#i can just imagine him there

[aristoteliancomplacency]

Guys.

Y’all.

I…

I just. I just… i have discovered something. And I have laughed too much. I have laughed every time I have tried to explain it to someone. I cannot get through this.

Look. Okay.

There are two things you need to know, here.

First: There’s a style of Greek pottery that was popular during the Hellenic period, for which most of the surviving examples are from southern Italy. We call them ‘fish plates’ because, well, they’re plates, and they’re decorated with fish (and other marine life).

Like this one, currently in the Met:

Or this one, currently in the Cleveland Museum of Art:

They’re very cool. We’re not 100% sure what they were for, because most of the surviving ones were found as grave goods, but that’s a different post.

The second thing you need to know is that when we (Classics/archaeology/whatever as a discipline) have a collection of artefacts, like vases, sculptures, paintings, etc. and we do not know the name of the artist, but we’re pretty sure one artist made X, Y and Z artefacts, we come up with a name for that artist. There are a whole bunch of things that could be the source for the name, e.g. where we found most of their work (The Dipylon Master) or the potter with whom they worked (the Amasis Painter), a favourite theme (The Athena Painter), the Museum that ended up with the most famous thing they did (The Berlin Painter) or a notable aspect of their style. Like, say, The Eyebrow Painter.

Guess what kind of pottery the Eyebrow Painter made?

[orbitganymede]

18+, MDNI

having a one night stand with simon and thinking you’d never see him again, he was a good lay, giving you orgasm after orgasm and speaking absolute filth into your ear when he was deep inside your cunt. you’d say maybe the best you’ve ever had, but that didn’t stop you from leaving early in the morning from his sparsely decorated flat, a note left on his side table that simply said you’d had a good night and you hoped he did too, you even added a cute little smiley to the end. then you’d gone on with your day, with your life.

until, about 2 weeks after, there was a knock at your door, it’s late, already having put on your pjs and started searching your pantry for something to make for dinner. and when you open the door, your surprise is palpable, there simon stood, long, strong legs covered in cargo pants, pretty brown eyes locked on you, a black surgical mask covering the lower part of his face, hiding the long scar that you remember feeling rub against your thigh. he holds a bag of takeout and then proceeds to shoulder his way in, leaving a small kiss on your cheek through the mask before making his way to your couch.

you want to ask how he found your place, how he knew you were home, and why the hell he’s here. you actually do ask the third one, which he answers with a simple, gruff “dinner”. you nod slowly, finding your way to the other end of the couch, but are met with a huff and a large hand pulling you closer to him, making sure your leg is pressed right up against his. he plates your food, then starts eating his own, makes small comments about the taste and asks questions about your day. the night seems almost normal, like something you’ve done before with him, disregarding the fact that you’d only been around each other for 2 hours tops and almost all of that time was spent by you trying to do something other than moan his name.

when you’re done you expect him to leave, to go on with his night, or maybe you to wake up from a dream. instead he makes his way to your bedroom, sits down on the bed and tells you how he can’t stop thinking about your lips around his cock. and yeah, you fold.

that’s how you end up learning that his stamina is insane, especially for an older guy, and he likes to see your face, makes sure to face you towards a mirror in full nelson or holds you in mating press with his pink (scarred) lips against yours. maybe you also learn that his phone lock screen is a color scarily similar to your irises and you see a file with your full name (one you hadn’t given him) front and center when he rolls over to unlock his phone, he says something about how he needs to send a message to ‘his team’ about dinner this weekend to meet his new bird, you wonder what kind of sports team he’s on, gotta be rugby with a build like his, but your thoughts don’t stray too far before he’s ready to go again, something about three being his lucky number, that this time it will take.

[scuttle-buttle]

It's giving

But [Rosie] was not very good at maneuvering a spindly British bicycle. As "airplane commander," Rosenthal was issued along with a good deal of other matériel, a bicycle for getting around the wide vistas of Thorpe Abbotts. He found himself heavily burdened by all this issue but somehow managed to get himself upon the cycle. He carried a load of gear in one arm, had draped his life preserver around his neck, and set off in the general direction of his quarters.

Rosenthal managed to do pretty well, for he got some distance away from the supply hut and was pedaling his uncertain way along a little dirt road. A shift in the load contributed to a series of unusual course changes which came to a sudden, damp conclusion as Rosenthal, newly issued supplies and bicycle plunged down an embankment into one of those charming little ditches that run along the picturesque rural English roads.

Lying in the water (which was not deep), Lieutenant Rosenthal felt there was only one thing to do in this emergency as he lay there, face up in the ditch: he inflated his Mae West. This was probably the only time during all of the Second World War that a member of the 8th Air Force was thus saved from British waters.

— an except from Edward Jablonski’s Flying Fortress : the illustrated biography of the B-17s and the men who flew them

[chloesimaginationthings]

The moment FNAF movie Vanessa knew she fucked up

[arkangelo-7]

I need Battison to have a Robin.

I need him to carry around a little bundle of joy in his arms. I need him to risk his life saving him from the movie’s big bad. I need him to hold his tiny hands or cradle his tiny face. I need him to crack the smallest of smiles when Robin makes a pun.

I need him to walk into the penthouse, tired and anger and sad, and see his little Robin sprawled across the floor, giggling as his crayons draw him and Alfie and B—their little family.

I him to crawl out of the darkness with Robin. His Robin.

[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.

[batsyheere]

"So, handling your archnemesis," Danny starts. The room falls quiet, heads slowly turning to look at the man as he writes the words on the chalkboard. When finished, the characters somehow both messy and neat at once, Danny places the chalk back down and claps his hands.

"I typically call them fruitloops. Often they're in a better position than you are- older, richer, more powerful. They may have some sort of status that protects them when facing the public."

Tim wondered where Dick was right now, and if he was laughing. His brain was lagging like a computer as he tried to process what Danny was saying, and how seriously a few of his fellow teen vigilantes were taking this.

"Some of their more common tactics are-" the chalk was picked back up, and Danny writes as he speaks.

"Manipulation, isolation, conditioning, and empathy."

MICE.

Tim stares at the board, and quietly slips put his phone.

-What have I done to deserve this.

Enjoy your lessons Tim-

His head thumps against the desk. Conner leans over, gives him a pat on the shoulder but returns to taking notes as Danny goes on to explain the conditioning tactic.

[krysmcscience]

Call this the Whoopsie AU (it's barely an AU)

I mean. Narinder never explicitly SAID the Lamb would stay dead... :3c He probably should have been more specific. >:3c

Part Two:

Well. The Lamb tried, but...sorry, Nari, the crown hates you now. Shouldn't have been so quick to lend it out, I guess. :D

Aaaand Part Three:

'Isn't he just adorable?' -The Lamb, probably, while their followers smile and nod and internally scream at the brand new hellcat they now have to share living space with...

Anyway, nothing says 'Dead To Me' like following a person around to loudly remind them of how dead they are to you. Right? Right. Narinder's got this all figured out. <:]

[jollymalt]

zaunite viktor in another reality

[timethehobo]

Emmy being self-conscious of his age, and maybe even about how he looks. 🥺 Rook loves him anyway.

[fairsweetlonging]

imagine an au where shen yuan transmigrates into a blank slate npc with very little system involvement, traveling around for a while until he's found by yue qingyuan and taken back to the sect because apparently shen qingqiu went missing around his transmigration period and shen yuan looks exactly like him, so it must be him, but then a few weeks later when he's just settled in on the peak and accepted his fate the real shen qingqiu shows up who was just on vacation and everyone forgot.

now there are two shen qingqiu's, one of whom is the real one and the other an amnesiac they gaslighted into believing he is shen qingqiu.

anyway—shen qingqiu has a new didi now!

[wasabi-gumdrop]

Kabru has a secret admirer in the castle!

[heph]

BEAUTIFUL SHADE OF FORDTRAMARINE!

[regonold]

Due to danny haveing so many titles whenever he's summoned it's toss up one wether he can help or not for example if someone summoned the ghost king for a planets imminent demise nothing he could do as that's not under his jurisdiction

Is he the ancient of space yes does it fall under his jurisdiction also yes but they call on the ghost KING not ancient of space if he acts for ancient of space as ghost king then its a whole paperwork issue that he'd really rather not do so you need to ree summon him accordingly and then hell listen to your plea

Or

Some one calls upon the great protector who is known to be the ghost king to destroy their enemy but see danny can't really do that because you call on the protector and see due to article 5258 paragraph 68 i can only protect you or your land or bloodline but each requires a different offer as to what you have for the ghost king

Basically i just want haveing more titles be a massive fucking hassle for danny each one has a different responsibility and if he doesn't stick to the specific summoning request then the observants bitch and moan at him and give him stacks of paperwork to fill out

[chloesimaginationthings]

William is the most divorced man in the FNAF universe

[frownyalfred]

I think several members of the Justice League hate the Batfamily because every one of them — every single one — has the same, Batman-esque look on their face when they know something you don’t. Which they do. Frequently. Just like the fucking Bat.