#its not very impressive.

[dawn-clan]

Hey bleak paw have you thought about asking starclan or whatever variation you have on what to do? Maybe they can steer you towards some cat they trust!

[michameinmicha]

Stumbled upon this random ship (in a fandom im not active in myself) that has like 150 works on ao3 which are all from just two people gifting each other fics about this pairing back and forth and theyve been doing it for 3 years... i think thats true love probably

[foolsocracy]

they barge into justice league meetings saying they have something very important to show them. and do stuff like this

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF Abby and Gregory discover Michael is an artist too

[starry-bi-sky]

on a completely separate note; shizun luo binghe with a disciple shen yuan who fell into the abyss??? *thinks about LBH canonically stealing SQQ's corpse for 5 years* he'd hallucinate i think. like, like visual and audial hallucinations.

Keeps thinking he's seeing SQQ in the corner of his eyes, or wandering between the trees, amongst a group of disciples. Thinks he hears him calling for him, but its just the wind or another disciple.

Gets Xiu Ya reforged but patently fucking refuses to make a sword mound. Because his disciple Is Not Dead :))) There was No Body. He's Not Dead. And If You keep Insisting That He Is, He's Gonna Skewer You :). He's holding onto Xiu Ya so he can return his most favored disciple's sword when he returns. It's on his hip right next to Zheng Yang where it's supposed to be.

Also this motherfucker?? does not sleep btw. He has the image of SQQ, wide eyed and hysterical and standing at the mouth of the abyss burned into his fucking eyelids. Can't use the dreamscape to escape it either because he keeps trying to save him and either he does and it's an incredibly cruel trick to wake up to, or he doesn't and he gets his heart broken in several different pieces again.

There is no convincing this man that Shen Qingqiu is dead. Absolutely nothing at all. He is buried so deep in denial that moles would be jealous of how deep he is. He keeps making tea for two in the bamboo house only to remember that it's just him. SQQ's fans are hiding everywhere, little reminders of his presence. He goes to wake up SQQ on the mornings he sleeps in-- only to find the room empty.

[boarloved-art]

Wei Wuxian should be able to get drunk for once. I think he'd either be singing bawdy drinking songs on the roof of the Jingshi or he'd be getting irrevocably lost no matter where he is. He's found in the bushes behind the mountains like a cryptid, and then he's like "I can't believe you all got lost" (extremely slurred) as if he didn't get embarrassed by something Lan Wangji had said and just somehow disappeared when everyone looked back at him

oh ABSOLUTELY im walking with u and nodding and agreeing, i can see him becoming an absolute menace to keep track of at his drunkest.

anyway heres wonderwall The Gang (Wangxian & their fave group of ducklings) in a city known for its STRONG wine and wuxian being like well. ur all grown now, youre technically not juniors anymore. we have to see whos lasting the longest against this stuff!, smash cut to a suspiciously wei ying-less group of the worlds drunkest cultivators being wrangled through the woods by designated driver hanguang-jun, with at least 2 of them clinging to his robes at all times.

[rambles-about-minecraft-ocs]

one of my favorite things about zedaph is that on a server full of people that find strange and oft-overlooked minecraft mechanics or rare events and then see just how far they can push them in the name of spectacle or efficiency or world-breaking, zed is over here finding these mechanics in order to do the weirdest things he can think of in as entertaining a manner as possible

like i 100% have faith in zedaph's theoretical ability to be just as efficient or spectacular or world-breaking. if he wanted to do that stuff, i trust that he absolutely could. but thats so far from being his priority. instead, hes going to spend around a week of irl time focused entirely on eventually having the good luck to spawn in something insanely rare so that he can convert it into something even rarer, the result of which being something that 99% of the server reacts with complete and utter shock that it even exists in the first place, just because its zany and funny and he wanted to. and i love that

[nocek]

And this concludes the grand crossover event

(or does it?)

(it does but I was given a great idea for how to solve Gwen's problem :) )

the timeline of previous relevant comics:

[Jeff has a great fashion sense and Peter is the best hooker]

[Jeff is found and fucks are lost]

[bro landed up in the wrong universe and all he got out of it is a lousy bow]

[psalmsofpsychosis]

so i've been thinking about this

panel for awhile and, it's not even the first time Batman has threatened to beat Joker up with the precise intention of putting him in a full body cast but not kill him.

You know, that threat actually takes a rather maticulous amount of mental planning and physical control. Gettint someone within 3 inches of death but not kill them takes conscious read on the opponent's body language cues, their physical capacity and their thresholds, their highest pain point before their body gives in, and technically a rather comprehensive intimate knowledge on their internal organs and their medical history. Knowing how to bring someone close to collapse but not straight up flatline is actually a rather intricate controlled process that is subject to each individual's physical state at the moment, especially for the fact that we see Batman getting really really really close to the killing line and very much flirting with it, but never crossing it.

And honestly the presence of that threat —which he keeps telling Joker— is so bizarre and fascinating to me. Pray tell Bruce, how much time have you exactly spent mapping out Joker's body and cataloguing each and every point of it inside and out, enough that would enable you to read his minute physical responses in order to know when to pull a punch and how much?

[alkalamity]

Hear me out. Ratiorine AU where Aventurine is a mer captured by a group of researchers and Ratio is the scientist brought on board to teach him how to speak and access his intelligence levels.

[flwrkid14]

Buried Beneath The Laughter They Ignored

Tim is totally fine. Ridiculously fine, actually.

It didn’t matter that he woke up feeling this bubbling, manic laughter in his chest, like everything was suddenly so fucking funny. It didn’t matter that he’d woken up from another nightmare last night, crying, calling for his mama—not the mother he lost, but the mother he gained, Harley Quinn. And it didn’t matter that most days, he felt more like Joker Junior than he did Tim Drake.

It didn’t matter that no one else seemed to fucking care.

He shoved down every bit of laughter clawing up his throat, because he knew if he let even one chuckle slip, they’d all give him that look. The one they always did. Disapproval masked as concern. They didn’t like Junior. They didn’t want to believe Junior was still in there, clawing his way up every time Tim breathed.

It didn’t matter that no one ever asked him how he was doing. They didn’t want to talk about it. Because talking about it would make it real, and they preferred pretending it wasn’t. They expected him to be fine, to push it down, to carry on like nothing happened. If he tried to bring it up, they’d say he was being insensitive—insensitive to Jason's trauma. What fucking irony, he thought bitterly. As if it wasn’t insensitive to be stepping all over his by not letting him speak.

It didn’t matter that he caught them glancing at him sometimes, like they were waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for him to snap, waiting for Junior to come out again. But they never asked. No one asked what was going on in his head. No one fucking asked.

It didn’t matter that when he finally snapped, when he finally screamed at them, sick and tired of pretending, they had the nerve to act clueless. As if they didn’t know.

It didn’t matter that Dick, of all people, screamed back. Yelling like he was being unreasonable. Like he was the problem. He screamed at Tim, demanding answers, to ask what the hell he meant by Joker Junior, as if—

As if they didn’t know.

They didn’t fucking know.

This whole time, they hadn’t known.

They didn’t know Tim had been taken. They didn’t know Tim had been missing. They didn’t know Tim had been held prisoner at the hand of the Joker for months, tearing him apart, piece by piece, until Junior was the only thing left of him. They didn’t know he had screamed for them, begged for someone to find him, but no one ever did.

They didn’t know how much he had suffered. Alone. They didn’t know how much he had changed. They didn’t know that every time he woke up now, it felt like he was still Joker Junior, just wearing Tim’s skin.

And they didn’t know how much it hurt—how much it broke him—to realize that they had never known.

Tim wasn’t fucking okay. And it mattered—oh, it mattered—that they didn’t fucking know.

Because if they didn’t know, it meant no one ever bothered to look. It meant no one ever cared enough to notice.

[notbecauseofvictories]

it takes years for terry pratchett's books to get consistently good. I would argue that the series doesn't really hit its stride until Feet of Clay, which means that pratchett was writing and being published for 12 years before he found his groove.

and I genuinely can't imagine that. in part because I do think that pratchett's publication calendar looks different than what's expected of writers today---he had about 2 books published per year for his entire career. he must have been writing furiously, and the publisher must have relatively quickly gotten these to press.

but also....I just can't imagine any modern-day publisher keeping an author on their list for twelve years, unless that author is a prestige get or a constant presence on the bestseller list. And what does it say about the state of publishing that you can't go on publishing someone's good-but-not-revelatory books until they figure out what story they're trying to tell?

[metanarrates]

really do love how orv fans are constantly posting shit like "KIM DOKJA SAVE ME." the man is living up to both his constellation title and his status as a constellation

[mage-ical-character-person]

Why does he tell the player this. AND NOT HIS BIZZZYBOYS?? His boys are so scared…

Spoilers. And rambling

Shouldn’t it be the other way around if he wants us to “leave it to the professionals”? Wouldn’t it be better if he let us be afraid and not his boys?

Why does he tell the Godpoke at all? Isn’t sowing seeds of doubt and distrust the whole point of what he’s doing? He wants the player to stay out of his way and telling them stuff like this seems counterproductive. He could’ve not told us that without looking suspicious, he’s definitely got the plausible deniability on this one. No one’s seen Cobigail in years. Even she doesn’t remember for certain if she eats people or not.

SHE DOESN’T REMEMBER! Gosh, just… her genuine self-doubt over this. She’s pretty sure she doesn’t eat people… but what if they’re right, what if she is a monster? This bit breaks my heart, poor Cobi

I wonder if having her question herself that way was part of the plan.

ANYWAY! Inspekta could’ve easily told the player he doesn’t know if the blood sacrifice stuff is true or not, but considering the other letters it’s probably part of “King’s” plan, and that he and his boys are looking into it and the Godpoke should stay out of it until they know things are safe.

Again. Cobigail is not doing herself any favors. And again, Inspekta has the plausible deniability, and isn’t creating distrust towards the other gods the whole point of his plan?

She is NOT helping her case.

MA’AM!! I love you so much but you are making yourself look very guilty as far as the whole blood sacrifice thing goes. I AM TRYING TO CLEAR YOUR NAME RIGHT NOW MA’AM AND. YOU’RE REALLY NOT HELPING

Like

She even says it’s an understandable mistake to make. (After all the trouble that lie caused her… Cobi, how are you so sweet and understanding?) Inspekta could’ve played dumb. I guess his pride wouldn’t allow that, and he just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make King look bad.

Or maybe a part of him recognized that he went a little too far with that one. Cobigail isn’t really a threat to him the way he perceives the other gods to be. And accusing her of blood sacrifice when she’s already been isolated for 20 years is disproportionately harsh compared to like… forging a breakup letter and sabotaging a roundabout love confession. (If you could even call it that. Those two probably would've went at least another century without admitting their feelings without Inspekta's meddling prompting the Godpoke to slap Clicky in the face with it)

Anyway now I’m imagining Hector apologizing to her after the events of the game and her responding with a similar “I can see how you would get that confused” and uh Hector saying like, “No, Cobbie, I new yew we-aren’t a blood drink-her. I lied ‘bout yew”

and Cobigail just going like: Oh…. Oh! That was a good one, then! You even had me going for a bit there! and then she does her scary face at him and tells him to never do that again or she’ll barbecue him. And then she says she’s just messing around but seriously dial it back next time.

And I dunno something like how she responds to you throwing her own jumpscare prank back at her.

Wanna draw that now. But alas I have other projects on my plate at the moment

[isthatacalzone]

me: *seeing people yell about how they did Glintshore & Percy's death in the show*

also me: ..................anyway

[eggo-tistical]

thinking about what was going through L’s mind as he lay in bed, the same night that light and him were in the helicopter.

after insisting at every turn that the brilliant teenage boy smiling before him had to be kira, was — no, is forever kira, he finally can look into light’s eyes and see what he always knew was there.

a murderer, a sociopath, a villain, a liar. yes, everything has gone to plan. light is kira; kira is light.

the boy he has spent the last few months monitoring, mapping, and mythologizing, is kira.

kira is the boy who has watched L type genius nonsense on his computer in the dark, shared a fourth of the key lime tart that watari served after misa and matsuda returned alive, listened to L babble 19th century french poetry when progress had slowed to an unbearable crawl.

yes, light is all that and a million other dirty things, packed tight and wound up in the shape of a classical greek statue, an eighteen year old boy, japan’s top student.

kira.

that thought should bring him joy. satisfaction. relief, even, that his deductions would never miss their mark. and it does. elation lights L up on the inside, or perhaps on the outside going in, like being doused in water and feeling it sink into his bones.

it’s wonderful, it’s horrible; he didn’t know warmth could feel so cold.

because at the quite literal end of the day, this is what he’s been chasing, isn’t it? his culprit, his criminal, his killer.

so why, when sharing a bed with him, inches from his skin and from exposing the truth, does L want to see light within those eyes again?

he reminds himself its ridiculous. they aren’t separate entities, like a parasite and its host. rather, one incorrigible unit, a package deal, something he signed up for at the start. a plant with rot already spreading through its roots that L simply had to deliver back into the soil.

he’s never really had a green thumb, anyways.

gnawing on his nail, L rolls over in their bed, observing the light-shaped god slumbering in total darkness. kira is so pale that his skin brightens the night. his breathing shakes the earth and breaks waves beneath L’s skin.

so the world’s greatest detective decides to shift a little closer. and recites heart attack symptoms in his head until he falls asleep.