he isn’t worthwhile.
But Husk says “baby, that’s fine by me.”
And it makes Angel smile, it’s what really cheers him up.
The entire song is about having value as a person despite where you are in life.
#it’s time to lose your self loathing excuse yourself let hope in baby!!!#there’s actually many different parts of the song I could talk about#like also#the first step to being better is to stop digging the hole#and it’s so fucking hard to stop digging#and also just like. shit just fucking happens!!!! people end up in bad places and they DESERVE respect as human beings#even if it’s their fault#that’s what my other post was about#huskerdust#hazbin hotel#Angel dust#husk#thots4thoughts
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no thoughts just Heiji Hattori (HD)
#detective conan#case closed#amv#my amvs#eye strain#heiji hattori#harley hartwell#conan edogawa#shinichi kudo#funimation english dub script#video#happy two-year anniversary to 'no thoughts just heiji hattori'!#while it's not my first amv (it's maybe my... fifth?)#it was the first one i made with davinci resolve and the amv that really got me into editing amvs for real#it's the amv that made me believe i could make amvs 🥺#and in remastering it i deeply understood how ambitious it was! i thought i did a lot of audio mixing for 'messed up'#but that's not even close to all the audio mixing i did here--cannot believe that i did all this for my first big amv project#it took about 20 hours *just* to remaster!#which is something i've been meaning to do for a while now so i'm very happy to finally share the results!#to make this a 'remaster' and not a 'redo' the only changes i tried to make were to the source footage and audio#video now uses almost entirely hd remastered footage from my blu-rays or netflix rather than my dvds#but oh gosh was it *hard* not to touch anything else! i'd do so many things differently now#but this video will always be really special to me (and i can't believe i did it at all tbh!)#i hope seeing it in hd is fun too! i'm so blown away by all the love this vid's gotten#and that it helped increase interest in funi's old english dub is amazing and 100% what i was trying to do with it!#thank you everyone for all the support <333 i wouldn't be the video editor i am today without this vid or your encouragement for it <3333#like the original the sources used are mostly from what funi dubbed (but mixed in hd by me!): eps 48-49 57-58 77-78 117 and 118 and movie 3#but i also used episodes 141-142 174 189 239 263 277 291 293 345 479 491 517 and 522#and ova 3 and tv special 6 (episode one) and movies 10 and 13 and ops 27 31 and 33 and the funi 5.2 dvd blooper for the one line lol#the song is 'you're stupid aren't you' by toshio masuda (from jubei-chan 2)
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🥁 | hurray for Imp and Skizz!!
Other Hermitcraft x Soul Eater designs: Stress + Iskall
#impulsesv#skizzleman#hermitcraft#soul eater#✩ | bonnies scribbles!#THEIR OUTFITS ARE BASED ON ALL THE COOL PARTS OF DRUMLINE OUTFITS I SAW!!#i cant remember how wavelengths work exactly but i think it would be so cool if at least some of them resembled songs -#- so that this pair could work for their combo move!!!#they can use each other in weapon form and carry around 'decoy sticks' that look like each others weapon form to make a pair when fighting#for sure close range weapons for a bunch of moves!!! i imagine the 'drum' would be their opponents body#they hit pressure points -- im really just looking at a deep/loud sound - like the one where you can feel your whole heart shaking#i think they would for sure also hit points in the ground as well - like in structures that have weak points - especially with Skizz#imp's little holder on the top bar of his outfit is magnetic and can move!! it usually holds sticks or other smaller weapons!#they usually look for a meister who can drum/they think has any rhythm as opposed to using each other#their wavelengths are extremely different - which makes their combo move: Polyrhythm Rupture! very hard to pull off#Imp is for sure used for closer percise range - while Skizz is used as chaotic sporadic damage#yay for youtube helping me figure out things!
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Just gonna say it: Sometimes, songs that are considered "overplayed" and/or "well known" by an artist/band are some of their best and that's why they are "overplayed" and/or "well known." They're just that good.
#personal#I could argue this is about several different songs I know.#Oh and if your fave song overall by that artist/band is that 'overplayed' song it doesn't make you less of a fan!#<- ESP tired of seeing that! Who cares! Just enjoy the music and let everyone form their own opinions about it!
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What would a mother not do for her child What lengths would a mother not go There's a bond that exists between mother and child With no end to how strong it can grow It's a promise for life between mother and child It begins from the moment of birth.
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She is six years old, and standing on the porch at her Auntie Alicia’s cabin. She is six years old, and holding an old rifle in her hands, standing at the railing and pointing the nozzle at a large target a couple feet away. There’s a pair of old ear muffs covering her ears. Behind her is her daddy and her sister, and Auntie Alicia. She can’t see them.
Danielle Martha Fenton is six years old, and her momma has her arms wrapped warmly around her, keeping the gun steady for her. It’s heavy and the butt digs into her shoulder uncomfortably, and she feels nothing but determined. And nervous.
Her momma was teaching her and Jazzy how to shoot, and they’re down in Arkansas to visit Auntie Alicia for her second “Divorce-iversary” as Auntie calls it. She keeps a hunting rifle in her gun safe for the rabbits that like to nibble on her garden. She mostly grows rhubarb, which goes untouched. But her carrots and greens and other veggies like to be tempting snacks for the game.
Regardless, she is six years old and learning how to shoot. Her momma and her daddy (mostly her daddy) have been banned from every shooting range outside of Amity Park in a hundred mile radius. So Auntie is the best place to learn, or so momma says.
Danny thinks it's just an excuse to see her sister, not that she's complaining. She loves visiting Auntie.
She’s already seen Jazzy do this, her momma told her before the muffs went on to shoot when ready. No use trying to fire when you’re not; you can’t afford to miss when shooting ghosts.
Danny breathes out steady, just like momma taught her, and quells her trembling little fingers. She focuses down the barrel, and pulls the trigger.
Immediately, the recoil throws her off, the side of the gun that her cheek was resting on knocks against her skin, harsh enough to bruise if it weren’t for her momma’s steady hands holding onto her. The bang of the gun startles her more than she thought it would, and her heart leaps up and runs a jackrabbit through her chest.
The gun is carefully slipped out of her hands, and Danny lets it go easily, her cheek smarting in pain and her eyes wide and following up to momma. Momma turns the safety on, and with a gentle hand, pushes against her chest. Danny takes a few steps back, and slips the ear muffs off her head.
Mommy is smiling big at her, something that Danny can’t help but replicate on her own face as her heart swells. “Did I get it, momma?” She asks, watching as she passes the gun off to Auntie Alicia, who steps over to take it.
“I’m going to go see, sweetie, but I think you did.” Momma coos, before planting both her hands on the porch railing and, in a single leap, vaults over the side and onto the grass. She’s dressed all comfortable for the summer heat, with her hair all tied back and in shorts and a tank top and nice boots. Danny’s ribs swell hopefully, and she stands on her tiptoes to watch her walk over.
“I’ll be hard-pressed to believe if you didn’t, Martha Mae,” Auntie tells her, grinning like a cat, “that was a damn good shot.”
‘Martha Mae Knight’ was Danny’s granny’s name. Auntie Alicia calls her that because of her middle name — and because, by her words, she has her momma’s weird-shaped eyebrows and piercing blue eyes. The kind that could scare a hawk into singing like a robin. It was Danny’s favorite nickname ever.
Daddy laughs brightly, the sound painful on her ears but twice as nice, and despite the distance, Momma whirls her head around to shoot Auntie a glare; “Language, Alicia. Not around my girls.” She warns. Her accent always comes through when they’re around Auntie. It’s Danny’s favorite thing to listen to.
“Do you think so, auntie?” Danny says, bright-eyed and ever-optimistic. Auntie Alicia nods fiercely as Momma finally reaches the target and searches for the bullet hole. Daddy then comes up behind her, still laughing, and claps a hand onto her shoulder so hard that it makes her knees hurt.
“Of course she did!” Dad boasts, as bright as the sun and twice as warm. He shakes Danny affectionately, wobbling her on her feet and pulling her straight into his side. She goes so willingly with a burble of giggles. “She’s got the eyes of a Fenton! And our family are darn good shots.”
Auntie eyes him up and down, her smile immediately fading off into a pressed line. “I’m sure you mean she’s got the eyes of a Knight. You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn at twenty paces, Jack Fenton.”
Jazzy holds back giggles from where she’s standing by the door, her ear muffs in hand, and Danny watches her Daddy’s dark eyes immediately narrow. Just like Auntie’s, his smile tapers off into a frown.
Before he can say anything, there’s a cheer from the yard, and they all turn to Momma clapping her hands in delight.
Danny immediately pricks her ears up, and would’ve darn near rushed over to the railing if it weren’t for her Daddy’s hand on her shoulder. She yells instead, excitement thrumming like a hummingbird against her ribs, “Did I hit it, momma?!”
Momma beams at her with all the pride in the world, “You sure did, Danny!” And she turns to press her finger against the target, right on the inside red ring of the battered old bag. “Right here, sweet girl!”
There are cheers from all around, and Danny’s heart bursts inside her lungs with shiny, sunshine glee. She puffs her chest out big, and smiles so wide it hurts the cheek where the gun smacked her. Her Daddy shakes again, squeezing her tight against his side in a hug that Danny happily reciprocates.
“What’d I tell you, Martha Mae?” Auntie tells with a big wink and a wide grin, the gun still gripped tight in her hands as Momma makes her way back over. “You got a Knight’s eye.”
When Momma makes it back over the railing, she hugs Danny tight and praises her shot. Danny looks her in the eyes and chases the feeling, and asks to shoot again.
#danny fenton is not the ghost king#dpxdc#cw gun#cw gun mention#dp x dc#dp x dc crossover#dpxdc crossover#dpxdc au#dp x dc au#martha knight au#female danny fenton#fem danny fenton#danny is martha wayne au#got a little something something written for this au. the dichotomy of the happy memory and the fact that she's being taught this to shoot#ghosts. the innocence of a child and the reality of the situation :]. as well as danny's steadily disillusion from her parents as she grows#fun fact! this memory is based off one of my own when my dad was teaching us how to shoot so we could (eventually) go hunting with him.#i was around danny's age i think. a little bit younger maybe. so a lot of this stuff -- like Maddie helping her hold it up and them#wearing earmuffs and Danny immediately getting the gun taken away after she shoots and danny herself backing up are all based off#what i could remember. albeit the only difference here is Alicia holding the gun and Jack and Jazz standing behind Danny. in my own memorie#iirc we were all supposed to stand inside when it wasnt our turn. but we also didnt have enough earmuffs for everyone to stand outside.#slaps danny's head like the roof of a car: you can fit SO much trauma in this kid. enjoy her joy while it lasts :]#smth smth the idea that the fenton parents weren't bad at first but instead became a steady decline once they got into building the portal#smth about how danny knows somewhere that they could improve because they were good before. but they aren't and she wonders#who they love more: their daughters. or ghosts? (the answer is their daughters but danny finds this out in a way she doesnt expect)#that beginning song lyric is from “after all” by christine ebersole btw. its danny's theme song for the au.#i thank god every day for being a daycare teacher because the word 'daddy' has been CLEANSED for mEEEEEEEEEEE
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You're still standing off to the side. Somehow, center stage has shifted from under your feet without you realizing, and you're standing in the wings, performing to no one.
Starring Role (Patreon)
#My art#ISaT#ISaT Spoilers#Siffrin#Loop#Technically - you know how it goes#Me when I relate to Siffrin: Oh no haha that's probably not great whoops haha#Me when I relate to Loop: Oh. Oh No.#Lenti has such a deathgrip on my ISaT opinions wtf how is she so powerful I thought my fave was Sif?? But I mean well-#Lol#Does this count as vent idk lol#It was fun to write tho :) Very easy! Done all at once!#As was drawing this! Also done all at once! And black and white is still really fun to work with hehe#I got to use some pretty cool outline/lineart tricks for this one yay :D#The original draft of the fic had a different title but ''Starring Role'' is kinda?? too perfect???#To the point where I looked around and I was like#Kinda shocked that there doesn't Seem? to be another fic with the same title?#Which is.........oddly relevantly thematic to this fic actually hahaha#Not to get too exacting about it but the whole thing of Loop feeling replaceable well#It would imply that other someones could do what they do better than them#What an odd refutation. Huh. Weird#Anyway - behind the scenes fun fact!#I actually really love the song Starring Role but I didn't think of it until after writing this#And now that I sing it to myself it's actually kinda perfect what the heck#So that's something to think about as well#Anyway if you're going to listen to it pls listen to the Axiom remix it is The version in my heart <3#The glitches and stutters are perfect.....#And the clock ticking?? Why is this song so ISaT I'm gonna think about this for a while now heck#Animatic in my head shower thought -core lol
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thinking about how ‘my sadness is contagious’ is one of the statements that is explored all over midnights and how that ties into an album called the tortured poets department
#everything I touch becomes sick with sadness#how long could we be a sad song#all of dear reader and anti-hero#idk idk#midnights#ttpd#the tortured poets department#hits different#bttws#anti-hero
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The fact that some people can equate an entire musical genre to just its stereotypes and never listen to it is baffling to me. Like no, metal isn't just screaming, country isn't just trucks beer and misogyny, rap isn't just sexualizing women and getting money. When will people learn to escape their comfort zone oh my god
#currently curating a playlist of metal songs that don't have screaming/yelling#and needed to Vent#also I know that there are people with legitimate problems with yelling in music#and differences in tolerance to that#but sometimes it feels like people are just unwilling to try new things or be challenged in any way#and I could not relate less to that#tracking tag#rambling
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“Love Like Ghosts" // The Raven Cycle
When your true love is destined to die, is already dead, or will always be leaving. And other moments of ghostliness.
#finally this post that has been in the working for so long is up. Not perfect but its up#yes we have now escalated to full songs#a song about ghosts for which i have used no quotes about the canon ghosts#overall goal here was a section for each relationship#which made me realize blue has had a canonical thing with everyone but ronan lol#ignore the fact that i could only get good angsty pynch quotes from greywaren i was struggling to find what i wanted in trc#last part is intentional repetition of different versions of blue kiss me like we have the vision of the first hurt me baby and the actual#obviously huge bias here toward bluesey but thats bc. Well. its all for them <3#overall happy with this because i feel like it actually encapsulates song and vice versa in terms of the love and ghost metaphor#anyway bluesey car scene said absent presence#lordhuroncycle#perhaps my last lordhuroncycle unless they release new song or i get inspired lol#long post#web weaving
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Master manipulator vs Master manipulator
[First] Prev <–-> Next
#poorly drawn mdzs#mdzs#xue yang#a-qing#The scenes with XY and A-Qing are so delightfully tense and anxiety inducing#They are both so deep in the mind games with each other. Convinced they have the leg up when in reality they do not know the full scope#Also is is just me or do XY and A-Qing give off the vibe of internet nemeses?#A-Qing coming in hard with 'Oh you think blind people cant do XYZ? Get canceled idiot'#Meanwhile XY is the kind to purposefully use leet speak in descriptive text to antagonize the screen reader population.#a teen girl and a 4-channer who found his way to tumblr would be awful to watch fight irl but the vibes are equivalent.#Meanwhile XXC is going on a nice little walk to pick grass. I love him so much actually.#through writing these notes I have also gone down the rabbit hole of trying to pinpoint Xue Yang's age. Hello? Is it actually not known?#The best resources I could find put him as 1-3 years younger then xxc and song lan#So? early twenties? late teens? Someone who has absorbed more mdzs knowledge...Please help#Oh no I'm even deeper in the rabbit hole now. What do you mean the ages are mostly just relative?#What do you mean cultivators can age differently (usually slower in xianxia)#Oh no oh no wwx doesn't have a golden core. I was too accurate in my homestuck AU re: lifespans. I want to go back.#(I love angst and am now marinating this thought in my little thinking chamber)
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