enchantra35

[saltail]

Sometimes you just gotta be a cicada that only emerges every 13-17 years and shouts "AWW YEAHH"

[radiance1]

An offshoot of this post because why not.

So, Danny who wears sunglasses to hide his eyes from the GIW and Constantine who is very sure he's a ghost pretending to be human and vows to keep an eye on him.

The way the League meets Danny isn't all that grand. One moment there was Constantine, the next there was a boy lifting up and walking out of his coat while holding a pack of cigarettes.

"These are bad for you and will kill you." Theboy says while lighting himself one, Constantine doesn't even make a move to stop him as he tries it, only to immediately hack up a lung and Constantine takes that moment to pick his pack out of the boy's hand, lights himself one, and smoothly does what the boy failed to do while flipping him off.

The boy flipped him off in the midst of coughing.

Batman breaks the silence when the kid finally stood up properly, asking who he was and why he was here.

"Name's Danny, this guy." He points at Constantine. "Is my illegal guardian and I'm here becquse apparently you needed an expert in pacifying ghosts?"

"There are so many better ways you could have worded that." Constantine groaned and Danny smirked. "What? It's the truth though, I am your expert."

"You know bloody well what I'm talking about."

"Gotta be more specific, old man."

"Least I lived past 14."

"You wound me." The boy says, hand on his chest and wiping away invisible tears while Constantine rolled his eyes.

"Ahem." Batman narrowed his eyes.

[sheree-says-stuff]

i love how before the season dropped, everyone was like "alastor is so badass alastor is so cool i want to be him" and now we've seen the episodes and he's literally just a fucking freak

[rockingthegraveyard]

[ladydbzelle]

Nightcrawler!

He's just a guy and I love him!

[aangarchy]

Just a collection of aang being a little guy

Bonus: LA aang bc gordon is also just a little guy

[deardarlingthings]

he's just a lil' guy

[fallstaticexit]

ok I got a question Where is Victor Feng when Lily is out here seducing Nancy and making her act like she's in heat LMAO??

LOL omg cucks anonymous with Geoffrey probably lmao lolol

[nell0-0]

Day 13: favorite ship!

I don't really ship Emmet with anyone. I HC him as aroace/grey-aroace, so-

Who needs a bf or gf? GIVE HIM SOME THERAPY!

[ghouldtime]

Beautiful. John Price x Reader Drabble

Thousands of words in the English language could be put together to describe the man known as Captain Johnathon Price. They could be listed for hours upon end, strung together in endless paragraphs and sonnets, and yet they would pale in comparison to describing the magnitude of the person he truly was. Hundreds of thousands of words have been spoke about him, but out of that whole list, you had one favorite word to describe him.

Beautiful.

To put it simply, John Price came as close to the human characterization of the word as far as you were concerned. He exemplified every letter and syllable down to the last curved line of it written.

He was beautiful in how he fearlessly pursued those who were evil incarnates in the world. Even those who were much lesser, he relentlessly chased with no lesser dedication. The passion that blazed in his veins shone like a wildfire in his eyes as he tore them apart, showing them the same merciless cruelty that they had shown others.

He was beautiful in how his endless loyalty knew no bounds when it came to those who he cared about. Should he be told that the sun had met its demise and the whole world was due to end, he would've personally done what he can to fight it bare handed until the bitter, burning end.

He was beautiful in how he would sacrifice himself at any given moment at the drop of a hat. His life came second and the rest of the world's came first. Though his methods might be what others defined as dirty, underhanded, or wrong, he took it into his own hands and sacrificed his own morality and sanity with it - all for the greater good.

He was beautiful in how he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders without so much as a complaint. So often the burden of saving the humanity as we knew it rolled back onto his shoulders, weighing him down once more, but he took it with grace and humility. Carrying the burning beacon of liberty and freedom alike came at a great cost but he carried the torch with his head high, never ceasing to set it down.

He was beautiful in how he lead, without hesitation or fear alike. Such words weren't foreign but they were forgotten when it came to unraveling the red lines of fate itself, unsure when the end would finally untangle and fall in front of him. His everything was put into every breath as he carried onwards with his head high and weapons drawn, not just for himself, not just for his team, but for those whose life would otherwise cease to exist if he didn't keep fighting.

Yes, he was beautiful to you in every sense of the word. His perfect imperfections that sculpted him made him perfectly perfect - perfectly human, perfectly the John you so loved with every ounce of your mind, body, and soul alike.

Yet arguably, he was most beautiful in the totality of his existence. He was the most beautiful when he existed as himself, without the expectations or rush of the outside realm pushing for yet another busy day. Such moments were scarce but you found them in your bed in early mornings when the sun had yet to fully rise.

Early morning sunlight peeked through the blinds, dappling the room in the faintest spots of warm rays. Small slips of silver tinged his brown, short-cropped hair and beard alike. While he wasn't even remotely old (he was only thirty eight, for Christ's sake), carrying the stress that he did was bound to age anyone faster. The few wiry stray gray hairs here and there stood as testament to his maturity and his seasoned nature, as far as you were concerned. Besides, it gave you yet another feature to count on him and to memorize among the many others that made him, well, himself.

The pale golden light highlighted the crease of his brow and the expression lines etched into the delicate skin of his face. Crow's-feet gathered at the corner of his eyes, and the deeper frown lines etched into his slack jaw. Sun spots here and there decorated him like marks of reward after having spent so much time outside. You couldn't help but to trace them with your eyes, unwilling to lean in and press a kiss to each and every bit in the way you desperately yearned for in fear of waking him up.

Sleep scarcely got along with John, as you discovered. Many nights it evaded him, leaving him to scrape together the bare minimum of rest needed to function before exhaustion claimed him as its next victim. Last night, though, he hadn't stirred the slightest bit and instead had finally let some much needed sleep claim him whole as it dragged him under.

Soft snores rumbled from his furred chest, the slight chap of his lips having worsened in the night as he parted them in deep breaths. His side rose and fell in a steady, even rhythm as he rested among the plush sheets and fluffy bedding draped around his lax form.

To many, they might see the sleep addled noises as an annoyance or a disturbance, but to you there was no greater reward and giddy feeling than knowing he was finally, finally resting. In the land of sleep, the burdens placed upon him evaporated at least temporarily. How his fingers occasionally twitched and the mumbles that escaped him suggested that wasn't fully the truth, but it was better than constantly living in the waking world and fading further under the inconceivable pressures life itself forced down his throat.

Your heart warmed further in your chest when he nuzzled closer to you in his sleep, the arm loosely thrown around you blindly grasping for your warmth in his unconscious state. How it was possible to send your heart even more into a fluttering tizzy, you didn't know, but he managed to do it with that one simple motion. The familiar heart of a blush dusted your cheeks, turning them a rosy hue that complimented the early pink of the sunrise as you obliged and moved closer.

Unable to help yourself, you brought your lips to his forehead, kissing between the subtle knitting of his brows before you drew him closer, mirroring his hold on you, right down to the thigh pressed between your legs, tangling you together.

Memorizing this moment alone wouldn't be enough, you're sure. You wished you could live in it forever, basking in his warmth that outdid that of the rising sun above. Alas the inevitable constraints of time would usher you out of bed and urge you to go about your day, but for now you didn't need to think or worry about it. That would be a later issue when he too finally roused and stretched, deciding to start the day on his own terms.

An issue you that you didn't want to come anytime soon.

For now, you were content to wrap yourself up in his embrace and the sheets alike, letting the rhythmic beating of his heart and the constant white-noise of his snores to lull you back to the realm of unconsciousness. While others might chide you for being lazy or for not getting up and greeting the morning or for daring to start your day late, you saw no need and no rush. What point was rushing the day when it would be without the one you valued more than the rest of the world itself? There's no place you'd rather be than with him and if it meant laying in bed for an extra hour, so be it, that's a morning you'd take any day - and hopefully for the rest of your life.

The sunrise outside may paint a kaleidoscope of colors that seeped through the gaps in the blinds and promise a view like no other as a treat reserved for those who woke up early enough, but considering moving to see it was out of the question. All the sunrises left as the earth kept spinning, even those up until the end of time, would still pale in comparison to the one you loved more than life itself. Nothing would ever come close to being as beautiful as John, your John. You're sure of it.

You didn't doubt it for one second as you stole one last glance at his sleeping face through your lashes, permanently etching the faintest hint of a smile that curled on his fine features in the heart that skipped yet another beat for him.

[gotham-snark]

Do you guys see

~my vision~

[adventure-waffles]

Binghe was a little different when he came back from the abyss...

Full 🔞 piece on twt HERE

[milosaweirdguy]

I find it funny in Jaws how there's Quint who's like a harden sailor, known around the island and he's knowledgeable and great at his work. Then there's Hooper who's spent his whole life studying/obsessing over sharks and was called over specifically to help with the shark because he was so good

Then there's fuckin Brody. He's just a guy. He's horrified of boats and can only stay on one when there's hot guys there too. He's married. He's a slut. He's a cop. He has no clue what going on.

[onevolon]

Idk why but this is my favorite "normal" photo of him

[scribblestatic]

I like the idea of a Narinder that steadily chills out after indoctrination.

Like, of course, the first few days are rough because he's getting used to existing and experiencing life outside of Limbo for the first time in thousands of years. Noises startle him sometimes and maybe the morning sunlight is a bit too bright.

Moreover, his wounds, given to him by the chains that wrapped around him, take a while to stop weeping; to heal and scab over. He was also very unhealthy from his confinement, and so he's quite weak for the first few days.

But as he acclimates, he comes to really enjoy living in the cult.

It's peaceful. Gardening is easy and he quite likes the smell of fresh dirt and growing plants. The mixed fish meal is just another name for ambrosia. The Lamb is actually quite good at playing the drums for the occasional bonfire dance, the beat thrumming in his chest. The grass feels so nice between his toes.

Although thin and gangly before, his old fur sheds out, growing in new, darker, and gleaming with health. His body fills in, and from his increased toiling in the fields, his arms and legs thicken with suitable muscle and protective fat. His tail, once ratty, grows long, fluffy fur.

Narinder becomes incredibly handsome.

Though, having been the god of death for so long, still maintaining his immortality since the Lamb saw fit not to slay him, he still has his senses.

He uses it in his gardening to identify dying plants and finding a way to keep it healthy enough to flourish. Hell, if he focuses enough, whatever remnants of power are still in him allow him to restore life to the plant.

But it's not always fun. After all, he can sense when an elder is nearing the end of their life. After a while of living on the cult, he goes to sit with them, even if he never really spoke to them before. Apparently, his or the Lamb's presence makes death easier for them, and if the Lamb is off gathering supplies, he takes the mantle. Sometimes the Lamb resurrects them, but sometimes the elder requests to die, to rest. Lamb grants them that without complaint.

Narinder watches their souls fade, leaving to seep into the great beyond he's never, in his thousands of years, come to understand in full. It's likely no one ever would.

Regardless, despite not being the most talkative, and often casting an intimidating shadow, Narinder becomes quite beloved in the cult, like a cryptid who somehow dwells in the sunlight. The silent farmer who Lamb dotes on to newer additions to the cult, whether born or found, and the former god of death relieved of his suffering to those who witnessed the Lamb give him mercy.

When he's not farming or eating, you can find him at the Lamb's side, wearing his acolyte cloak, long, fluffy tail curled near or around one of the Lamb's ankles. He leans on the Lamb at times, putting his head on their shoulder as the sheep reaches up to pet him.

Right. Isolation in Limbo. Incredibly touch-starved.

And the Lamb smells very good. Better than anything else.

When he's high on mushrooms, sometimes he'll dutifully groom the Lamb or just knead their wool with his three eyes blown wide, perhaps with his third eyelids peeking at the edges if he's also sleepy.

Of course, he's still caustic. When he's angry, he's incredibly so. He will turn away from company with harsh, short words, but somehow look on with a sense of longing after receiving the space he requested. He snarks at the Lamb about rituals and godhood...but he never once says the Lamb is bad at it. No.

If there's one thing he won't say, it's that the Lamb is bad at godhood.

After all, he's living quite nicely.

[sassytheturtle]

I saw a meme and knew I had to do this as an art warmup

Original