#idk typo

[needlefail]

Which Merger was more catastrophic?

The Merger of Humanity (JJK) or The HBO/Discovery Merger

[keymintt]

a comic/zine about coyotes

[softichill]

Trying this again since my last one was missing so many

[duckysprouts]

epic: the animated series

[tennant]

"Aziraphale. The Enemy, of course. But an enemy for six thousand years now, which made him a sort of friend."

— Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

[mortallycolourfulfun]

As much as I enjoyed Clara, I think that the fact that we only got one season of Bill, the doctor (and nardole) together was criminal. They easily had my favourite dynamic since Donna and 10.

[supine-ly]

mikey in my typo au

-previous

-next

[palmastrings]

Possible demon form headcanon thingy??

Ok so you know the saying "you've got blood on your hands" As a metaphor for being guilty of something?

Well I took the idea and ran with it to make this.

They kinda work like brands in the sense that they are constant reminders of ones sins. I know this kinda exist in real life in a sense but it wasn't my intention to mimic that.

But umm... only people who were/are angels can get them. The Higher up the marks go, the more grave the sin was.

I kinda wanted to match it up with lesson 37 of nightbringer where *spoiler* the brothers get imprisoned in a area designated to the crime they committed in the celetial relm.

So for example, lucifers goes almost all the way up his arm because of his crime against his father (being the worst crime of all), while belphies goes to the wrist for (some reason I forgot) for being less severe. Simeon has them too but the only reach his fingertips, it's why he always wears gloves.

Technically speaking Satan shouldnt have the marks since he was born a demon, but since he was kinda a extention of lucifers sin of wrath, lucifer split some of his mark with him, which is why lucifers mark dosent actually go past his arm.

[dear---moon]

Okay so do we think they're gonna drop the trailer on September 1st or September 2nd?

[thesmollestsnek]

Death echoes

So a while ago, i found this dp x dc post that had a really interesting lore headcanon for Danny’s ghostly wail. Idk if I’ll be able to find it again, I’ll link it here if I do, but essentially it posited that every ghost has something called a “death echo”, which is an ability unique to them based heavily on their deaths. These echoes are the most powerful move in a ghost’s moveset, but they’re also extremely volatile and draining, typically damaging the ghost in some way when used, with Danny’s being his Wail because he died screaming. The original post then went on to some really cool halfa!Jason ideas based on these death echoes, but for this lil snippet with an extremely long intro I’d like to focus on Danny a bit more.

Edit: Apparently I may have extrapolated a lot of the actual lore behind these death echos myself? The inspiration post was a lot longer in my memories. Or I might've mushed multiple posts into one mental box and then forgot lol. So a lot of the actual detail from this point on is seemingly mostly original material? I think? Idk man, sometimes my brain spits out information without giving me any clues as to where it got that information. Anyway, this post got kinda long and since I'm... decently sure this is where I shifted from summarizing @ailithnight's post to writing all my own thoughts I figured here would be a good place to throw the cut lol.

So! with all of the context-for-the-context out of the way, let’s move on to the actual context for what I’m writing cause I can’t be bothered with writing an intro XD

Essentially, this is an au where Danny is an established member of the Justice League, or maybe one of the teen hero teams? I’m a slut for eternal teenager Danny, but maybe he’s enough of a powerhouse to be on the main team despite him both looking and acting like the dumbass fourteen year old he died as. Either way, he’s on a League/League-sanctioned mission and things go bad. Like, everyone-almost-dies bad. And so as a final desperation attack, Danny uses his Wail, a power he’s never told anyone on the league he even has. And it works, and they make it out, but after the fact everyone has. Questions. And because in this au death echoes are deeply personal, Danny dodges those questions, but the league coughbatmancough isn’t satisfied with that. So they push for answers. Answers Danny’s not willing to give, because. In my mind death echoes aren’t just based on how a person died, but also their experience of that death. What their last thoughts were. When Danny died the only thing that he could process beyond just an all-encompassing painpainpainpainpain was the sound of someone screaming. His screaming. And so his death echo is the sound of a fourteen year old child screaming in deathly pain and terror weaponized, which definitely gave the league Even More Questions than they would’ve had already. Which finally brings us to the actual snippet, which is a conversation between John Constantine, who was brought in for his experience with the supernatural once it became clear Danny wasn’t going to talk, and Danny himself. 

~~~~~~~

“So, kid. Batsy tells me you’ve been hiding some of your abilities, wanna tell me what's up with that? Call it an occultist's intuition, but somethin’ tells me you’re not just being stubborn for the hell of it.”

“It’s... complicated. And not anyone’s business, either!”

“Kid...”

“Why does it even matter?! It’s not something I want to or am even able to do on a regular basis! I saved the mission, can’t they just accept that and move on???”

Sighing, Constantine reached up to start massaging his brow. “Kid, you and I both know that ain’t gonna be enough. Now I know that some things are better left alone, but the rest of these idiots? They can’t accept that, Batsy especially. That man’s never left bloody well enough alone in his life”

He looked up just in time to see the otherworldly teen shrink into himself, looking every bit the child he was. “I know but... why? Why do they need to keep asking questions? And why do they only ask the ones that hurt to answer?”

A sharp glance. “The fuck kinda questions are they asking? Batman was speaking in more grunt than word, so I didn’t really catch all the details of what this power you’re supposedly hiding even is.”

Phantom shrinks even more into himself at that, and responds in a voice so small it’s more sigh than speech. “I... I can scream. And it breaks things and pushes people back. But it, it sounds. Bad. And it brings up bad memories and I don’t like to do it or listentoitoreventhinkaboutitandtheywon’tletmeforgetand-”

“Breathe kid. I know you don’t need to but just take a deep breath with me. Don’t you go getting lost in your own head on me now., Constantine reassured the kid automatically, the sheer hopelessness prompting action long before the words themselves could be understood. Then the rest of him caught up, and he had to pause. Looked up at the kid, saw just how distressed he was. A picture was starting to form in the back of his head, and Constantine didn’t like what he saw one bit. A last-resort power that the normally open Phantom was strangely reticent about. A scream so horrible sounding the rest of the league would not to stop asking questions about it. Terrible memories to match said scream. And one truly miserable child who couldn’t bear to even think about any of it. 

“Phantom... is that your Echo? Screaming?”

A miserable nod is his only response, the tears that had been welling up in the kid’s eyes finally starting to fall. Cursing softly to himself, Constantine stood to leave, bracing himself for the Bat’s inevitable questioning. “Well then you just take all the time you need love, and leave the rest to me. I’ll make sure the rest of those idiots know not to ask you about this ever again.”  And with that Constantine turned and strode towards the door, leaving the quietly sobbing child to collect himself in privacy.

~~~~~

I had a whole-ass lore dump conversation between Constantine and Batman planned here, explaining how death echoes are deeply personal, and asking about one is a taboo on par with, potentially even worse than, asking a ghost about their death outright. Because they are formed from an amalgamation of how a ghost died, their last thoughts, and their final emotions, in some ways asking a ghost about their Echo is like asking them to describe their death in painstaking detail. But uhhh... inspiration bug left. So yea. Side note, I’d like to apologize if my depiction of Constantine’s accent was Bad, I’m but a lowly USAmerican whose only exposure to British accents is through tv ^-^’

[pprodsuga]

tonight’s short scenario before i go to bed is brought to you by popular!gojo in a non curse, college au, who has women falling for him left and right. he walks through campus and notices the stares people give him and can hear the whispers about him when he sits in his assigned seat or buys coffee for himself when he’s alone.

satoru always says he doesn’t need to be tied down at the ripe age of 22 but will drop everything if it’s you who’s calling him.

he’ll drop his study group when you text him to come over because you’re bored. satoru will politely excuse himself from said women vying for his attention when he sees you walking to your next class and insists on making the trek with you.

satoru doesn’t know what this feeling is (he ignores nanami who tells him this feeling means he has a crush, but satoru doesn’t get crushes). all he knows is that his heart spikes when you text him and he wishes your contact is the one lighting up his phone.

but all he knows is that he loves it when you fall asleep on his shoulder and steal his hoodies when you come over to study. satoru loves it when you accept the snacks he gives you or when you come over without so much as a warning. why do you look so good in his clothes?

you’re his best friend. that’s it.

(no, says nanami as he pinches the bridge of his nose. she’s your best friend who you want to kiss.)

here’s my masterlist and any reblogs/feedback would be much appreciated - happy reading! xx

[tis-i-dezzi]

I have been thinking Morena Dekarios would love anyone Gale brought home as long as they treat him right:

Astarion- This would be met with such fawning, "My goodness such a charming young man! He compliments me every time I see him! No wander Gale fell for him!"

Shadowheart- "What a fun girl! She picks the best wines and always has such a funny quip ready. Plus Tara seems to like her!"

Wyll- "Gods! A Duke's son! Well isn't he so Charming and well behaved. I always said nothing but a prince is good for my Gale."

Minthara-"Again intense, but she shows so much respect to me and compliments my status as a matriarch for our household. Very protective of Gale, I love it!

Lae'ze/- A bit intense, but always willing to help move heavy objects and seems very protective over my son!"

Karlach-"What a wonderfully enthusiastic girl! I love it! She wants to get Gale out of the house and talk to people? I adore it!'

Halsin- "My what a wonderful man! He always perks up my plants when he is around and tells me some herbal remedies! What a Darling!"

[lesbianjudasiscariot]

Ginger Snaps - dir. John Fawcett / Abbey - Mitski

[nonotoff]

May not feel sexual/romantic attraction but that doesn’t mean we don’t exist

[weskie]

Love in The Stars (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

s.t.a.r.s wesker, fluff, wesker being treated softly (like he deserves!!!), wesker treating you softly (like you deserve!!!) | Fic Directory

Sometimes you catch him. 

When he thinks no one's watching, that the attention is elsewhere, Wesker lets his mask slip. That cool, indifferent demeanor fades. His stiff upper lip settles and his eyes soften, often gazing down to the ground. Something within him shifts as if overtaken by a profound sadness. 

It makes you understand why he wears those sunglasses all the time. You just happened to be at the right angle to see it anyway. 

You don't know how to bring it up. How do you tell your Captain such things? That you've caught his sorrow on full display would be a confession that you stare, which would be more than you want to let on. Of course, such musings are short-lived once his eyes suddenly flicker up to meet yours. They widen slightly, as if taken off guard, and then that mask of his returns in a flash. 

Cool, calculating indifference. 

From then on, you find yourself with a drive to interact with him more– anything at all, really, to cheer him up. You bring him his paperwork, his coffee, each one delivered with a warm smile and kind eyes. You stay late, always making small talk with him as you both lock up and head to your respective homes.  It’s awkward at first.

And then it’s not.  

It comes as a shock the first time you see a flicker of happiness in that icy gaze of his. A glimmer that grows, a spark that catches, and a warmth that spreads to both your cheeks and his– becoming more apparent with every interaction. 

Your run ins become less and less like those of a Captain and his subordinate, and more like friends on the verge of something forbidden and beautiful. 

One night, after the rest of the team left from their mandatory overtime, you nudge his office door open, coffee in hand, and find him with his face cushioned on his arms. His glasses lay aloft in his limp grip as if he'd only meant to rest his head momentarily before crashing altogether.  You smile sweetly at the sight.  Though he’s clearly exhausted, he still looks peaceful in his own way.

A glance around the room turns up no sight of anything to drape over his shoulders, but an idea hits you.  You scurry back to your desk to retrieve your jacket.  It’s nothing too thick– just a light knitted fabric.  Just enough to keep him cozy. At least you hope so, anyway.

You hold your breath as you lay it over his back.

He neither shifts nor stirs, so you simply turn off his clunky desktop monitor and office lights.  You leave his door cracked slightly so he’d have at least some light when he wakes.  

You head home that night with a soft smile on your face, giddiness bubbling in your chest at the image of him snoozing all but burned into your mind’s eye.

You’d never seen him look so serene before, and it’s hard to stop the thoughts of him like that.  What you wouldn’t give to be met with such a sight as you lay your head upon your own pillow…  To hear Wesker’s gentle breaths as he slumbers next to you.

You’ve never been a morning person, but you wager you might be if you could wake up to the sight of him.

Alas, you don’t. And that’s why it’s such a chore to drag yourself through your morning routines and back to work the next day.  Things are mundane as ever, though you do lock eyes with your Captain on more than a few occasions.  His smile is soft and warm, a slight quirk of his lips just subtle enough to avoid drawing attention.  In what world does Captain Wesker smile like that, you imagine would be the question that makes the rest of the team suspicious.  All the same, you know he knows exactly who covered him up the night prior. 

Not that it was difficult to figure out.  Even if he didn’t recognize your go-to zip-up, he still had access to the security cameras.  Puzzling, though, is that he doesn’t give it back to you as soon as he sees you, nor does he do so later in the day.  Even as the team leaves, all of them trying so terribly hard to pressure you and Wesker to join them for lunch, he makes no mention of the garment.  

You decide to be a little bit bold and snoop.  There would be no consequences to being caught, and you’re positive you could spin it as trying to see if he was busy before you came in to talk, so you huddle against the wall and lean over to peek through the blinds to his office window.

He’s invested in something on his screen, and you can faintly hear the sporadic clicking of his mouse as he works. Your cheeks go up in flames and a beaming grin makes its way onto your face when you catch the sight of his left hand.  Atop his desk rests your jacket, neatly folded, and on it rests his hand.  You can clearly see Wesker toying with it between his thumb and forefinger, almost as if it were meant to soothe him.  

Perhaps he was waiting for you to retrieve it yourself.  Maybe he felt no obligation at all to give it back.  Either way, it makes your heart flutter in your chest.

As you all but tip-toe back to your desk, you decide it’s his for as long as he wants it.  

It goes unmentioned even as the two of you leave later that night.

Long after you’ve settled into bed, you find yourself wondering what his reaction must have been when he awoke.  You drift off imagining all the different scenarios.

You’ll never know that he pulled the fabric close to his face and nuzzled it, inhaled your scent and committed it to memory as best as humanly possible.  Somehow, even with an aching neck from the odd position he’d drifted off in, he found that morning to have been one of the best he’s had in… a long time.

He plans another Friday for overtime.  He has to know if you’ll do it again.  

And you do.  He leaves your jacket strategically placed on the back of his swivel chair and feigns sleeping.  In you walk, fresh coffee in hand by the scent of it, and he hears you huff a small laugh.  God, he loves the way you think of him.  All your little ways of taking care of him…

The mug settles on his desk with a soft thud.

You admire him for a moment before grabbing your jacket from the back of his chair and draping it over his shoulders.  A thought runs across your mind that’s too good to ignore, and all too dangerous.  Then again, you’ve come to know your big bad Captain for the sweet man he truly is. There is infinite kindness under his stoicism. 

You lean down and press a kiss to his temple, lingering perhaps a second or two longer than you should’ve.  His skin is warm beneath your lips, and the faded aroma of his cologne blends sweetly with his natural scent.  

That warm fuzzy feeling blooms in your chest, only it turns to abject horror when you pull back and find him grinning and peering up at you.  Your eyes go wide and you freeze.

Oh no…

“You sure know how to tuck me in,” he says nonchalantly.

You’re mortified.  Neither of you have ever pushed this boundary before– never discussed it, either.

You watch Wesker raise his head from his arms and reach for the coffee you brought him, sipping at it with that same grin still etched on his face.  An apology stutters off your tongue in disarray as he stands from his seat to loom over you.  With a curled finger, he tilts your face up to look at him.

You can see in his eyes that he’s only half as confident as he seems.  Part of you is relieved.

“Thank you,” he says, thumb brushing over your lower lip, “for being so sweet to me.”  Your heart hammers a million beats in the short time it takes him to lean down and press his lips to yours.  Your breath catches, your head swims– you all but totally malfunction before some degree of sense hits your mind and you lean into it.  He kisses you slow, thumbing at your cheeks as if to soothe all that anxiety he’d struck into you just mere moments before.

You can’t describe it, but there’s a hint of desperation in the way he moves.  Lips pressing hard, hands pulling just a little more than necessary to keep you right where he wants you.

Like he’s afraid letting go will dispel the illusion.

How terribly understandable.  In a way, you yourself fear that you’ll open your eyes and it will all be a dream.  Perhaps, worse yet, you’ll still be standing there, pit forming in your gut, as your Captain lectures you on the importance of boundaries and personal space.  

Thankfully it is your dreams that come true, not your fears.

Even after your lips part, he doesn’t release you.  His hands remain at your cheeks and he presses his forehead to yours, sighing through his nose as a smile wider than any you’d seen before graces his face.

It’s only understandable that you’d want to kiss him again, right?

And again.

And again.

And again…

He’s got you backed against the edge of his desk by the time you both stop to breathe properly. Wesker makes a move you don’t anticipate.  His arms wrap around you, drawing you into a tight hug.  He buries his face against the crook of your neck.

You swear on everything you hear him murmur a thank you.  You may not understand why, but it doesn’t matter right now.

Not when those pretty blue eyes sparkle at you as if you were brighter than all the stars in the sky.

[gabrielisdead]

my vampire lore iceberg, open for criticism and suggestions