#i just...really wanted to share it >.>

[dyrewrites]

Pale Blood (revised) -- Ron's not doing well

Fur woke Odea. Specifically, the freshly cleaned and bandaged fur of Kiki’s paw...shoved into her open mouth.

She sat up choking, “Godsdamnit, Kiki, why!”

Kiki’s meow was not an adequate response, but the lack of KB mirroring it forced Odea into true wakefulness—the sort one can only experience in moments of sheer panic. Then she noticed more missing from the cramped room.

Lights.

After stumbling over things—that she hoped were not part of the ‘priceless’ objects Ron had said filled the room—and slapping in near-darkness at the wall—in the general area the door had been—Odea found a screen to activate.

Unfortunately, it was not the right one. No light bloomed in the room to guide or comfort. Instead the door opened, letting more darkness in.

“Nope,” She muttered, reaching for her netlink. Three quick taps accessed its lighting features and she winced as the bright violet beam shot out from its place in her ear. Angled downward, the light spread just wider than her hips and illuminated...very little. Her rationalizations for purchasing the feature rose to taunt her but she ignored them, “Okay, now I can see my feet. That’s, that’s something. That’s useful.”

It was not.

But it gave her enough false courage to leave the room and head in the direction she knew led to reception.

Kiki did not follow. She could see just fine and had no interest in spending more time around the cold thing her brother attached himself to—were anyone to ask Kiki why she woke her human, she would have said, “Because she snores too loud.”

Arms painfully wide, Odea kept close to the left-hand wall and flailed into the emptiness of the right as she navigated the labyrinthine halls.

“Ron,” she called out, too quietly, “are you down here?”  Are you hungry, her panic added and she shook it away as something too rude to consider.

DADDY...

Odea froze with the voice, it rippled through the dark, gentle and pained and she lost all sense of direction in it. All sense of self.

It consumed her, body, breath and soul with sorrow she did not understand—one none should ever—and she collapsed, tears flooding and spilling soundless and hot down her cheeks.

DADDY, WHERE?

A chill grew beyond her meager pool of light, it stretched and a hand stretched with it. Small and pale, that hand, and as it touched the violet of Odea’s comfort it withered and the voice wailed.

Hands tight on her ears, Odea’s eyes never turned from the hand...or the face that joined it. A face that remained at the barrier of her light, stretched in terror, its eyes wide and wet and leaking thin rivulets of yellowed white; watching her, studying her.

DADDY, WHERE AM I DADDY?

“Shit,” Odea muttered, tightening her lips against further words, I thought it was just the one, where did this one come from? I can’t...I can’t exorcise a kid.

She barely remembered doing it the last time, but Ron had relayed all he could and begged with those big blues and she was forced to explain that such things were part of a witch’s duty—she did not tell him it was a duty strictly of Dusk’s witches, and that her exorcising them was no kindness, nor did he tell her what happened after or that she should exorcise herself...

The dead thing was testing the light again, with hands and feet and Odea gagged when she noticed. It was not a spirit, as the other had been. What stood before her was flesh and bone, though some of it had been...eaten. There were very few fingers and toes, but many marks where ones should have been, as well as chunks missing from the arms and legs.

It can’t be a ghoul, she assured the thought that prodded, that poked and stabbed. Twilight’s the only one with that power and Ron’s the last one around.

WHERE AM I?

The thing that should not have been asked again, but it asked Odea and Odea alone. Its voice echoed, as chill and distant as any spirit, warbling through the darkness beyond her light and she shivered with it. But she answered, “Y, you’re dead.” —she was never terribly great at tact, or kids.

NO!

The shriek flared Odea’s light to pink, then white before it popped and the low ripple of current ever present in her netlink died. Then the other dead thing turned and ran and Odea turned and scrambled back toward the room and the safety it promised.

Behind her, the hall flickered and burst with the blue-white light of outdated fluorescent bulbs and she stopped just outside the still-open door of Ron’s hideaway.

“I know you love cats and all, but...really?”  Ron’s tone was neither playful nor friendly but Odea adored it all the same. She stood up and lunged at him, hugging him so tight that KB—firmly attached to his shoulder—wriggled and merped.

“Where were you?”  She snapped as Ron pushed her off him, “There was a, a, child, a dead child, Ron, a dead child.”

He looked past her and behind himself, “I don’t see any kids.”

His eyes weren’t blue.

It took Odea until he narrowed them at her to notice, but they weren’t blue. They were close to blue, one could call them that if they squinted in the right light, but they weren’t blue. They were gray. Which was the wrong color, and Odea narrowed her own as she pulled further away. His hands dropped from her arms, falling limp at his sides and she backed another step.

“You okay, Ron?”  She asked.

“I’m fine,” He lied, “didn’t you have things to do today?”

“No, uh-uh, you’re not doing that,” She scolded, waggling her finger at him as he rolled his eyes.

“Doing what, reminding you of your responsibilities?”  It sounded like a sneer, but his expression remained neutral as he said it. And he had a tone, an air of superiority that puffed under every word he spoke, that stabbed deeper than if he’d insulted her directly—do you see now, Ron, why I said you had a time limit. Time’s up, asshole, you tell her now she’ll punch you.

Odea scoffed, “Fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Ron sighed, “Nothing, just...go do what you need to do.” Then he lied again, right to her face, “I’m fine.”

“All the fucking lights were out until a second ago and there’s a dead kid with missing digits running around what is essentially your home, but you’re fine?” She closed the gap she’d made between them, and reached up to tap Ron’s stiff chest, “You are not fine. Nothing is fine. The last few days have been one giant shitshow and it doesn’t look like it’s ending anytime soon so if there’s something more going on, here, with you? I want you to fucking tell me. Because, like it or not, I am your friend and I care about you.”

Shaking his head, Ron sidestepped her and walked toward the open door to his room. He had planned on explaining when she woke up, planned on asking her questions about it even, as it was new and different and terrifying but...

She has more important things to worry about than me, he’d rationalized, they all do. And so he ignored her angry huff, pulled away from the arm that grabbed and shut the door in her face so she couldn’t follow.

She screamed outside that door, into the flat bit of wall it had become from her end, and Ron ignored that too.

“She’ll get over it,” he told her cats, as KB snuggled tighter into his shoulder and Kiki coiled on the couch, glaring at him, “Del too.”

It started near a week before the specter, before he saw a real ghost for the first time in his many, many years in that bloodbank. But that had been when he really noticed and, though he was fairly certain it would eventually end, he wasn’t too sure it would do so pretty—it wouldn’t...

Something was scratching in the silent lump that used to be his heart and every other bit of him was scratching back. It made him hungrier, angrier, and yet numb, more so than he had ever been. He couldn’t make his face do what he wanted it to, couldn’t soften his voice and the few mirrors the bloodbank contained showed that even the meager mask he’d crafted was cracking.

Something terrible was happening to him and he had no interest in letting the few people he’d come to love watch.

So he ignored her screams, her curses, her pounding fists.

He leaned against the closed door and he waited, face stiff and eyes dry despite the ache of tears, until she stopped...until she stormed off with promises to return, promises to beat answers out of him if needed. And he knew she would, and he would have to give them, but not then.

[lgbtlunaverse]

The world exists in such a baffling state of simultaneous sex-aversion and sex-hegemony. Every social platform on the internet is trying to banish sex workers to the shadow realm but I can't post a tweet without at least two bots replying P U S S Y I N B I O. People are self-censoring sex to seggs and $3× but every other ad you see is still filled with half-naked women. Rightwingers want queer people arrested for so much as existing in the same postal code as a child and are also drumming up a moral panic about how teenage boys aren't getting laid enough. I feel like I'm losing my mind.

[perfectlyripeclementine]

calling my lover "mine" but not in the way that my toothbrush or notebook are mine, mine in the way my neighborhood is mine, and also everybody else's, "mine" like mine to tend to, mine to care for, mine to love. "mine" not like possession but devotion.

[mienar]

the wandering painter, part one

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[colourmornings]

Quick note on Charles's speech for fic writers or anyone interested, really.

Charles uses tag questions, where he ends a sentence with a question, doesn't he? I see a lot of "innit" thrown at the end of sentences, which is right, sometimes.

There is unfortunately grammar. First off, if the main verb is negative, the tag will be positive, and vice versa.

When the main verbs in the sentence is a form of "be" or a modal verb (must, could, would, have, will, can, do etc), he's going to repeat that same form at the end of the sentence. An exception to this is a positive main verb of "I am" in which case the tag will be "aren't I?"

"[You're] Not going back to hell, are you?"

"I wouldn't wanna be dead with anyone else, would I?"

"No, we're not going anywhere, are we?"

"Well, I can't see where you're pointing to, can I?"

"We don't want a repeat of the infamous puppy debacle of '94, do we?"

He uses "innit" a lot less than people think, I think. It took me a while to find examples of him saying this, I ended up having to search a transcript. It follows the same rules as above, except the subject is always a thing, or the pronoun "it," and the main sentence is positive, so that the tag can be the negative "innit" (isn't it). *Edit* "innit" is not used as a question! It's mainly used to reinforce a talking point! (Thank you @elizabear). While the other tags are like rhetorical questions, this one is flat tonally and can end with a period, too.

"Boxing's a gentleman's sport, innit?"

"Magical void, innit?"

"That's the injustice we fight, innit?"

When the verb is not one of those above" he uses a form of "do."

"Well, that sounds a lot like you, doesn't it?"

"Wanna keep things professional, don't I?"

Charles also ends a lot of sentences with just the word "yeah."

"Psychic thing makes case work go a lot faster, yeah?"

I am usamerican, but I have a masters in Linguistics. People who actually use tag questions, though, please add on or correct me!

[spacizia]

he’s just a swinging space age bachelor man!!!!

[floccinaucinihilipilificationa]

Hey hey hey may 31th anon! How's 2024 going? ☆ヾ(*´▽｀)ﾉ This year I have for you a leaked Sherlock season 5 image. Thinking of you!! And everyone!!

[fernsnailz]

sorry these kinds of comments have been really pissing me off recently lol

[kedreeva]

At some point in your life, there will be a moment where exactly - or near exactly - half the people in the world are younger than you, and half the people are older.

And I think that moment should be the one your soulmate Mark appears at, not at birth or puberty or something. Both because at birth is kind of boring but it's also very you-centric and soulmates are about the thing outside of you being a part of you, and I think it would be nice to include The World.

But also I think it would have fascinating implications for scientific and social studies. Longevity trends tracked by the average age soul marks appear. Tragedies causing a rash of recent marks to disappear (because the people are no longer the middle). Marks appearing early during baby booms.

[kettlefire]

As Good as Good Gets (DP X DC Snippet)

Richard "Dick" Grayson is the golden child. In the eyes of the public, and in the eyes of the league. Dick is a sweet, caring son, a man who went from being a sidekick to being a hero. The pipeline from Robin to Nightwing had many people applauding his dedication to keeping Gotham safe.

No one knew the full story, not truly. No one but Bruce Wayne himself. And maybe a certain butler. Many don't know that Dick only became Robin to stop him from hunting down and killing the man who killed his parents.

No one really knows about the harsh fights and arguments he has had with Bruce. The times when Dick would find himself cut off from the Wayne name for a week or so. No one knows that the first person Dick warmed up to was Alfred. Having been bribed with cookies.

Things weren't always this good, trusting, happy relationship between Bruce and Dick. It had been a rough ride, a complicated one. But that was okay, because it got better.

Dick stopped being so moody and angsty. He grew up, he learned, and he changed. He became an older brother, found people that needed him. Needed him in a way that the citizens of Gotham didn't need him.

His brothers like to call him annoying. A goody two shoes who Bruce trusted more than everyone else. They couldn't fathom how someone like Dick could be so stupid and bubbly at all times.

All times, except when shit hits the fans. Despite the name calling, despite coining Dick as the stupid Wayne. They all knew better. They knew that when it mattered, Dick Grayson always pulled through. He was a force to be reckoned with when needed.

The whole Wayne family was a force to be reckoned with when called for. It didn't have to be under the guise of costumes and vigilante acts. Whether he was Officer Grayson or Nightwing, Dick was a man with his morals and values.

One night on patrol as Officer Grayson, Dick found someone who needed that force. A force willing to protect and care for the innocent. The hurt. The damaged, yet still good.

It started like any other night. A call of shots fired by an empty warehouse. There was no sighting or knowledge of any rouges being there, so Dick took the call. Told the team he'll contact them if it seems more than just a civilian incident.

The warehouse was dark, reeked of copper and oil. It didn't take long for Dick to find the trail. The liquid he found looked like the person had been dragged before walking. There was a clear struggle, even with the mess and emptiness that was the warehouse.

That wasn't Dick's biggest concern. The concern lay in just how much blood there was. Too much for any normal person to lose and still manage to stumble through the warehouse.

It wasn't just blood. It wasn't that much, but Dick could spot the strangeness in the liquid. The mixed in green that had an eerily similar color and glow as a certain pit.

Without thinking, Dick followed the trail. Barely remembering to make contact with his family. Give them an update on what he found. Words telling him to stay put for backup went in one ear and out the other.

Something in Dick's gut was telling him he couldn't wait. He needed to find the source. Whoever was currently bleeding out in this warehouse. He silenced the comm, moving further through the dimly lit building.

Then Dick found it. Or more so, he found him. It was just a boy. A boy that reminded Dick too much of the youngest Wayne. A boy sat against a wall, looking pale and weak.

Red and green coated the front of the boy's shirt, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. An attempt to stem the bleeding. A puddle had already started to form beneath the boy, and Dick moved without thinking once again.

He quickly found himself kneeling beside the boy, hands carefully reaching out. Before Dick even touched him, the boy flinched. Eyelids suddenly opened, wide and terrified blue eyes landed on Dick's.

In just that one look, Dick knew what he had to do. The haunting, terrified, and pained look in the boy's eyes told Dick everything he needed to know. The boy was in danger. Someone had hurt this kid, and it was clear it wasn't the first time.

The boy struggled weakly against Dick's touch, terrified whimpers, and barely coherent pleas spilled from the kid's lips. It had Dick's heart aching, clear as day the poor kid has been through hell and back.

It took a lot of reassurance, gentle touches, and promises of help before the kid let Dick take a look at the bleeding wound. A promise on Dick's soul had been the final thing that earned him any semblance of trust. A strange promise, but Dick was willing to make it.

That concern turned to pure anger the moment Dick managed to pull the sticky shirt away from the wound. The sight of a Y-incision cut perfectly into the skin, stitches tight on the skin, but blood still leaking heavily from the wound.

It didn't take long for Dick to realize why. Despite the perfect surgical care of the wound, a good couple of stitches had broken. Leaving gaping spots for that red and green liquid to pour out of.

The boy was deathly silent, tears streaking down his cheek as wide blue eyes stayed trained on Dick. In that moment, Dick knew he had to help. Had to get the kid to safety, patch him up, and find out what kind of monster would do this.

It didn't matter if the kid was human or not. It didn't matter if the kid had special abilities or not. No one, absolutely no one, deserved to be vivisected.

The kid was shrouded in mystery, but that mystery only seemed to grow and become clearer when Bruce had entered the scene. The boy had tensed, eyes flashing a bright glowing green.

Lazarus pit green.

It set a pit of dread in Dick's gut. His mind brings forward memories of Jason. Jason, after his revival, after his dip in that cursed pit. The same flash that his brother would get if he got too angry. Too emotional.

As much as Dick wanted to focus on finding who did this, if it had any connection to Ra's al Ghul. He couldn't. Not when the kid tried to get up, to pull away as Bruce and the others made their way closer.

Right now, Dick only cared about making sure the boy was okay. Fixing those stitches, getting him a meal, and a warm bed.

He needed to get this kid someplace where he felt safe and secure. Comfortable and protected. Dick wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the promise he had made, but he wasn't letting anyone get to the kid.

That included his family. As strange as it seemed, Dick put himself between the others and the kid. Shooting them all a glare that they had only ever seen a handful of times.

Dick lifted the poor boy up in his arms, cradling the crying child close as he led the way out of the warehouse. Ignoring the questions or confusion coming from Bruce and the others. As Dick walked, feeling the trembling boy clinging to him, he made a rather obvious realization.

Maybe the eldest son really was more like Bruce than he expected. Just a few short moments the the boy, a boy that Dick didn't know his name, and he was ready to pull out adoption papers. To give the boy a safety he so desperately needs.

Give him the chance that Bruce had given him all those years ago.

[ochiody]

(in ody fashion) TELEEMACHUSSSSS

[inumbrapugnabimus-maybe]

Great explanation 👍

Redraw of this

[mienar]

at the artist's loft

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[phoenixcatch7]

Dp x dc twin au where Danny and Damian were in fact conjoined/siamese twins, but the most dangerous type - one head, two bodies.

Their early removal from talia being because their shape would not have allowed for natural birth, they were written off but talia begged for the chance to send them off in the lazarus pit.

By some bizarre miracle, before she turned to leave, two small bodies bobbed to the surface - identical in every way, except for the eyes. The previous blue eyes now split in two, one left, one right, and the new eyes, pit created, a bright green.

She took her child, her two children, and together, they survived.

Being removed prematurely, their early years were tough, but soon they blossomed into promising heirs for the league. In sync with every step, the closest of brothers, the league was certain the old fairy tale of twins being telepathic had been granted by the pit that separated them, the remnants of being born as one mind, one brain, one skull.

But then Danny had to flee, and leave his other half behind. Stretched by distance for the first time, the bond grew thin and stretched, and Damian grieved his brother as dead. When he started being sent on public missions, he hid his distinctive heterochromia, choosing the green in memory of the pit that had given him and his brother life.

Danny, hiding his pit aura in the ocean's worth that was Amity park, took to blue, the colour that he and Damian were born with.

Damian moves to Gotham, and continues to mourn his brother as dead, right until one day when he is twelve, when he learns what the death of your other half truly feels like.

-

Their reunion is a thing of family legend. Violence runs hot in both bloodlines, ghosts are highly emotional and prone to fighting a the drop of a hat for bonding, playing, testing, every reason under the green sun. Their training and play often consisted of friendly spars, competitive spars, furious spars, venting spars. Both have been exposed to unhealthy amounts of ecto since before their birth.

There is a long, long minute of staring, before they rip themselves away and lunge at each other like wolves.

The bat family are horrified by their brutally efficient youngest suddenly barreling towards a clone (?) and trying to claw his throat open with his bare hands while openly sobbing.

It ends with them wrapped around each other crying into the others shoulder as their minds finally meet again and relax from the painful stretch for the first time in years.

But nobody else has any idea what to do.

[dragonita-arts]

~Space Pride Dragons~

[crabsnpersimmons]

"Your heart was in the right place. Don't blame your earnestness and efforts for their lack of understanding—the right people will appreciate your heart."

EDIT: i mention this in the tags already, but please don't copy my vent tags in your reblogs. thanks for understanding.