#its storytime here in the tags

[solariex]

someone save me from the idiots ive been stuck with for 5+ years...

[thedrotter]

Re:Kinder Fun fact time!! Did you know? 😊

Yuuichi's theme song (the one that often accompanies his entrances with "Vamos Cantar!"), 新しい夏のナナ, is not in any latin language such as Spanish or Portuguese, despite its lyrics sounding as such. It's actually in Hanamogera, which to put it simply is nonsense speech based on japanese syllables. So the song's lyrics are essentially gibberish meant to imitate the sound of latin music! 😊

It is listed as such in the source site for the song, oo39.com, where the song can be found as "YS068" in the hanamogera category.

Additional fun fact! The song can also be found in Spotify as Vien Nana by Oo39.com themselves alongside a few other select songs from the site. So you can properly enjoy the song on the platform without having to import it from your local files.

Those are the fun Re:Kinder related fun facts for today... Use them to entertain your friends at parties ! ☺️

[mother-of-fuckers]

when I was in the psych ward there was a crack in the wall by one of the fire extinguishers that smelled like strawberries. Who the fuck discovered that, why were they sniffing the wall, what the fuck were we all on because we sniffed the wall too, and why on earth did it actually smell like strawberries.

[newttxt]

As a resident multishipper, you sabokoby artwork intrigues me. Please, tell me more, I must indulge myself in another rare pair 👀

i am ALSO a multishipper (even if all i seem to draw is lulaw,,) so i completely understand. my friend bree ( @strawhattery ) is the one who hooked me on sabokoby. her recent fic and the attached list of “what makes her go crazy” rly hits for me!!! thats the dynamic i crave!!

i also know yumi ( @panfriedstar ) is doing her absolute best to populate the ao3 tag, and we should all help her out :)

but what rly made sabokoby click for me was my sister mentioning that theyre like “the fox and the hound” on the same day that bree mentioned them dressing each others wounds with their bandana/cravat.

so my brain went wild and i had a mini storytime in the tags on my comic (here, if u missed them)

in theory, it goes: koby captures sabo. he reaps the reward and praise from the marines.

he's not too worried bc luffy will come! koby won't have to watch them execute another one of luffys brothers. luffy will save him.

and kobys waiting. and waiting. and then a marine says something like “hope we can actually kill this guy without straw hat or one of his friends showing up.”

and in the last minutes, it hits koby that HE’S the friend, isn't he? he's luffys friend whos supposed to save sabo.

so he does. yippee! and stuff happens idk. luffys chilling tho. he's like “nah sabo will be fine. koby is there!”

also i want sabo to kiss koby on the execution platform but that is neither here nor there.

i think, to me, its about how luffy connects them (i am always ready to make ANY SHIP about luffy), and how they both have the same goal, yet also have completely contrasting ways of going about it.

its about the banter and debates as flirting. its about the forbidden, cross-political romance. its about sabo relishing in his ability to fluster koby and then being totally thrown when koby turns it back on him.

please read all of this while imagining me in front of a conspiracy board btw

[sm-baby]

Mushy... prepare for storytime...

So, I got a habit of just enjoying fanmade content about something before I go find the source. Kinda like testing the waters before diving in. And I FINALLY got around to watching the pilot episode of the Amazing Digital Circus and I spent the whole time waiting for Able to pop out.

I was literally looking in the backgrounds as maybe he was more of a work behind-the-scene guy or maybe a cool easter egg you picked up and ran away with. There was the queen chess piece and the moon and the blank mannequins, so I had my eyes peeled for that deck of cards. There was so much packed in that episode that I watched it twice. Couldn't find him.

And I'm here thinking: But people were drawing him. Let me look this up.

Then I looked at your tags and figured out ABLE IS YOUR OC!!!!!! Why does he fit in the universe so well!?! You out here making me play Where's Waldo with your OC!?

Mushy... I am very angy with you... X'''D

HAHAHAHAHAAA!!! LETS GOOOO!! First it was Noondrop, AND NOW ABLE LETS GOOO!!!!

Making people think my OC is part of the original canon IS MY FAVORITE FUCKING HOBBY and its the BIGGEST COMPLIMENT YOU COULD EVER GIVE ME!! DJSJBFHEJAIWUEYWYWTTEYWVZBNXOPQJEGANNFTUUEEIWI LETS GOOO

Heheh,,, able blend in,, hehehe nicee hejehe im giggling in my little guy cave

Welcome to the show by the way Jahaira!! Aaa hehe i feel so complimented!

[thecoffeelorian]

Fandom Friday, 11/29: Fanart

Hello again, everyone…and welcome to another installment of Fandom Friday, the two-post series where I go off to find new and interesting fanworks that might need a bit more visibility.

Before I get started, however...just in case these lists look a bit too short this week, it's because I work at a grocery store, and this time of year...well, it's bonkers. We were pretty much swamped with people off and on almost all week, so naturally, everything kinda took its toll on me and I needed a lot of down time to rest and recharge.

😅😅

However, the next installment should, hopefully, be a bit more thorough thanks to me having five days off soon...so that will undoubtedly be better than this one.

Anyway! Just so I don't ramble on for too long...here are my picks of the week!

THE CLONE WARS

The Clone Wars Fanart--By @hastalavistabyebye:

The Clone Wars Fanart--By @merlyn-bane:

REVENGE OF THE SITH

Revenge Of The Sith Fanart--By @thechaoticfanartist:

THE BAD BATCH

The Bad Batch Fanart--By @faithwalkcreationscloneart:

The Bad Batch Fanart--By @nightskyfoxyy:

ANDOR

Andor Fanart--By @herblinz:

Andor Fanart--By @corefenarts:

SKELETON CREW

Skeleton Crew Fanart--By @juliberrylive:

In conclusion, as part of my mission to poke around the Star Wars fandom and, on Friday every two weeks, highlight those artists who might otherwise go unnoticed…I hope you will check out the links I have included for yourselves and like, comment on, and reblog them, as well as also giving the artists a few more followers to their Tumblr pages.

Please also like and reblog this latest installment so that these links can be spread around to as many other fans as possible, just in case not all of them can tune in at the same time.

An additional thank you goes to @djarrex for making the divider I used earlier in this post, but still want to give credit for.

And finally, so that I do not forget…this post will be continued in its second half: the Fanfiction Edition.

Thank you, stay safe, and I’ll see you in the next post!

No Pressure Tags: @melymigo @algo-o-nada @the-osborn-way @everybirdfellsilent @skellymom

@leos-multifandom-corner @maggie-dylan @leenathegreengirl @gun-roswell @tazmbc1

@bluedeedeedoop @its-time-to-rise-above @tlmtwelve and anybody else who might be on the lookout for new SW fanart.

[madelinerainbow]

I wanted to share my fanfiction here in tumblr format too! Are there any Jason Todd / DC / Batman fanfic writer communities out there? :) Such as a discord or group? Pls let me know!

Jason Todd Fic | I’d Sneak Up Behind You And Set You Free | Chapter 1 | An Accumulation of Anguish

Summary:

Six years after his resurrection, Jason Todd did what he sought out to do: Kill the Joker. He's hellbent on purging Gotham City of its injustices, and he's alienated himself from his family and left Laura, a childhood friend, in the dark about his revival. Grieving his death at the news of the clown's murder, Laura and Dick gravitate to Jason’s grave like a pilgrimage to a shrine they both didn't want but felt compelled to journey to.

Word count: 5,122

Rating: Mature

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Major Character Death Additional Tags: Past Violence, Past Torture, Morally Ambiguous Character, Grief/Mourning, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Cemetery, Swearing, Murder, Resurrected Jason Todd, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Gets a Hug, Past Abuse, Dark Past, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Dark Jason Todd, Emotional Hurt, Hurt Jason Todd, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jason Todd Kills Joker (DCU), Dead Joker (DCU), Fist Fight (Mentioned), Joker Murdered Jason and Jason Murdered Him Back, Uno Reverse Card Bruh, But Make It Really F**king Sad

Category: F/M

Fandoms:

Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham Knight Genesis (Comics)

Relationships:

Jason Todd/Original Female Character(s)

Dick Grayson & Jason Todd

Bruce Wayne & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62326162

Chapter 1 - An Accumulation of Anguish

If I was Atlantis and you were the sea /

I’d sneak up behind you and break your knees /

I’d cut off your fingers and both of your feet /

So you couldn’t reach me, but you couldn’t leave

- Noah Gundersen, ‘Atlantis’

*** 

Time and again, Gotham City failed to rouse her alarm bells. It shouldn’t, but when the TV in the children’s section of Gotham Central Public Library broadcasted the coverage of the latest crimes with the same subdued flatlined drone of weekend weather announcements, she almost didn’t blink. Almost.

But not today.

Not on the day of the clown’s death.

A child leaned on her knee, desperately involved in the adventures of Ivan the Iceman, along with ten other unshakeable young pairs of eyes upon the storybook in her hands. The children sat in front of her for Storytime, each one riveted with their full attention. They looked like mismatched chess pieces, perched on the colorful foam playmat tiles that swept through the children’s section like a pastel rainbow checkerboard. But their adults: parents that scrolled idly on smartphones, grandparents who cooed over their little ones, and one older preteen brother in attendance, all looked towards the TV monitor with an almost unconscious pull. 

Her neck craned upwards as the newscaster’s words filtered from the TV monitor’s low volume. It was a library. The TV monitors were always set to quiet volumes, yet the words: “Joker’s death” ricocheted like a gunshot through the low hush of the building.

The storybook in the librarian’s hands slapped down on her knees like a plane plummeting from the air. The child at her legs reached for the fallen book as if it was the Holy Grail set in front of him. The young boy mouthed at a cardboard corner of the picture book. She vaguely registered the innocent defacement of library property. No one else seemed to notice.

The newscasters shifted in their chairs with an eagerness that wasn’t usual for news beats. Crime in Gotham, she knew, was as common as the snow squalls that settled upon the city. Gotham felt as if it were in a snow globe shaken in the hands of an overzealous handler. If crime was a season in Gotham, it would be an endless winter. Grand larceny, stabbings, bank robberies, cartel trafficking—as ubiquitous as the dirty, garbage encrusted snowbanks pushed up against every sidewalk curb on every street.

The newscasters’ hands flew to their earpieces as a crisp paper fell on their desk, freshly printed. It cut through the screen like a wispy snowflake. its featherlight thinness betrayed the heaviness of the words printed on its face. They scrambled for it like polar bears fighting over the carcass of a plump seal.

“We just received breaking news, Gothamites. Our sources are confirming that the Joker, ruthless and psychotic murderer, has been killed—”

Gotham Central Public Library, already silent, became as quiet as a mausoleum.

She felt herself stop breathing.

The Joker has been killed.

Some part of her brain registered the familiar sound of quick, low-heeled shoes hurrying through the library like a marble skittering across hardwood. Their trajectory was no doubt aimed at her. Voices suddenly hummed up like the chittering of a wasp hive. A parent exclaimed in vengeful joy, a grandparent pulled a child closer. Patrons across the floor spoke in an uproar without regard for the rule of remaining mindful of volume.

And she still couldn’t breathe.

The heeled shoes stopped at her side. A warm hand squeezed her shoulder. She was still startled. She finally inhaled. The boy who tried to chew Ivan the Iceman’s storybook fell to the playmat with an unceremonious thump. The small boy, eyes watery, wailed. The librarian blinked down at the boy, but rather than console him, instead looked up at the owner of the hand on her shoulder. Head Librarian Cathy Mules regarded her with a pinched expression that only those offering condolences could conjure.

“It’s finally over, Laura.” The older woman said to her. Her voice wobbled.

Reflexively, Laura picked up the boy that had fallen at her feet and deposited him on her lap.

“Y-yeah..” She replied. Was it over? “But…they’ve reported his death before, and it was false…” She said. She looked up at the TV monitor again. The child in her lap slowly quieted.

“I feel it, Laura. I know in my arthritic bones that the damn bastard is dead.” Cathy said. None of the parents protested at the profane language. They did not seem to notice, only the preteen boy cast a curious glance at the Head Librarian and noted in baffled silence that no one took offense to the older woman’s curse.

Laura’s hand rubbed soothing circles against the child’s back. The young boy wore a soft, baby blue pint-sized cardigan. Ivan the Iceman’s rosy-cheeked, playfully ice-frosted face was on the front of the child’s shirt. The boy regarded her with tears that dried on his cheeks. She didn’t know if she was comforting him anymore, or herself.

“I’ll believe it when they bring in a body.” She said. “And even then…”

“I woke up today, Laura, and knew--I knew something was going to happen, Laura.” Cathy continued.

Laura grimaced. “Cath, you say that every Wednesday.” Laura replied.

“Is this live?” A parent asked. The young mother pointed at the TV monitor.

Cathy, with a light in her eyes that gleamed with the eagerness of someone all too happy to talk, nodded. “Yes ma’am. Can you believe it? Justice. We finally have justice!” She said. Cathy’s hand tightened on Laura’s shoulder. The gesture was meant to be comforting, but Laura felt like the ring of master keys that dangled from the Head Librarian’s hand at all hours of the day: kept close—and meant to open doors.

Cathy’s face schooled into a solemn expression, her frowning lips thinned as she focused her attention on the young mother. “You know, Laura here, she lost someone very close to her, because of that despicable—"

Laura didn’t realize she was moving until she rose from the seat and quickly deposited the child into Cathy’s unassuming arms. The Head Librarian let out a noise of surprise. The older woman held the boy with a frown, the kind she often wore when inspecting a damaged book from the returns. Laura brushed past Cathy.

“Laura?”

“I need to take my lunch.”

“Oh yes. Well, alright. I’ll finish up Storytime.” Cathy said. She sat on the abandoned seat, the child in her lap, and neither of the two participants seemed to like the new development. Laura mercifully put distance between herself and the group of parents who murmured about the news. The library suddenly felt too crowded. She heard the fading conversation as Cathy continued to speak with the parents.

“Laura is a great team member. So great, it’s just hard—as you may or may not know, she lost—”

Laura burst through the stairwell door by the non-fiction stacks. She slammed it behind her and sealed herself within the muffled, cold vacuum of space in the stairwell. She exhaled shakily.

Was it over?

She had expected some sort of feeling of cold satisfaction.

A sense of justice satiated.

Righting of a wrong.

A bittersweet relief.

Closure.

Was it over?

She sank onto the stairway landing and sat on the concrete step. She pulled out her phone and selected the news app. She scrolled and tapped the live broadcast.

“GCPD has confirmed that their coroner’s office has a body. Forensic identification is underway to confirm that DNA matches that of the Joker, with results set to be announced later this evening—”

Something strangling and sickening suddenly echoed through the stairwell. Laura felt her stomach drop and looked away from her phone. She listened intently for a moment. The sound was almost inhuman. And then it happened again.

A sob.

She clamped her hand over her mouth. It didn’t help. It happened again. A sad, agonized sound. Her phone clattered onto the step by her feet, and she heaved another body-racking cry.

Was it over?

No.

It would never be over.

She cried with the ferocity of a plastic bag tossed up into the air by a wind tunnel—her body weak and flimsy against the larger, errant force of emotion that swept through her. She cried hard, low and anguished. It echoed in the stairwell. When a doorway above opened, and she heard a pair of patrons discussing a book club read, she clamped her hands over her mouth again and took in a watery breath.

She scrambled to pick up her phone off the step and scuffed her nails against the concrete. She rose to her feet, and felt an uncomfortable tightness in her chest. She couldn’t take a full breath. She stumbled down the flight of stairs towards the basement of the library. She fished her keys out of her pocket and opened the door at the bottom of the stairs. The usual musty, old carpet smell of the staff room wafted over her as she entered the room.. She felt tears and snot run down her face, which she wiped with her sleeve.

No.

Joker’s Death.

It would never be over.

She sobbed again. And then froze. David, one of the library’s cataloguers, looked up from where he stood in the break room’s small kitchenette. He held a cup of coffee in one of his slim hands and in his other, he held his ancient flip phone. His eyes widened as he regarded her.

“Oh, Laurs sweetheart—”

“M’okay, David.” She swiftly said.

“Laurs, my son just sent me the news.” He said. He set down his cup and phone on the stained, beige laminate countertop. He pulled off his reading glasses. His eyes, sharp and fatherly, settled on her. He spoke to her in a low and soothing voice. “It’s alright, Laurs. We know how hard this must be for—”

“It’s okay, David. I just need to go sit in my car.” She replied.

“Laurs—”

“I just need a moment, David? Okay? That’s all I need.” She said tearfully. She moved to the staff lockers by the seating area and grabbed her jacket from her assigned locker. Her work bag. Her uneaten lunch. Her mittens. Her hat. 

She cast a look back at David, and she noticed his lightly stubbled chin bobbed for a moment in the dim lighting of the kitchenette’s lamp. He ran a thin hand through his salt and peppered hair. He looked as if he wanted to offer her a hug, but he sighed heavily instead and stayed rooted in the kitchenette like a dog told to stay. He held up his hand in an appeasing gesture.

“I’ll tell Cath you headed out early, Laurs. You take the day. You take all the time you need; you hear?” He said.

Her throat bobbed. David suddenly looked blurry. She nodded. “Thankyou.” She said, and rushed back out of the staffroom door. 

She ascended the stairwell and pulled on her jacket. The jacket that she couldn’t make herself throw away. The one that she inherited six years ago. The one she religiously kept clean, re-zippered when the zip broke once, the jacket she kept close, the one she wore even when it started to get too warm. A keepsake. A memory manifested into an everyday object. One that haunted her.

Joker’s death.

She hugged the jacket closer. The brown leather still held the scent. Another broken sob left her mouth as she rushed back up the stairs.

A death too late.

She entered the stacks of the main floor and trekked across the library towards the entrance. She didn’t spare a glance at the children’s section. Not at the TV monitors. Not at Cathy who drew a crowd of parents as she disclosed something so grievous and confidential that Laura felt she should file a formal HR complaint. She couldn’t look and witness those parents who would surely gaze back at her now with eyes full of pity.

She heard when Cathy called out her name, but Laura ignored her and pushed through the library’s front doors and out into the parking lot. It had snowed again, another fresh half foot of snow. The wind whipped it up as she trudged to her car. She swept the snow off the top of her car and the windshield with a snow brush. Her movements were choppy. She practically threw herself into the driver’s seat. She keyed the engine into ignition, and blinked away tears. She maneuvered her car out of the snowy parking lot and into the streets of Gotham.

She drove straight to the cemetery.

***

In loving memory

Jason Todd

1990 - 2008

Loved Son

Steadfast Brother

Loyal Friend

The grave marker left out a few key details.

Second Robin

Joker’s Victim

Laura brushed off a layer of snow from the top of the dark stone. The cemetery was vacant of the living, except for her. The markers sprawled across the acres of snowy land. Bare trees intermittently interspersed between the graves and trembled in the icy wind. The midday sky clouded above her, the slate grey sheet of clouds were as grey as the graves and threatened more snow.  

 She gulped in a stinging breath of air. 

“He’s dead.” She told the stone.

You're dead.

Her lavender mitten brushed away more snow off the top of the grave marker. She did it with the reticence one would if they were dusting an old, delicate painting. And then her hand curled into a fist. It dropped against the flat of the granite, hard and angry. A smattering of snowflakes scattered as wool and flesh thunked against rock ineffectually. 

“God– ” She choked out, and wept.

She cried without care for retaining any decency about it. She cried until she heard footsteps crunching through the snow–steady and approaching. 

When she looked up she saw the bright blue sleeve of a winter jacket splayed out before her, and then she was swept up into a familiar embrace. She smelled the plastic, wintery smell of the polyester jacket–and then the bright scent that was Dick Grayson.

“Hi.” She said, and her voice sounded watery.

He didn’t reply right away. He just held her and let the warmth that was him settle over her.

“You shoulda called me, sweetheart.” He said. His voice sighed with the long-suffering, concerned chiding of an older brother. 

“Did they really kill him?” She asked.

“Yeah, sweetheart.” He replied. 

She wept harder.

“W-who did it?” She asked.

Dick stiffened, and she felt the sharp stubble of his jaw sweep across her scalp as he bundled her closer under his chin.

“Doesn’t matter, hun.” He said.

“Yeah it does–”

She felt his jaw tick, but as quickly as it did, it relaxed into a sigh that warmed her hair.

As if reluctant, he finally spoke.  “They call him the Red Hood.” He said, voice low and tight. A beat of silence. “You’ve heard of him yet?” He asked.

She nodded and his jacket crinkled against her cheek.

It was quiet. Dick’s head swiveled toward the grave marker. She felt more than watched as he silently looked at the grave that housed his younger brother. When she pulled away from him, Dick’s eyes were contemplative and pained.

She thought she recognized in his expression the same grief and anger that filled her own heart. It was only later that she realized that his grief was different. His grief was borne of a different kind of loss and anguish that she herself would soon confront. 

They called him the Red Hood. 

The Joker’s murderer.

And Gotham celebrated. 

And two out of a handful of people within Gotham–that had loved Jason–did not celebrate. They mourned.

Dick’s eyes returned to her. His gaze sharpened with a swift and intense intelligence; a familiar look that he and his family had an uncanny likeness with. They shared an evaluative stare that unnerved most, and Laura recognized it as an ability ingrained into them with their vigilante roots. Or maybe it was just a Bruce Wayne glare that he imparted along to his adoptive children. Nonetheless, out of the entirety of their family, Dick had a gentleness to him that always chased and tempered the intense stare as quickly as it appeared.

“Let’s get some lunch, Laurs.” He volunteered.

She shook her head. Her stomach felt as if hewn from the stone of the grave marker. It felt heavy and inorganic in her gut. “I can’t eat when I’m like this.” She said.

Dick’s eyes softened. “Alfred misses you.” He said gently.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. 

Laura broke into another fit of tears. Dick pulled her by her elbow into another hug. “He made shepherd’s pie, your favorite, Laurs.” He murmured into her hair.

Laura shook her head. “I can’t go back–” she sniffled. 

She felt Dick’s hands grasp the  thick leather of the jacket–Jason’s jacket–around her shoulders. 

“Yeah you can.” He said gently. “You’re always welcome back.” He said. “You know that.” He murmured.

His voice sounded impossibly assuring. It sounded like this was something he had said before–and recently–because when she lifted her eyes back to his, Dick’s throat bobbed heavily.

“It’s just lunch, Laurs.” He said.

She gave him a soft glare. Dick’s thin mouth upturned into a half smirk, but there was an anxious exhale of breath that accompanied it.

“Okay, maybe I can admit that Alfred’s stress-cooking. And Bruce’s been holed up in the Cave all morning…” He acquiesced. His eyes turned imploring. “And you're here …crying…” He added gently. “And I’d like us all to be together…y’know.” He continued, and he squeezed her.  “Dealing with this together.” He murmured.

She stared at him, feeling something more than rigid, rough grief in her body. 

“Okay.” She said.

He rubbed her shoulder through the leather jacket, then nodded towards her car–and his car parked next to it–in the distance. He must have been on his way to the cemetery just as she had earlier. She wasn’t sure if it was because he himself had needed to be here, or if he had known she’d gravitate to Jason’s grave like a pilgrimage to a shrine they both didn't want but felt compelled to journey to.  

“You can head over to the Manor. I’ll be behind you in a minute.” He said. She nodded. She turned her face back to the tombstone, and with one final look that traced the letters of Jason’s name, turned and walked to her car. 

Dick watched her bundle herself into her little tiny Toyota. Her car swept out of the cemetery with both what looked like a reluctance in its wheels and an earnestness in its speed. He exhaled bodily. 

His gloved hands felt cold even in the deep wells of his winter jacket pockets. He stood for a moment: a statue of contemplation and contained restlessness. He pulled his phone out. He tapped at the screen, slotted an earbud into his ear, and waited as the phone dialed. His mouth hardened from the reassuring smile he had given Laura into a fatigued frown. The phone rang, for an impossibly long time, until he figured the recipient wouldn’t pick up. Typica–

The line connected. 

A heavy, weighted silence followed. And then sharp and straight to the point, Dick paced the line of grave markers and spoke, his breaths punctuating the air.

“I don’t know what I’m more angry at, Jaybird.” Dick volleyed, voice prim. “The fact that you killed him, or that you’re still leaving her in the dark.” He said, voice bitter and accusatory.

Silence taunted him. Until he heard the shuffle of a phone jostled on the other side of the line–the uneasy creak of plastic and thin metal under a fair amount of stress. The unmistakable sound of a fist that tightened around a piece of technology that should definitely not be compressed.

“You know why it’s warranted, Dickhead.” Jason answered. His voice was colder than the barren cemetery.

Dick felt anger seize his thoughts. “Murder? Or pretending you’re still dead?” Dick whipped back. “Both aren’t warranted.” He continued. “Bruce is beside himself, Jay.” Dick said, and his voice suddenly lowered into an apprehensive register. 

His paces along the grave stones stuttered until he stopped: a statue now bent like the figure of Atlas. The world held heavy on his shoulders. “And you know what? So am I.” Dick continued, as vulnerability seeped into his tone.

A harsh scoff puffed on the other side of the line. 

A hot vein of anger burned in Dick’s chest and overpowered the mounting anxiety.

“Jay– Jesus –you killed him! You went against the code.” He said. He pinched the bridge of his nose between two gloved fingers and squeezed his eyes shut. “I know you’re dealing with the effects of the Pit–but it’s like you’re a different per–”

“I didn’t shoot the bastard because of the Pit, Dickhead.” Jason’s voice was like a shotgun blast. “He deserved to die, Dick.” He growled.

Dick inhaled sharply.

He remembered a boy, twelve years old, who beat the shit out of a prickhead tenth grader twice Jason’s size because the kids had made a nasty comment about Jason’s mother being addicted to drugs.

He also remembered a boy, fourteen years old, that had cried when he read Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. A boy who sobbed when the family of villagers rejected the monster due to its grotesque appearance.

He remembered a sixteen year old kid, who laughed when an attacker’s gun had blasted a bullet way, way too close to Jason’s head. He remembered the sheer stomach dropping fear that had twisted Dick’s insides, even as Jason–as Robin–landed a fist against the shooter’s face. The blow had been devastatingly precise, with a little too much force, as the boy grinned without mirth.

He remembered a boy that bolted down Alfred’s dinners like someone might take his meal away at any moment. Bruce had gently reminded Dick later that Jason had spent time in the juvenile system, and had reminded him of how often Jason had gone without proper meals living with his mother and her addiction.

“He deserved to die –” Jason repeated on the other side of the line. His voice filled with such a feral viciousness that made Dick remember with startling, agonized clarity that one memory of Jason’s last Christmas six years ago–when Dick had gifted Jason a first-edition copy of Frankenstein. He remembered the soft and meaningful, almost boyish tone of: “Thank you,” from Jason.

“I did what had to be done.” Jason said. “And I will continue to do what needs to be done.” He growled. “Because this goddamn city deserves actual justice–”

“It’s not justice, Jason!” Dick snapped. “It’s murder! It’s killing! ” He said.

“It’s necessary!” Jason shouted.

“It’s not you, Jason!” Dick argued.

There was an angry cry from the other side of the line, then a series of harsh cracks, like a phone being slammed against a table repeatedly. The volley of fury pierced at Dick’s eardrum. He winced.

“I killed him!” Jason bellowed with cold certainty. “Wrap your goddamn head around it–! I am not stopping at just the clown.” Jason snarled. “I’ll kill every rotten, sack-of-shit lowlife in this city! I will purge every god forsaken corner–” 

Dick remembered the tapes sent by the clown to taunt Bruce. The horrific, insane, unreal tapes of something that should have never been done, let alone filmed. He remembered the harsh blue and purple of Jason’s skin in the tapes: Jason’s entire torso bruised inhumanly. The sight of an eighteen year old boy harmed so badly that Bruce had never really recovered from it. Jason’s tortured figure had been so wrong that Dick’s first and visceral reaction had been That’s not my brother.

The same thought welled up in his head like blood burgeoned from a wound.

That’s not my brother.

“I will tear down every cartel–every trafficking ring–”

“We can help you, Jay–” Dick’s voice didn’t sound like it usually did; confident, assured…it sounded small and breathless. It pleaded.

“I’ll put a bullet right through the head of every single shit stain that walks these streets–”

“We can help you, I promise.” Dick’s voice shook. “We can get you help–”

“I don’t need help! ” The voice rioted from the other side of the line. Jason’s breaths were like the sharp snaps of a nail gun, fast and piercing. “I don’t need your fucking help!" He said.

“Yes you d–”

The line went dead.

Dick cursed. He tore the earbud from his ear and ran a hand through his dark hair. He stared, his eyes wet and hot, at the tombstone. He stood–knowing somewhere in Gotham–Jason was doing the exact same thing: 

“Deep breaths, center yourself in your body. You’re less effective when you’re overcome by emotions."  Bruce’s training echoed in both of them.

He collected himself by piecemeal. 

He felt cold snowflakes against his cheeks.

Laura was already likely driving on one of the highways, making her way to the Manor.

He scuffed the heel of his boot into the snow tracks.

Alfred was likely coaxing Bruce out of the cave with the pointed emphasis only an Englishman can have on attending tea time like a respectable Wayne. 

He heard the pale, soft scrape of a dislodged autumn leaf blown across a snowbank.

Tim was likely orbiting the cave like a satellite, making nonchalant overtones of hacking the morgue’s systems to ensure they did an actual, qualified autopsy on the clown. However, he was overseeing their father’s quiet, brooding breakdown with thinly veiled concern. When he types too loudly on his laptop, he’ll hear Bruce say: “Not so loud, Jason.” In a low cadence that makes it known Bruce isn’t aware he just called Tim by his other son’s name.

He tasted the wind: frigid and mild against the thickness of his tongue that felt too dry in his mouth. He sucked at his teeth with another breath.

Damian was probably still sleeping into the late afternoon. But Alfred would rouse him, patient and impart the sensitive news. Damian would arrive in the dining room later, cast furtive looks at Bruce and Laura and Dick, and sit with them until he would make some awful, awful little brother joke about something innocuous that would rouse all three of them out of their grief.

Because Fuck. They were grieving. In different ways. Laura didn’t even know. And Dick wrangled with the urge to tell her. But how could he tell her?

That Jason was the Red Hood?

Because that wasn’t his brother.

He walked back to his car, got into the driver’s seat and began to head to the Manor. 

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had left something behind after that phone call.

That feeling lingered as he thought of the empty coffin in Jason's plot. The sickening realization that Jason wasn’t still six feet under the soil—a fact that should have been rejoiced. And yet, with his resurrected brother roaming Gotham like a vengeful fallen angel, Jason felt more dead to Dick than if he were buried.

He wondered how often Jason wished that he was still dead. 

No one becomes so fixated, so unyielding in dispensing death, unless they’re running from something—driven by a need to impose fear, control, or escape their own demons. Dick had seen too much of Gotham's worst to miss the shadow that now hounded his brother.

And Jason had run right to the Joker, shot a bullet through the clown’s grinning teeth and vindicated his own death-–with more of it. 

Dick thought of Jason’s Frankenstein , the first edition book carefully shelved. His other copy, paperback, that had still been left on his bedside table in his old room in the Manor. Dick’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. After Jason’s death, he remembered flipping through the annotated pages of the paperback. He had been grieving and seeking the ghost of his little brother in the highlighted pages of a story beloved to Jason. He remembered one quote, scrawled by Jason on the title page-–a quote inscribed in the book from the film adaptation:

“I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine, and rage in me the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other."

Jason had been expelled from the school for beating up the tenth grader. Not even Bruce Wayne’s nepotism had gotten Jay back into that school's good graces. He had had to re-register to a different school and Jason’s violent reputation had followed him there too. 

That’s not my brother.

But it was. 

It was.

Dick drove, feeling out of body, in the way only an eldest sibling can when it feels like pieces of him walked the world four times over: in his own body, in Tim’s, in Damian’s, and in Jason’s. In Jason’s. 

Jason had died that day six years ago by Joker’s insidious hands. After months of torture.

But so had a piece of Dick. And to then have that piece recovered –to have Jason walk the Earth again–resurrected and hurt and angry...

Dick often felt like he was struggling to sweep up all the pieces he carried–all the pieces he had to carry–to keep all these people he loved safe– the world pitching off of Atlas's shoulders …

He knew somewhere out there in Gotham City, Jason was trying to collect himself too. He knew that they both carried a piece of something that they needed to carry, but struggled with the weight of it.

”You’re welcome, Jaybird.” Dick had replied. 

Jason held the gifted first edition book like it was a treasure.

“You wanna watch the film later? Frankenstein looks pretty freaky in it.” Dick said. There was a twinkle in his gaze that hinted at playful mockery. Jason tossed him an eyeroll.

“Shut up, Dickhead. The film’s trash. Also the monster isn’t Frankenstein– it’s the doc–”

“Yeah, yeah, I know that, you nerd.”

Jason’s expression twisted with further frustration, but he thumbed through the novel’s pages with a reverence in his body language that spoke of quiet gratitude. His sharp eyes returned to Dick, glaring but not simmering with their usual fire.

Because that was his brother. 

A man filled with rage. But love. There was also love in Jason.

And a handful of people knew it.

He just hoped Jason remembered he was one of them.

[alatismeni-theitsa]

hi, I have a question 'cause I saw it in your tags about the "Persephone lied" post you reblogged.

You mentioned how the tale symbolizes arranged marriages and the separation mother/daughter had to go through.

The more I thought about it the more it makes sense 'cause I’ve heard this is how mothers reacted to marriage in the Ancient World,' cause they would lose their own daughters, with little hope of seeing them again, so that death and marraige seem like almost the same thing from the mother’s perspective. (not to mention Zeus agreed to let Hades to his thing and only "warned" him about Demeter’s reaction. <-I think that can be interpretated as two men agreeing on a marriage without the consent of the mother or the daughter).

On the other hand, I used to think the myth was only relevant to the lives of the worshippers due to Demeter’s grief; it explained the seasons, and it also explained the need for agriculture, which Demeter then taught to mortals to help them survive her periods of sorrow.

Then again I’ve seen ppl theorizing Persephone’s disappearance to be a metaphor for death, (Y'know, how it snatches people away suddenly and leaves grief in its wake) but I think that's a stretch.

Anyways, is there an actual answer or is the myth up to the interpretation when it comes to what it symbolizes/stands for?

thank you in advance! 💕

Hello! Just a small disclaimer: When dealing with a foreign religious tale it doesn't make sense to project our own experiences there since the locals have certain things in place to symbolise specific meanings, and express a certain message. So really, what one "thinks" of the myth is irrelevant. I mean, sure we can all think stuff, don't get me wrong! But I mean, we cannot just base our thoughts on vibes. We should look at the history and tradition of that country first. I'm happy to see people reading examinations of myths more carefully 😄

For example, arranged marriages in Greece were a regular phenomenon 3-4 generations back, and even today that they are not, we still have mournful songs for when her mother grieves losing her daughter in marriage. Our two most famous traditional songs speak of that. One is so bleak that it's downright depressing for a marriage ("Σήμερα μαύρος ουρανός, σήμερα μαύρη μέρα"). @wordsmithic has an extensive video series about the relationship of marriage and death in Greek folklore through the ages. I suggest this for starters (But better see the whole series if you can! It's short!):

Greeks see the tale of Persephone as an explanation for why winter exists, and we also recognise the parallels between Demeter and Persephone's situation with what our mothers and daughters have been going through for thousands of years. The abduction of Persephone is also part of a long-lasting motif of the Greek "Death and the Maiden" stories, so it wouldn't be a stretch to consider it in the broader imagery of "a Death force taking a young woman".

The abduction of Persephone wasn't a story that people related to death and death rituals, so it's probably not a metaphor in the sense you mean, but the story kinda connects death and marriage, again, by being a part of a bigger cultural viewpoint. In Greek tradition since antiquity, young unmarried people (usually teens, not kids) are buried with their (woud be) wedding clothes and sometimes their graves had/have wedding symbols and offerings. Today this is done to give "happiness" to the dead and simulate the marriage rite they never got to have. Also some consider these dead "marry Christ". Before Christianity there was also a motif the dead young women marrying Death (?) but I can't find the info now. I distinctly remember reading many posts about it with sources but I am very sorry I can't procure them now. As soon as I find it, I'll add it here! But you can consider Antigone, how she describes her tomb as a wedding bed, for starters.

Another video of @wordsmithic talks about that motif! (I watched all the videos as you can tell and although I knew most of the stuff, wordsmithic made very good connections there!)

Hopefully, now my initial disclaimer makes sense. There are telling signs of what each myth means, and we take the signs from the culture these myths came from. It's very cool when you can observe the culture's evolution and see hints of that in the present to make more connections.

[schmitty-schmitstinstein]

Welcome!

Post Loading

You're Connected!

Hello!

You can call me Cyd or Schmitty, either is fine, just switch it up occasionally. I use it/they/quip pronouns, and I'm 22. This is to give the basics about my blog, and to just give some info about me!

Here we go!

General info

~I like to write, sing, and cosplay. I've shared a lot of writing and cosplay content so far, and I plan to continue this. You can find my ao3 right here.

~I'm neurodivergent.

~I try to use tone indicators when I feel they're needed. Using them for me would be much appreciated.

~I'm a whole bunch of xenogenders. I have my pronouns cc listed below

~I'm also otherkin! Specifically virtualkin and errorkin, as in being something computer generated, yet missing from the program. I'm also fictionkin, specifically of Schmitty from Jackbox/You Don't Know Jack and Data from Star Trek: the Next Generation.

~I do block liberally. Very rarely will it be a temporary block. It's possible, but I have my reasons for blocking, and will stand by them.

Interests

(Favorites are bold)

-Jackbox/You Don't Know Jack

-Jojo's Bizarre Adventure

-Animaniacs

-Star Trek

-The Sims

-I Was a Teenage Exocolonist

-Doctor Who

-Dimension 20

-Will Wood/Will Wood and the Tapeworms

-My Chemical Romance

-Green Day

-Little Shop of Horrors

-My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

-Starkid

-HLVRAI

DNI

-Racist, Homophobic, Transphobic, Ableist, Aphobic, Antisimetic, Islamophobic, any other form of bigot

-Fatphobic

-You make mean-spirited fat jokes/fat jokes at someone’s expense

-Transmisogynists

-Transmisandrists

-Anti Self-Diagnosis

-Anti-endo and anti-created systems (neutral too. You can’t be neutral on someone’s literal existence.)

-Anti age regression

-Anti pet regression

-transmeds

-sysmeds

-Fakeclaimers

-Harry Potter fans

-Chloe Bourgeois fans/apologists

-Genuine Schmitty haters (I will try to avoid general negative comments. I guess that would be more of like a 'Cyd don't look!' thing)

-Anyone who excuses the erasure of marginalized identities in media (Specifically the MCU) or takes part in it.

-Deniers of the Holocaust, the genocide in Gaza, or the 1/6 Insurrection

-Anti-Otherkin/Alterhuman/Fictionkin/Therian/etc.

-MAGA supporters

-Pro-War

-Anti-ACAB

-Purposely uses tone indicators wrong/mocks tone indicators

-Discourse of any kind. This includes syscourse, fandom discourse, identity discourse, anything.

-anti self-ship

Stuff I try to avoid

-Squid Game

-Inside Job

-Heavy amounts of gore

-Detailed descriptions of bugs

-Schmitty hate

-Extreme flashing lights

-Venting

-Please don't call me any slurs. Even if they are reclaimable for you or me, I'm just not comfortable with that

-Please don't send me donation asks.

Other Accounts

~@falsetoons: Incorrect Animainacs Quotes

~@welcometoschmittlash: Schmitty fan blog

~@yourhostandbestfriend: Schmitty rp account

~@abbacchiositalianpiss: JJBA fan blog

~@ask-creaturebox-household: Jackbox/YDKJ supernatural creatures AU askblog

~@would-they-drink-sanitizer: Character Gimmick blog

Tags

#cyd's sentiments: general thoughts/random silly things I want to write about

#storytime with Schmitty: fanfic/writing posts:

#cyd foams at the mouth: rants

#schmitty's schmelf promo: self promotion tags for other blogs (will be accompanied by a general self promotion tag)

#cyd scribbles: Art posts!

I think that is all! Thanks so much for reading!

Shutting Down

[syrips]

hello im gonna pin this post

hello my name is Syrips, im a super duper simp and simp/self-insert enabler for others who love strahd or any cos/ravenloft/fictional characters

im 28, but i sometimes say im thirty as a vague response because its easier and faster to say (or safer to say to strangers)

i think i am autistic but i am currently only self-diagnosed; i plan to tell my doctors once i compile a binder of reasons why i think im autistic based on noted events in my childhood, behavior, and my reflected perspective on things in pages of charts and text which is a totally neurotypical thing to do

im genderfluid and i am fine with any and all pronouns (different people may use different/changing/fluid pronouns on me, i am completely fine with this)

im polyamorous and pansexual/panromantic, i gush over games that have polyamory/pan options!!

i have huge CoS/Ravenloft spoilers so please, PLEASe do not enter unless you are fine with being spoiled with all kinds of content. i also wont explain what is or isnt 'canon' because, well, some things may be canon for one person, while potential/not-canon for another, so i really cannot confirm or deny it myself.. ask your DM for confirmation! (and for my players who are here, hehe, goodluck figuring it out!)

i do music, art, crafting, and streaming sometimes, here is my linktree: https://linktr.ee/syrips

please 'ask'/message/send me any and all of your curse of strahd and/or ravenloft works of art! this can include these and more!:

playlists

moodboards

art/portfolio/link to your art or artblog

pages of your OC/PC/dnd lore (both player and DM welcome)

campaign/session notes and storytime

canon and potential-/home-/head-canon dumps

narrations/imagines/ao3/google docs/fanfic/fic writings

cool crafts!!

i crave it more than strahd craves blood, please and thank you!

you can also send me stuff and let me know if you want me to gush/simp over it, provide advice, or simply acknowledge it (publicly or privately)! let me know in advance cuz i dont want to make you uncomfortable with what you share

i have no limits on triggering fictional content, just make sure to tw it properly if it is sensitive content for others

my Ask thingy is always open, i may ramble alot if i get passionate enough though so be warned! hehe

ok goodbye ill edit or change this whenever idk

Edit Entry 1 - 11th Moon, 2023

for context, keita/raze (he/him) is my irl partner. he's been a simp for alucard (castlevania) longer than i've begun simping for strahd. i only discovered this years into the relationship when we watched castlevania (where i expected to be a bigger simp for castlevania), and instead HE made high pitch simping noises as alucard appeared on the screen and i was like -sus eyes- wait a GOSH DARN MINUTE-. also, keita has a thing for necks. i shrugged it off when he first told me, but years later i started simping for strahd and now i look back at that moment like 'hm. odd.-'. anyways, i mostly started dating him because he sounds like a kermit the frog southern guy who goes 'howdy howdy' and he says 'i should be golden' unironically and i think thats pretty funny

i tag stuff as #making a keita tag so when keita presses this he can see all the stuff that he likes so that i can organize stuff and incase he ever decides to poke around my blog and use this tag search within my blog

Edit Entry 2 and 3 - 12th Moon, 2023

syrips OC/PC list (loosely alphabetical)

Other People's Adored OC/PC list (loosely alphabetical)

Edit Entry 4 - 7th Moon, 2024

hi huge warning that im fucking WEIRD. like i know people may enjoy the idea of me for entertainment/indulgence purposes but please please. if you ask/tell me to do something, i will 90%-chance take it seriously and respond bluntly/directly. please take my warnings seriously and please please interact with me responsibly!!

and i already know some would be like, 'oh syrips people always say that. they wanna act unique/special by calling themselves weird'. like. thats fair if people dont believe that but please dont be surprised when freakos start feeling more comfortable/vulnerable around you and you become shocked. like. stop trying to shame/blame freakos for what they've warned since the beginning. please, it's hurtful and disrespectful.

my asks are always open, be as blunt/direct as you want. most of my cws will be with "cw: " before it. let me know if you want me to cw tag something!

i use the #be cringe be free tag for weirdos/freakos/happy/indulgent stuff. this can include stuff that isnt 'cringe', and/or cringe we embrace. it's okay to be cringe. it's okay to say cringe culture is dead. it's okay to not see things as cringe. it's okay to embrace the cringe. it's okay to indulge, to be your favorite version of you. it's okay to indulge, even if it's unfamiliar/scary. i use the tag for moments of doing what makes you happy, regardless if youre unfamiliar with that indulgent feeling. be cringe be free!!

[wylde-lore--deactivated]

Cosmic Indifference - a Murder Drones AU

Let's start things off by taking a step back. We are stuck in a hole beneath the ice and stone. It's boring here. Let's see the sights this planet has to offer.

...Hmm, strange. Did Uzi and her crew get smaller? Well, it's probably nothing to worry about.

Let's take another step back. Copper 9 implies that it's the 9th planet in this system. What are the others like? Do they have Drones? Are they plagued by Disassembly Drones and Solver infections?

Ok, the main cast is definitely smaller now. As if they're... becoming insignificant the farther back we go. But we can't stop now.

Another step back. The Copper system is but a singular solar system among untold trillions, and each and every one has its own stories. The traumas our favorite Drones face are so small from up here.

But what if we went even further? Now we are among not just the universe, but the multiverse. What manner of cosmic beings - gods, even - are out here? How do they perceive the Solver? Is it a great threat to them? Or is it a mere blip in the grand scheme of things? Uzi, N, V, J, Tessa, Khan, Nori, Yeva, Cyn, they are all mere specks of dust from up here, floating adrift in an unfeeling and uncaring universe. And, when you think about it, that's what they are; clumps of cosmic stardust created and given sentience by other dust clumps.

This world is indifferent to the plights of mortals. The gods do not care for the Drones, if they even know they're there. They are wrapped up in grander things. But what are these grander things? By studying the multiverse and the cosmic beings that govern its rules, what can we learn?

What happens when we embrace the Eldritch Truth?

Hihihi! <3 I hope you liked my little intro.

I'm Mod Andy (no that is not my real name) and I've created this blog to share an AU of mine - one that focuses less on the local setting of the show and more on the greater universe that it lives in.

I got a LOT of special interests and my silly little Autism brain won't let me make this AU without cross-contaminating the AU with other stuff that fascinate me, so watch out for stuff like crossovers with other things I like, magic, modern fantasy in general, body horror, lovecraftian horror, eldritch horror, cosmic horror, and good old fashioned existentialism.

In case you can't tell I REALLY like horror. If that's not your cup of tea, I can respect that. I also recommend you start running as far away from me as you can, and as fast as you can.

Now, because I'm not a monster, probably, I will tag my post with the necessary trigger warnings if needed. If I missed a warning on a post, please don't be afraid to let me know.

Oh, and one more thing before I let you go! You can actually find this AU alive and active over on my RP blog, @ask-wylde-and-co. There's also @storytime-with-dr-wylde if you want lore in a story format, and for ooc stuff you can check out my main, @how-and-why-do-i-know-this!

That should be everything for now. I'll see you all later in your nightmares! <3

[type-a-sentinull]

it’s occurring to me that this might be a funny thing to post online so here we go!

[Summary: Critter talks about weird shit that’s shown up or disappeared in its house] (read under the cut)

Critter Storytime!

So a little background about me. I’ve never really been one to question weird stuff happening. Even as a kid. If something happened it was just a little “huh. Okay then” then I went on with my life.

Now, sometimes the weird stuff that happened was stuff showing up in my room that 1. Was not mine, 2. I didn’t know where it came from, and 3. Entirely randomized. Other times my shit disappears without warning too.

The first thing that I really noticed had appeared in my room was, funnily enough, a skeleton key. It came with this little tag on it that said something about pirates or some shit (I didn’t question because my town has a thing with pirates so I was like oh yeah whatever) and it was in the corner of my room near the door. Naturally, being in like 5th grade or so, I went and showed it off to my friends and whatnot and didn’t think twice about it. But I only really had it for maybe 3 days before it disappeared again. I had put it down on my desk before bed and it was gone in the morning.

Another time is when a choker of mine disappeared one day with zero explanation or warning.(Keep in mind that I was a rather forgetful person, and still am, but I have searched quite literally everywhere and have not found it to this day even though this was years ago.) I had gotten it from a friend of mine maybe a week or so before, and really liked it. So I had worn it for a few days, and had eventually put it down (in a very obvious spot, mind you) for about a day or so because I just wasn’t really feeling it for the next few days. And then suddenly, like the day after I had left it out, it was gone. No explanation, I couldn’t find it anywhere. Not near my jewelry/accessories box, nowhere near where I had left it initially, literally could not find this thing. (Which sucks because even now I still really like the way it looked :/)

But another case of strange appearing things is a jacket of mine that I quite like and still have! (If you saw my other post today it’s the gold and black suit-jacket.) It appeared maybe a year or so ago if I had to guess(it was quite a bit ago, it’s been in my closet for a while) and again, I never questioned it. It’s a nice jacket, I can think of plenty of ways to style it, who cares. Free shit, right? I actually have no memory of when exactly it showed up, I just know I’ve had it for a while. And luckily it’s not disappeared on me yet :)

I’ve also has cases of my stuff disappearing for a few months or even a year(at most so far) and then reappearing right where I left them. This has happened with two different gloves of mine(especially the gloves, it happens so often), and plenty of art supplies. Shit just leaves sometimes for a little stroll or sumn then shows back up like nothing happened.

But anyways that’s my fun little storytime of how shit appears and disappears, and I never question it :))

if I think of anything else I’ll turn this post into a thread

[firstprince-ao3feed]

storytime

by dani_dabbles A part of Henry had always assumed he would die within the walls of the library. It's a statistically sound assumption. He spends most of his waking hours here. He puts too much trust in the wobbly tables he stands on to hang decorations. He dares to use the ancient elevator that screeches and groans during its slow, perilous journey between floors. He often volunteers to go into the boiler room and bang on the unit so it starts up again. And out of pure obligatory politeness, he eats the godawful cookies Janice leaves in the staff break room on Fridays. Obviously, it will be one of these ill-advised choices that causes his untimely death. Then he walks in. Words: 6696, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston, Red White & Royal Blue (2023) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Alex Claremont-Diaz, Liam (Red White & Royal Blue), Spencer (Red White & Royal Blue), Original Characters Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Librarian Henry Fox Mountchristen-Windsor, Lawyer Alex Claremont-Diaz, Volunteer Alex Claremont-Diaz, Rizcriz Prompt (Red White & Royal Blue), Meet-Cute, Fluff, No Angst, Flirting, Oblivious Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Libraries, Lunch Dates, Non-Royal Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Alex Claremont-Diaz is not First Son of the United States, they both simp so hard, seriously thats the plot, also strawberry alex gets a cameo via https://ift.tt/PodHCrq

[elisedonut]

fic author interview

Thank you for the tag @mirrorofliterature I'm tagging whoever feels like doing it!

How many works do you have on AO3?

33.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

42,741 words.

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Raspberry Muffin Flintley - 139 

at least we're trying Flintley - 104

Rhododendrons and False Indigo Harry/George - 102 (why its only been up a week wtf)

Anyone But You Draco/Percy - 98 

Storytime Naps Perciver - 96 

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yeah! unless it's just asking me to make more then i tend to get annoyed and ignore it but i don't get very many at the moment so i tend to stay on top of it pretty well

5. What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Deceased. i guess? it's really the only one I got

i don't write angsty stuff much

6. What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

most of what i write barely even has AN ending I do a lot of open endings

i think the closest I've gotten to a complete story story have been A Shell for a Mate and Camera Cutie and they both end pretty happy

7. Do you write a cross-overs?

I have not as of yet! if I ever do it's probably going to be an isekai type scenario because it seems like the most fun to me

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I still have not shockingly

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Sometimes im not very good at it and am still learning on that front most of it tends to cut before smut really happens or is just jacking off

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

12. Have you co-written a fic before?

Also no.

13. What's your all time favourite ship?

I'm a big multi shipper so don't really even have one within one single fandom and you want an overall??

right now 99% of what i think about is Percy ships

14. What's a WIP that you want to finish but think you never will?

hmm if i say all of them do i lose my writer card?

jkjk

but i do have alot of things I've started because the mood hit that i just can't see myself going back to like i have 3k for an amnesia memories au that has just been gathering dust since that original sprint of inspo hit

15. What are your writing strengths?

??? i come up with fun concepts i think? or at least they're fun to me

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

the writing part really I come up with far more ideas then I would ever be able to write hence why I still post alot on here but also like making the idea an actual story story and not just a small slice of a story

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in fic?

I'm too lazy for it overall.

18. What's the first fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter so far it's the only fandom I've written for

19. What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

I'm not sure i ofc have a list of Percy ships i want to try which is currently

Dudley, Seamus, Justin and then ofc the two that constantly give me trouble when i try to pair them with Percy, Remus and Harry

but like outside of Percy ??

i have fandoms but most are dormant as of now like i love Idolmaster and stay caught up on the music but the idea of writing fics for it is like eh if anything it would be Makio/Soichiro tbh i miss them

I finished rwrb and enjoyed it a ton but with the firstprince being canon my brain just doesn't care that much to even seek out content for it because that's how my brain works

its canon so i don't feel the need to read (or by extension write) like 1000 different scenario's for them to get together

like people who stay fully invested in canon couples are powerful because my interest in them in a fanon sense goes out the window every time

i feel like if i ever did do something with rwrb it be an isekai since they are both into HP so it be a very typical get transported into your favorite series story i think that would be fun

i will never do it but fun idea

the ships i like for Danganronpa would probably get me killed/j

like i am with Percy now i was a big Chihiro multi shipper in my DR days before settling on ChiMaru as my favorite for them

20. What's your favourite fic that you've written?

controversial pick but Secret Fantasy 

i put so much work into it KNOWING no one was going to care about it because it's incest but i care about it damn it!! its the longest fic ive written as of now and i had so much fun with it and still think about it alot

less controversial pick is Camera Cutie  because I'm Colin kick at the moment though it is a bit more like messy since it was a pretty early one

[phantom-fleetways]

Start here!!

Hello! Welcome to a small dedication blog. If you want to see more of my fandom Nonspecific art, you can find it at @lilmysshadowxion.

This blog is mostly gonna be focused on a couple of my AUs and general Fanart. Due to that, I'm enstating a simple tagging system. Each AU, when enough work has been done to post about them here, will have its own specific tag. The list will be updated periodically to reflect this.

#Storytime - Stuff relating to lore or general lore based questions and explanations will be found here.

#Campfire - All the Fics I make, AU or not, will be found under this tag

#!!! - All asks will be filtered under this tag.

#Phantoms - Any ramblings or general musing will be put in this tag.

#Museum - All of my Fanart, AU or not, will be found under this tag.

#Toxic Waste - Any fandom/general discourse will be found here.

#Information and updates - All general important things that deal with the future or state of this blog and my activity on it can be found here.

I will warn you now, this blog will deal with complex and occasionally straight up demented themes.

Please if you don't like anything here just block and move on.

I don't really own the energy to fight with people and will use the block button liberally.

TW for Murder, Cannibalism, unreality, and generally just dark themes.

[incrediblysincere]

its been said on here so many fucking times before but its still so unhinged when you see a post like “ugh i can’t believe the antis in this fandom!!! if you don’t wanna see miss cupcakes x boo-boo bear nsfw shipping just get out of the fucking tag!!! entitled minors coming into adult spaces smh” and the show they’re arguing about is called like “magical storytime: toddler entertainment hour”