#kinda who knows it might happen

[mrbobhimself]

This is so random

[bluerosefox]

Masks and Moonlit Night

-Crashes through DPxDC window and sticks a new AU sticky note down on everyones foreheads-

ANGER MANAGEMENT MASQUERADE BALL AU!

Jazz is forced by her parents to go to all Masquerade ball at Vlad's, whose using Jazz as both a way to keep Danny in line (as well as Jazz, basically Danny can't fight back or he'll hurt Jazz and Jazz can't fight back because he'll also hurt Danny who he has locked up at the moment) and to 'impress' the elites (As much as Vlad wants to use Danny for the party he knows the boy would do something to embarrass him in front of them, he at least knows Jazz will keep her manners in check) with how intelligent his goddaughter is.

During the ball, Jazz (in a stunning dress and mask, think like manhwa worthy outfit tbh if you want) meets Jason (who lost the Bats/Birds most recent 'Not it' game and was made to go with Tim to Vlad's party) and both hit it off when they meet in the garden, under moonlight, both wanting some fresh air.

Jazz wants to enjoy her time with Jason but worries about Danny and thus tries to leave and figure a way to help him without tipping Vlad off she was trying to save her brother. However she notices she's being watched by some ghosts Vlad employed and no doubt would report her should she even try. So she kinda uses Jason as way to keep them being unaware of her planning... or at least that was the case until she noticed another Team Phantom member sneaking into Vlad's place and knows its only a matter of time before her brother is freed.

Within the hour she gets a text from Danny who tells her, he's out and gonna fight Vlad for locking him up, that Dani is with him too so it'll be double beat down and that he'll come get her soon.

She is pulled away from the text when Jason asks what books she likes to read and now with the weight of her brother needing to be safe, or as safe as he could be, is lifted off her shoulder she answers.

Its magical, its wonderful, and for a moment Jazz is able to actually enjoy this party, ignoring the pained hits Vlad was no doubt receiving from what she can hear with her liminal enchanced hearing, because talking to Jason, or J as he introduced himself as, was very fun and wonderful and wow he was very handsome even with his mask and-

Jazz is startled out of her wondering thoughts when she could hear someone in the party scream, no doubt Danny, Dani, and Vlad's fight probably bleed into the main hall and she could see people starting to run out.

Jazz sits on the bench as Jason goes running in, no doubt curious as to what is happening and going to get his 'brother' Tim who he came to the party with out. Jazz takes off her mask and sits it down the bench and waits before Dani appears and says they should get going, Danny is keeping an angry Vlad busy and that she can take Jazz home.

By the time Jason comes back, with a researching on his phone Tim, all he finds of the charming woman he met at the dumb ball he got dragged to was her mask on the bench.

[jade-of-mourning]

it's like "fool me once shame on you" but this time they kiss... get it?

might clean it up later if i have time idk. sorry if the char designs are wrong; i am sitting in the dark with no references. this is really scuffed. i had a spontaneous vision for ep8

[space-sheep08]

Actually so tired that people mainly focus on the bdsm when they talk about La Pianiste when we literally have this dynamic right here. Like, that's insane.

What if you were a little girl in her 40's who couldn't grow up because of your mother-wife who made you sleep in her bed and forced you to repress every sexual desires and thoughts of becoming your own person just to keep you close to her ? What if you fought back and yearned for dangerous things out of her reach ? But also, what if you let her because it's all you've ever known and been taught to want ?

[shalomniscient]

every day, once a year, yelan takes a day off.

this is written directly into her contract with the tianquan. there are no exceptions, no special arrangements. on this singular day, yelan does not belong to the qixing; on this singular day, her leash and collar are abandoned, and she has free reign to do as she pleases.

what does she do? well, prepare for your anniversary, of course.

she hops out of bed, cleans up, tugs her jacket on and then slips out the door with the clink of her jade bracelet. it’s a clear day, and yelan tilts her head to the sky briefly, letting the golden sunrays warm her face almost like an embrace. you were never really a morning person, but the sun on your skin always suited you. she’d have to drag you out of bed to see it, but it was always well worth your grumbling in the end when you finally cave and offer her a smile which she would then steal with a kiss.

“ugh, yelan—“ you giggled, your hands on her chest gently pushing her back. your bracelet was cool against her skin, and the matching one on her own wrist hummed. she nosed along your jaw, pressing more and more kisses until she reached your neck. playfulness turned into something a little more heated, and her blood sang at the sigh she pulled from your lips. emerald eyes flicked up to you, teasing, challenging, and you managed a wry huff before tangling your fingers in her hair and tugging her back to properly kiss her again. it stung, beautifully, but yelan grinned all the way."

she shakes herself out of the memory, and steps into the busy street. liyue’s morning scene has always been crowded, and she blends into the throng with practiced ease. she follows the flow of the crowd down the wharf until she reaches the shop she’s looking for—a florist, tucked snugly between two other stores on the higher levels of the shopping district.

the owner, a midde-aged woman, looks up from tending to her orchids to smile at her. her eyes crease with familiarity at the sight of yelan as the spy steps into her store, fingers brushing the petals of a few flowers. the woman rounds the counter, and rummages in the storage for a few moments.

“the usual, i take it?” she asks, and yelan nods, leaning against the counter and tapping her fingers over the grainy wood. the shop hasn’t changed much, if at all, since she last came here with you.

you leaned down by a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, lips curving upward into a smile as you breathed in the soft, floral scent. yelan looked curiously over your shoulder, a hand casually resting on your hip. she asked if it was your favorite flower—you nodded, your other hand rising to just as casually cup her face from over your shoulder. “they’re quite pretty, aren’t they?” you hummed, and yelan took a moment to ponder the question. in the end, she said they were nowhere near as pretty as you, and took the light smack you delivered to her shoulder with an easy laugh.

the florist clears her throat, coaxing her out of the memory. yelan recieves the bouquet—white chrysanthemums—with a smile, settling it in the crook of her arm. the woman’s expression is measured, but there’s a slight waver to her tone when she speaks. if yelan really had to name it, it sounds close to… pity.

“yelan—“ she begins, but she only flashes the woman a signature grin, before slipping out the door as quickly as she came. she has other things to get, after all, and the clock is always ticking.

(or maybe her clock stopped ticking a long time ago and all this is just extra. maybe it cracked when the rocks fell and the earth buried—)

she dissolves back into the crowd as she heads to her next destination: wanmin restaurant. she can smell the chili in the air as she makes her way down the street again, a sharpness only wanmin seems to be able to make. when she gets there, xiangling is boisterously calling out orders while her father toils away in the kitchen, with guoba tirelessly maintaining the roaring fire for his wok. when she sees her, xiangling’s grin only widens, and she waves her over enthusiastically.

“miss yelan! welcome, welcome,” the young chef says cheerily. “here for another batch of dried chillies?”

yelan chuckles, shaking her head. “no, not this time. i’m here for a few rice buns. with a sweet filling, preferably.”

“ooh,” xiangling coos, nodding. “are you planning to go on an expedition? rice buns are both portable and satiating.”

“you could say that,” yelan says vaguely. the little chef is right, in a way, since she’ll have to hike a little to get to your spot—but really, it’s because rice buns have always been a comfort food of sorts for you.

“how can you not like them?” you asked defensively as you trudged along with her behind the group. there was a slight smear of filling on the corner of your lip, and your expression scrunched up a little more as she wiped it off. her jade bracelet was cool against your heated cheeks. yelan only shook her head, teasingly remarking that spice was a much greater wake-up call than sweets. you huffed at that, taking another bite of your rice bun. “not all of us are masochists, lan’er,” you grumbled, and yelan laughed softly. her nimble fingers encircled your wrist, tugging you closer so she could take a quick bite of your bun. it was sweet, sweeter than she’d like, but maybe that was because you were there. and somehow, that made it good.

yelan pulls herself out of yet another memory when xiangling deposits the bag of warm rice buns into her hands. they’re freshly steamed, and the scent of warm buns fill her senses. she thanks the chef, and disappears much the same way she came before the young lady can get even so much as a word in. in the back of her mind, she can almost hear you chastise her for it.

(she always hears you in the back of her mind. if not, where else—)

there’s only one thing left on her list, and it’s incense. it’s late in the morning now, so the crowds have thinned out—and without her cover, yelan takes to back alleys and rooftops instead. she sighs, relieved almost, as she slips into the shimmering, reflective cover of hydro, darting like a minnow between buildings like rocks, barely a blur in the eyes of anyone nearby. the secrecy isn’t strictly necessary for what she’s doing now, but she’s been so used to being unseen that being in the open feels… unsafe.

it doesn’t take her that long to reach wangsheng funeral parlor. the young lady running the parlor isn’t in today—instead, it’s her ‘assistant’, the elegant man shrouded in such thick mystery that neither her nor ningguang has been able to pierce. he greets her with a solemn expression, no doubt because director hu has told him the reason for her visit. “incense?” he asks again anyway to confirm, his voice low and soft. yelan nods absently, her nose stinging slightly from the intense scent permeating the parlor.

she watches as the man disappears into the back of the parlor for a moment, before he reappears with a delicately wrapped packet of incense sticks. she slides a pouch of mora his way, which he takes wordlessly. she tucks the packet into her little pocket dimension, then turns on her heel to leave. just as she exits the door, he calls out to her.

“safe travels.”

she doesn’t deign him with a response.

her feet take her out and away from the city, down the familiar path to the bleeding wound in the earth—the chasm. the land goes from valleys to large, curling momuments of rock, carved by the force of a falling star. she feels that familiar tug in her chest, the voice that calls to her, that tells her to forsake the surface as her ancestor once did. she listened to it, once. and—

“go,” you whispered, pushing her away. half of you was buried under rock, and she could only see one of your eyes; the other was forced shut by the blood that trickled down your face. yelan nearly screamed herself hoarse, but you grabbed her face and kissed her. it tasted like salt, and her heart lurched at the wrongness. your kisses had always been sweet. you slipped your bracelet onto her wrist, then pushed her again, and then the earth heaved and groaned, and it was the last she ever saw of you—

she turns her head and rips herself out of the memory and the temptation; she has other, more important places to be today. she has other days to chase down her demons. she skirts the side of the chasm, slowly ascending to the top. she passes by the memorial to the millelith, and leaves a rice bun and a few sticks of incense as an offering. they too, deserve to be remembered after all.

(she wonders if anyone else comes out here to remember them. she wonders who will come when she’s gone for—)

it takes her a while, but eventually, she reaches the highest point in the chasm. the sun has traveled across the sky by this point, the afternoon heat mellowing out into a slightly cooler evening warmth. the sky is alive with shades of gold when she finally stops, drawing to a halt right before a smooth stone, standing upright from the earth like a silent vigil. she kneels before it, producing three sticks on incense and inserting them into the censer before the stone and lighting them. she sets a rice bun on the plate by the stone, and saves one for herself. the bouquet of white chrysanthemums, she lays on top of the stone.

yelan takes a bite of her rice bun, letting the sweetness settle on her tongue, as the floral scent mixes with the incense, filling her lungs and settling on her shoulders. she tilts her head to the sun, and the warmth feels almost like an embrace. and when she closes her eyes, the wind in her hair feels almost like a caress. when she opens them again, she lets them rest on the stone—the headstone, and she offers it a smile.

sitting on the edge of the cliff, your legs swinging, you smiled at her, nearly blindingly bright like the golden hour. your pinkies were twined together, your shoulders flush with hers. there was a bouquet of white chrysanthemums on your lap, and just a few crumbs on the corner of your lips. your voice carried in the wind when you spoke.

“happy anniversary, yelan.”

“happy anniversary, sweetheart,” she whispers. the wind carries her voice as well, and she hopes you hear it, wherever you are now. one day, she’ll join you, but for now she takes another bite of her rice bun and breathes in the scent of incense and chrysanthemums.

[mercurymacaroons]

arrives 15 min late with a latte

......sup

[moeblob]

Haha, it's so funny how I am so indecisive that I go "I wanna draw my son" and then have too many ideas as to how. So here!

Take Ferdinands (and a Felix, I suppose, bc they are boyfrinds in my heart and soul).

[wow-an-unfunny-joke]

I am once again mentioning that Atsushi is like the only person in the series who refers to himself and his ability separately.

I have been thinking about this since I first watched the anime- NO ONE ELSE DOES THAT! (That i can think of)

Atsushi Saha things like “I could use the tiger’s claws” THE TIGER’S???? YOU MENA YOUR CLAWS??????

[queerstudiesnatural]

Fan favourite characters I dislike poll

[cherryxrobots]

Help me y'all, I've fallen back into the Robot Jones Fandom.

Are y'all even still alive?

[hoziersong]

not to get all "actually☝️" about it but. the whole point of this is the fact that it isn't at all eddie's fault and buck just doesn't know how to properly process or recognize his feelings and know what he's missing *until* he gets presented with a specific situation. in truth buck has no right to be mad at eddie for building bonds with other ppl and it's why he has to do some introspection. this is not a "oh no poor buck eddie apologize to him!!!" thing, it's about buck getting, for lack of a better term, a good emotional humbling. eddie deserves good friendships and relationships, full stop. and if he likes the way he feels when he hangs out with tommy then great!! he's his own person and not a tool to further buck's character. but you also can't expect buck to immediately recognize that because, again, and for the millionth time, the whole POINT is that he doesn't. so if it has to get ugly and uncomfortable and embarrassing for him to do so then that is what will happen and that doesn't make either of them bad people. this is not a blame to be passing around. it's just them being human beings

[hihello-idraw]

My indecisive ass can't choose what person to ship Kakashi or Naruto with so! Polyamory it is then!

[hailsatanacab]

Hiiiiii

I’m so curious about wip 1

Also I have like over a hundred wips and I can’t believe you did this to me 😭😭 /j

hey, you're welcome 😚🫴💕 i can't wait to see all your 100+ wips!

ooh I've had number 1 (a lot can change in a month) percolating for a while now and I've never been sure how far I want to go with it. I have pretty much all of it mapped out and it has the most bittersweet ending that I can't wait to write 😇✨ - anyway, have a wee little snippet :)

———

A month.

That's how long Danny Fenton had made his home with the Waynes before finding out his adoptive family's secret. The cave beneath the manor. Their hidden lives as vigilantes.

It was... a surprise, to say the least. One that he hadn't quite welcomed.

It threw him off, of course it did. This was meant to be his chance at living a normal life, a chance to leave behind his own heroics buried in the ruins of Amity, and then he had to go ahead and shack up with the birds and the bats, of all people! He just can't catch a break!

But... Well, after several tearful conversations and reassurances that no, he categorically did not have to join the team (thank the Ancients, because there's no way Danny's telling them about Phantom, not yet), things were starting to look pretty alright. The dust was finally settling and it felt like he was beginning to find his feet again.

That was last week.

This week, Bruce Wayne is dead and the family is falling apart.

[quamaii]

Max when the contraption he built specifically for Jimmy to throw knives at Duncan is used by Jimmy to throw knives at Duncan:

[cable-salamdr]

My interest that was called cringe back in 2021 getting a sort of revival on a lot of social media platforms is not what I had on my 2024 bingo card but here we are

[blue-mood-blue]

What if Hua Cheng had memorialized the temple?

I don’t think he did, canonically. I imagine that was a memory he wasn’t keen to linger on, especially not to such an extent as to record it, to hover over the details in his mind and commit it to physical imagery. But I could see where he might - maybe catharsis, so that night can exist somewhere outside of his head. Maybe twisting, spiteful justice, so the world won’t be allowed to forget what it did to his god. Maybe just desperation, to record every shard of Xie Lian that he has in an effort not to lose a single piece while he searches.

It wouldn’t be graphic; I think it would be something more stylized, more symbolic. Xie Lian is tied to his own altar. He has replaced the divine statue that should be there instead, the god made present the way he was for Hua Cheng once, the way he was for all of his people once. He is surrounded by blades, but they aren’t piercing him yet. Hua Cheng can’t do that to him even in paint. Bai Wuxiang is not featured, because Hua Cheng would not force any version of Xie Lian into that monster’s presence, but there is a ghost fire hovering near. There is a small, crushed flower on the ground at the foot of the altar, like it was dropped from the Flower Crowned Prince’s hand moments before. The entire tableau holds its breath in the anticipation of something horrific.

It’s painted in a shadowed corner, with a cloth hung in front of it. Not out of shame, or even because of Hua Cheng’s own trauma - out of respect for the prince’s privacy, unwillingness to make a moment of such incredible, painful vulnerability a spectacle to anyone else without the prince’s say-so.

That doesn’t stop Mu Qing from finding it.

Mu Qing, who was already horrified, Mu Qing, who was looking for Xie Lian to drag him out of the caves immediately because he’d seen a statue that suggested things he would rather not think about in regards to his former prince… Mu Qing brushes the curtain aside in that tucked-away corner and stops.

A hundred blades are pointed at His Highness. A hundred faces leer and sob and stare. And Xie Lian sits at the center of it all, head lowered, waiting for the slaughter.

Is it so unreasonable that Mu Qing takes it for a threat? Is it so unreasonable of Mu Qing to drag Feng Xin to what he’s found, for the both of them to slip an arm around each of the prince’s own and pull him away from wherever that altar is somewhere in the complicated network of twisted, obscene worship? That thing painted on the wall - it can’t have ever happened. They would know. Mu Qing and Feng Xin, who spent every day of their early lives with the prince, beside the prince, trailing along behind the prince… they would know. They would have been there; they would have prevented it. This is the fantasy of a ghost king who laid ruin to thirty-three heavenly officials and found his thirst still unslaked.

(Mu Qing does not consider the eight hundred years of Xie Lian’s life he knows nothing about. Feng Xin does not consider the eight hundred years of Xie Lian’s life he knows nothing about. It’s a habit they’ve grown skilled at, over eight hundred years.)

They don’t explain to Xie Lian, so Xie Lian has no opportunity to explain to them what they saw. And Mu Qing isn’t wrong, when he concludes that Xie Lian has been stalked and watched and hunted since he was seventeen. He isn’t wrong. He just doesn’t know, yet, what direction the threat is coming from. There’s no time for anyone to tell him, or Feng Xin, who tied the restraints and provided the sword.

They’ll find out. Masks are made to be removed.