#nightmare. but here’s some cool art

[swiss-army-fangirl-art]

but it won’t happen again, and i’m not gonna pretend i don’t want the money

“IDWT$” ||| ‘the death of peace of mind’ ||| bad omens

alt vers. under the cut 🔥

[iodotsys]

A compilation of background studies from places around here I thought looked cool.

Also a doodle from a nightmare I had last night where I was stuck in a waking up loop. Now Dib gets to live it.

[liquidchocolatecake]

currently captive audience to a knock down drag out fight in my brain between desire to respect the wishes of the creator and not look for anyone redistributing the comic and god i fucking miss wonderlab i miss wonderlab so much you have no idea i want wonderlab back so bad

[nonuggetshere]

PK: "...Kid..."

PV: "What? I'm just pointing out the obvious."

PK: "You're being a little shit is what you are."

WL: "Well, they're not wrong–"

PK: "Don't enable this."

(ID start: A picture of The Pale King, The White Lady and the Pure Vessel from Hollow Knight as humans. They're all wearing matching golden roses, a pin for Pure Vessel, a hair clip for the Pale King and a corsage for the White Lady. The Pure Vessel has their hand at the head height of their father, laughing about his height with their mother, much to the displeasure of the king. End ID.)

They're making fun of the monochronic manlet

[stardestroyer81]

Y'all want a Paper Mario-styled drawing of Micah Koopa? 💖✨⭐

[flaticeball]

a jew review of: nhl team happy hanukkah posts

good evening and chag sameach to my hanukkah-celebrating pals out there on hockeyblr. today i bring you: a non-comprehensive and entirely subjective review from one (1) jewish hockey fan of the graphics posted by various nhl teams in celebration of the first night tonight. i definitely missed some, and some teams didn't post any at all, so it's a bit patchwork. here we go.

vancouver canucks: this is an extremely serviceable graphic. love the blurred dreidels to give the effect that they are spinning. very funny. props for the detail that there is a shadow of the menorah on the ice. straightforward. icemenorah is a themeTM but some did it better than others and this is a classic. 7/10

post continues under the cut for the sake of your dash and mine.

carolina hurricanes: obsessed with what the canes have done here though i cannot comprehend it. the weird techno style textured background. the out of focus magen david around. THE HURRICANES. IN HEBREW. WITH THE LITTLE CANES LOGO THING I FORGET THE NAME OF ON THE HEI? INCREDIBLE. points for creativity. overall baffling vibes. 6/10.

pittsburgh penguins: this is just adorable. you hired someone to draw this. spectacular work, guys. it's giving a bit of 'we browsed the target hanukkah deco section for inspo' but it's too adorable for me to care. it's team themed, it's hockey themed, it's holiday appropriate. love everything going on here. they get points for doing what very few other teams are doing and remembering this is night one, so only one candle is lit. most everyone else is getting a bit a head of themselves. 9/10.

washington capitals: and here we have another edition of the icemenorah, with a minimalist twist. this graphic screams 'oh fuck wait is that tonight' which to be fair is also how i, a jew, felt about realizing tonight was the first night of hanukkah. could'a done more, but it's perfectly fine. 6/10.

new jersey devils: this fucks. it's got devils themes. it's got a cool style. it's got vibes. it's got: more hockey stick menorahs which i am always excited about. that shamash candle is a graphic design nightmare but other than that i am all on board. 8/10

vegas golden knights: i love the gold foil effect and that you remembered there was more to hanukkah than candles, that's nice, as is involving the other affiliates! however. where are the vibes. this is not the vgk wishes you a chag sameach, this is a greeting card i got on etsy. 6/10 just bc i KNOW you can do better. where's the neon, babes.

los angeles kings: oh this is fun. it's icemenorah: WITH A TWIST. the art style is cute, it's got plenty of hockey theme, it's also very obviously LA-y, i'm giving them points for this one. the shadow is insane but that's okay, it's ~stylistic. it's cute. 7/10. UPDATE: definitely AI. boo hiss. 0/10.

montréal canadiens: this is probably my favourite for sheer vibes. you got: levitating icemenorah. you got: action-shot candle lighting. you got: remembering this is night ONE. you got: the implication that the torch is the shamash candle????? you got: JOYEUSE HANOUKKA!!!!!!!! (and like happy hanukkah or whatever i guess). obsessed. it's so funny. it's amazing. 9/10.

[see-arcane]

Well.

Here I am again.

In-between half a dozen other projects, the writing exercise that was supposed to be a light distraction has taken off without me. Once more, a very vampiric flavor of horror. But this time it’s so close to the Dracula source material that it’s living in it like an accursed undead poison. Or the bedeviled solicitor who first wrote on that horror in the first place.

That’s what Harker is. Those who have read Dracula before will know that, being a novel built of diary entries and sundry documents, the narrative is boiled down to what events the characters bother to record. Of special note is how the opening and closing protagonist of the book, Jonathan Harker, becomes progressively curter in his descriptions as certain grim events pile up.

So much so that he pointedly avoids recording the bulk of his two month-long captivity in Castle Dracula. And whatever it was that happened to him between the castle and his stay with the nuns. And just what exactly happened to him upon realizing what happened on the 3rd of October. Among a hundred other little omissions a reader only detects by the vacuum they’ve left as the entries of other characters sketch around them. Artful as Mr. Harker may be when in a descriptive mood, vital as his words are for the whole of the story, he’s shockingly silent on huge gaps of time and very significant occurrences within them.

Which bothers the hell out of me. Especially when there’s roughly a jillion elaborations and inventions made from swiveling the perspective to (Suddenly in love with Dark Sexprince Dracula~) Mina or (Very Definite Vampire Expert Badass Actionman) Van Helsing or (Ohhh, I’m so misunderstood, those babies and sailors and assorted murdered chattel had it coming and those human heroes were just stuffy cliché Victorians who were so meeean to meee) Dracula or (Actually pretty cool?) depictions of the nightmare aboard the Demeter. And yet we’ve got nothing for Jonathan? Not one single spinoff dedicated to filling in the blanks between journal pages?

It can’t stand. Not for another Dracula Season. So, I’m a-scribbling.

Whether this winds up as a proper book or not, I figured said scribbling has gotten big enough that it was time to carve out a piece to share. Hope you guys enjoy the read and any future updates.

You can read the Chapter 1 Teaser via:

Tumblr

PDF

Author site

(And remember, I already have a book published if you want to read about some modern gothic undead horrors! The Vampyres is a short and sinister read with its own preview sample to comb through. Hope you’ll have a look.)

[threepandas]

Bad End: For Us

My sister is the only one who actually knows me. Who looks at me and... and actually SEES me, for who I am. It's because she suffers too, I think. Is beautiful. In that way that drives men too distraction. Poets too the page, artists too a medium. They look at her like she is art, magnificence and beauty given form.

Not a person.

Living, breathing, with thoughts and feelings of her own.

She is... is just BEAUTY to them. Delicate features and graceful limbs. Refined and splendid. A lovely voice reducing all her brilliant thoughts to mere sound. Who cares? How clever and educated, how wise or dignified, she may be? She is decoration. A pretty thing to look at. A prize to be held and won.

And... and I am a cute little pet.

Eternally the toddler, to be pampered and dressed in bows. Girlish things, no matter how old I grow. Handled instead of spoken too. Because somehow I am a child. Fuckable, yet... a child. Cute, innocent, naive. Not because I AM, but because they SAY so. Because it matches their fantasy of me.

I fear what will happen if I dare break that fantasy, with how much they control my life.

My Sister, alone, is the one who SEES me.

And people try to convince me she is... what? Jealous? Bitter? Because I am somehow "stealing" the lecherous eyes of her unfaithful man? I don't want them. I don't want ANY of them. Reborn, somehow, as a Protagonist in some game amongst countless, I can predict the plot points as they come. Read the troupes.

Bah. I am no spunky little bright eyed thing.

As I lay, draped over my sister's splendid skirts, in her private writing room, she quietly sips her tea and writes return missives. Strokes my hair as I hide, curled up like a child against her legs. If the ridiculous outfit I was shoved in would allow it? I would cram myself under her desk. Hide there instead.

As it is? I sit like some sulking maiden, an exhausted pet, seeking comfort in the only refuge I HAVE.

They will not leave me ALONE.

The Knight. Some brash, meat headed, "I'll take care of you" type, crashing into every quiet moment I try to have. Loud and presumptuous. Disdainful of my academic interests.

The Playboy. All too forward "romantic" gestures and ignoring obvious discomfort. More wrapped up in HIS feelings then considering, for even a moment, my own. Selfish and dramatic.

The Duke. Cliché and terrible. "Kind" to no one but me. Endless expensive gifts, pressuring grand displays, and eyes that linger possessively. Violence at the drop of a hat.

But oh, let us not forget the ASSASSIN! Yes, the LEADER of the ASSASSIN'S Guild! That somehow, someway, decided I was a prize worth possessing. A cutesy little "interesting" doll. That? Gods only knows, what will happen when he grows bored.

Lingering and haunting me. Crawling through windows. Standing too close, to touch my hair and drop cryptic bits of information that always hint at terrible things. Having to watch my words so SO carefully. Lest someone end up DEAD.

And let's not forget the WORST offender! The most clingy of them ALL!

My sister's FIANCÉ.

The Crown PRINCE! Yes, not some average noble, but a ROYAL!! And the man can't CONTROL himself! But does anyone else care? Noooooo! It's ROMANTIC. True loooove~! Aren't we CUTE together? Surely my Sister, his FIANCÉE, is just JEALOUS. How VILE. Disgusting, they scoff!

I should start throwing chairs.

This house is a nightmare.

I curl closer to my sister. Releasing her skirts to slip an arm around her waist. Hugging her, pressing my face close. She puts her cup down with a soft clink. A second hand joining the first to stroke my head. Cup my cheeks.

"My Dearest, you can not hide against my skirts indefinitely. As much as I would love to let you." She says, voice soft and cool like swirling mist, tilting my face up so she can look me in the eyes. "You DO need to eat eventually, as do I. Unfortunately, I can not keep you here forever. Come, help me plan the wedding. We can look at cake styles."

I'd rather be planning a funeral.

"Not until I get a son out of him, I'm afraid."

Wut.

I blink, not sure I heard that right. Look up at my softly smile sister. No. No, I probably didn't. Wishful thinking maybe? Or I've just been around Stabby too much. I scramble to my feet. Fighting my own girlish abomination of a skirt. I hate it. It's cutesy to the point of mocking. I'm in my TWENTIES for God's sake! Not EARLY twenties either!

Why do I have a BOW ON MY ASS?!

Because I am the Protagonist. Baby faced and Pwecious~☆. Fucking INFANTALIZED. I could BITE.

I sigh, take the arm my sister offers me, and tuck myself into her side. Rest my head upon her shoulder. It's a little uncomfortable, with all the jewelry she must wear. But damn it! I want my cuddles!

I bask, as we walk, in the comfort it brings.

She's strong and graceful. Smells like a delicate spring morning, all rare flowers and new growth. A hint of expensive spice. I LOVE being the little sibling. When it's HER that's treating me so. Because she makes it precious. Comfortable. Like we could spend our lives, together like this. The best of friends.

Happy.

If only people would... you know... stop trying to FUCK me. I prefer my hobbies. For God's sake, I'm RICH and a second child. I HAVE basicly no responsibilities except "don't embarrass the family". Or that WOULD be the case? If our parents weren't so intent on... "pushy dating advice".

"Would you like some lovely news, Dearest?" Whispers my sister, as she sweeps us past some upset looking maids, towards the tea room. I nod. "I've made some wonderful headway with some... ambitious gentlemen, about your little cockroach problem. They are quite efficient. I'm likely to recommend them."

I stiffle a snort. Oh my god. My sister sent thugs after a few of the suitors? Holy shit! That's amazing! Is THAT why I haven't seen them around lately? They got scared?

We settle in our seats. Tea and snacks. The maid looks... nervous. Weird. My sister smiles kindly, somehow startling the poor thing, making her flinch. Oh dear. I try to smile reassuringly. No harm no foul, right? Yet the poor girl reacts like I've cast myself into a lion pit for her. Flees.

....I'm beginning to suspect someone is abusing our waitstaff.

It's probably that bastard lech of a fiance.

We need to keep him away from the maids. And me. Women in general honesty. If I had my say, he wouldn't be allowed near my SISTER either. But she insists, and- Oooh! This one's CUTE! Sis, Sis! LOOK at the little details on this one!

"Hmm? Oh that IS lovely! Do you like it? If so, we shall sample it at once. I want the day to be perfect for us, Dearest. You're my world after all. There's NOTHING I wouldn't give you. A shame though, that our parent's will likely be too sick to see me wed."

It really was. I had my differences with them, but... it was their DAUGHTER'S WEDDING you know? Whatever they had caught, during their endless string of parties, was ravaging their health. It seemed agonizing. Slow. Yet even in the midst of planning her WEDDING, all the gossip and backstabbing, my sister dutifully visited them. Brought them tea and kept them company.

I didn't know how she could bear it.

She was a better person then I, I guess.

[tozettastone]

For the prompt ask:

1. Deidara & Sasori are isekai-ed into a fandom of your choice

Or

2. Any Naruto character is isekai-ed into a xianxia story

I'm going with 'Deidara & Sasori are isekai-ed into a fandom of your choice.' Except I actually asked @mixelation to pick the fandom, and they gave me Hannibal. :)

--

Sasori Akasuna, if that's actually his name, runs a tiny gallery that can't possibly be making enough money to sustain itself. It's three floors tall and skinny, built of dark brick some time shortly before the turn of the century, and it stands tall and straight among its huddling neighbours in an out of the way bend of an ill-favoured river, where the smell of refuse rises and falls over the course of the day as the current passes.

Will Graham parks across the river and walks there with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat. He is here to talk to the owner, a man with whom it is almost impossible to get an appointment — unless, apparently, you are law enforcement.

The FBI has reason to believe he might be connected to their latest killer.

The reason Hannibal has come along is... less constructive.

"He's a tremendously skilled artist," he says, walking at Will's side with a spring in his step. Will can't equal his enthusiasm, just as he can't equal his hand-tailored woollen coat. "But he speaks to nobody. I wonder if he finds other people distracting."

"I'm not here to talk about art," Will points out. He can't help himself.

He's also not sure that what Sasori does is art. Call him uncultured.

When he makes to Sasori's place of business, the front window is entirely taken up by a taxidermy chimera: the big cat's head separated from the cervine body and a pair of vulture wings that must be almost a metre each. In the gaps, there's a steampunk nightmare of gears and chains and strange brass designs.

It must be associated with some kind of motion sensor set-up, because as they approach, the mechanisms begin to move and so too does the chimera, piece by immaculately preserved piece: the head turns, the cat's jaws open to show long sharp teeth, the wings curve.

"Magnificent," breathes Hannibal. "Look how smoothly it moves: bird and beast all in one. It could be alive."

"It's certainly... unique," says Will, clipping the words.

He flashes his ID to the black eye of the camera in Sasori's doorway, ignoring the way the cat's head follows him from the window display, teeth bare and eyes utterly empty. The intercom hisses with static. The door clicks open, allowing them both into the building.

It isn't noisy on the street, but the second they enter all the sounds from outside disappear utterly. The river, the distant traffic and the crying of the crow perched upon the bridge railing are all equally lost to an oppressive hush.

The carpet is old. The floor creaks. There's a smell in the air of an old place that sees little daylight.

The air is the slightly cool room temperature familiar to conservationists everywhere. A dehumidifier waits like a silent sentinel for when its services are needed. And lining every wall, case after case, shelf after shelf, are relics of the dead.

Hannibal pulls off his dark coat and slings it over his arm, revealing a powder blue, three piece suit that fits him like a glove, and immediately goes to inspect a case full of colourful birds.

Will doesn't remove his outerwear. He is distracted. He spins slowly, taking in the room.

Dead things stare at him from case after case, climbing up the walls. Their veins and bones and guts are all internal machinery now, and their eyes are glassy and blank. Sasori is indiscriminate about his animal models: there are goats and bulls alongside wild cats, bears and the snarling faces of wolves. Some are combined with each other into fantastical chimeras; others are perfectly lifelike.

Will spots a dog. Its face is so well-preserved and lifelike that it might be about to bark.

The centrepiece of the room, standing tall and proud, is a stag. It is magnificent: four or five years old, with heavily muscled neck and shoulders and enormous antlers. It makes no noise, but its ears swivel to follow them through the room, exactly the way a live buck's would.

It sure is... something.

This, Will senses, is Sasori's design. Careful. Precise. A perfectionist. He is exacting in his demands for these works: You will not rot. You will last forever. Or else.

Will licks his lips. He glances at Hannibal. It's impossible to say if he also senses the driven and aggressive personality behind these artefacts. If he does, it won't show.

Will is so distracted by the vast array of creatures that he doesn't immediately notice Sasori Akasuna himself arriving.

The first he knows of him is a sharp voice saying: "Don't touch that."

"I apologise," Hannibal says easily, turning away from a dead lammergeier, which is frozen with its wings spread and its body hunched, as if defending prey. (It is the only bird whose diet is mostly bone. Sasori has made its bones into metal.) "The work seemed very fine, but I'm unfamiliar with the taxidermist's craft. These extraordinary specimens retain more mobility than I've yet seen elsewhere."

He might say he's unfamiliar, Will notes, but Hannibal is undoubtedly a man who has seen a great deal of taxidermy.

Will turns to look at Sasori, too.

Clearly Hannibal has found and sighted the man, but for the space of one whole breath, Will can't even spot him.

It's impossible to tell Sasori Akasuna apart from the rest of the room. In that second, he blends in seamlessly with all the perfectly-preserved creatures on display.

Then Will exhales. That's stupid. He can see Sasori just fine. He's the only other human being in the room. It's not that cluttered.

Although by all accounts he's been in this one spot for almost a decade, Sasori looks no more than twenty. He is a short, slight man with at least one East Asian parent, although he has no obvious accent. His hair is dyed a shade that could be called any number of things — dark cherry, merlot, garnet — but which Will naturally associates only with blood. His skin is as smooth and unblemished, like a doll's.

He's wearing a dark, oversize coat and sandals that reveal his toes, which seems like a strange combination.

"The puppets are built and preserved for performances," Sasori says, turning his face to Hannibal. "Art is my calling."

"So I see! I have heard your performances are magnificent."

Magnificent, yes, supposedly — but also invitation-only, according to both the brief from Jack and to Hannibal himself. Will himself is reassured by this idea, because he definitely doesn't want to watch these dead things all come to life.

"Yes. They are." Sasori's eyes drift from Hannibal to Will and back again.

Even to Will, who can empathise with a brick wall, it is challenging to read any expression on his face. Botox, he thinks. It explains how young he looks, too. A little. If you don't look very closely.

Will tries to match the man to the creations. There's something missing. He can feel it beneath his ribs.

But he's not here to think about what's wrong with Sasori. It's the man's broader network that seems suspect. A small favour. Still, he can't stop picking at it.

What's he missing?

"I have heard," Hannibal is pressing delicately even as Will furrows his brow and tries to make sense of the picture before him, circling around a fever dream of a creature crafted from the remains of a wild cat, a goat and a peacock, "that some performances have a guest list so restricted that the invitees are not permitted to know or speak to one another at all. That they must arrive in masks and veils, and are forbidden to remove them until they leave again."

Will startles and half-turns towards Hannibal. What?

Sasori doesn't even blink. "Yes. What do you want?"

There's a hesitation. The world pauses for breath. Hannibal goes quite still, but Will can see from the set of his shoulders beneath his immaculate pale suit that this abrupt demand has annoyed him.

Presumably he wants to talk for forty minutes about the nature of art before they get to the mass murderer.

"We have some questions about a man who used to live here with you," he interjects, before the interaction can go even further off the rails.

Sasori blinks, eyes rolling in a strange and unsettling display.

Like a doll himself, Will thinks. Then he blinks the thought away.

He can't be a doll. That's... ridiculous.

"Deidara," says Sasori. "What about him?"

He says it so certainly. He has only ever had one housemate here. It's unclear if they were only housemates.

Will takes in Sasori's entire person with a look. He glances around at the displays.

"A fellow artist, I'm guessing," Will says, taking a leap of intuition. Who else would live with a man like Sasori?

Sasori's doll-like eyes fix on Will. "Deidara believes himself to be an artist, yes."

'Believes himself to be' is a strange way to put it. Does Sasori have a leg to stand on, when it comes to who is really creating art? The distance might be very obvious to Sasori himself, but it's not particularly clear to Will.

"We believe he might have bombed a church and killed sixteen people," Will says, watching carefully to see how this statement lands.

Sasori does not look as though this surprises him in the slightest, but it's hard to say if that's meaningful. Sasori has so far displayed the flattest emotional affect of anyone Will has ever interviewed.

It's so marked, in fact, that the ancient reptilian part of Will's brain keeps insisting that Sasori has more in common with his artworks than the other humans in the room. Will would like to rise above the impulse to believe his instincts in this case. Flattened affect is a symptom of a wide array of disorders and disabilities, and none of them are inhuman.

"And?" Sasori prompts. "What questions do you have for me about it?"

There's not even a hint of doubt. Sasori clearly believes his housemate capable of building and detonating a bomb in an act of premeditated mass murder. That's important, too.

Frustratingly, Will can see why Jack wanted him to do this interview, even though on paper it feels like a waste of his time. Sasori is hard to read and very, very strange.

"We'd like to ask a few questions about the last time you were in contact with him."

Despite his entire personality, Sasori seems outwardly pretty cooperative. He has a precise memory, and seems to recall the details of text messages — the pair's primary method of communication, even when they were living in the same house — to the minute of their receipt. He is meticulous.

Will already told the behavioural analysis unit that the bomber was acting out some kind of aesthetic compulsion, but Sasori seems to understand it in more detail:

"Deidara uses art to embrace the transience he believes is the end state of all things by unmaking artefacts in the span of a second, usually explosively," Sasori says. Then, apparently unable to help himself, he adds: "Transience — the art of a single moment — is an incoherent and flawed thesis."

"The simple passions of a mind that cannot grasp eternity," muses Hannibal, running his knuckles over the glass that separates him from a dead monkey, which is trapped, forever, screaming silently in rage. This is a rather romantic assessment, but the statement certainly captures Sasori's attention.

"Yes," he says slowly.

Despite what he actually says, he does not sound entirely as though he agrees with this assessment. It is at precisely this point that Will realises Sasori and Deidara are not artists making ends meet as indifferent housemates. They are life partners of some kind. They are very probably lovers.

Sasori says hasn't seen Deidara for a week. This meets their timeline perfectly. Will doesn't — cannot — trust it. But he can either write the answer down, or he can tell Sasori he thinks he's lying right to his blank doll-like face.

He licks his lips and writes it down.

"Before we go, Sasori," says Hannibal, hesitating before he pulls his coat on again, "will you tell me something?"

"What?"

"Do these chimeric creations represent the pinnacle of your art? Are they what you display at your most secret performances? Or is something more challenging the star of your show?"

There are some dogs who, once they've bit down on a man's limb, have to be choked out before they'll let go. Hannibal occasionally reminds Will of just such an animal.

"No," says Sasori, tonelessly. "The chimeras are not my most important works."

That's when it happens.

It always does, with Will. Eventually.

For one hideous, dislocated moment, Will Graham understands this man totally. He can see what grotesqueries might lie in the workroom above this display, just by looking Sasori in his lifeless face. He can almost feel the hours of meticulous work in his own hands and back and shoulders, turning the coarse materials of the human body into works of art that will last thousands of years at least.

He has no respect for their bodies. He doesn't care about the person who inhabited each physical form at all. They are raw materials. It is the work of his hands that renders them art. His towering ego is in every touch.

For a breathless, hanging second, the hollowed insides and smooth articulated limbs and wired jaws of Sasori's victims are beautiful to Will, too.

Then that second is over.

Will's brain screams that Sasori isn't a person.

This time, Will believes it. Oh, he may once have been human. But he's not, now. Sasori knows it — he's proud of it. And because Sasori knows it, now Will does, too.

Will does not feel sick. Feeling sick requires internal organs. Right now, Will can't feel anything.

"That's all we need," he says, sounding just as flat and toneless as Sasori. The thump of his heart feels strange and hollow, like the heavy ticking of a metronome. Thump goes the meaty clockwork that moves his body, so loudly that Will almost startles at each shocking new beat. "Thank you for your time."

Sasori doesn't say they're welcome. That's because they're not.

When they exit the building at last, the outside sounds are deafening: the river roars, a dog barks. Will's heart is no longer the primary feature of the soundscape.

He goes back to his car, a little too fast to be polite. He sits in the driver's seat and clutches the steering wheel. Hannibal closes the passenger-side door with a thump a minute later.

"An interesting man, wouldn't you say, Will?"

Will starts the engine and gives it a few moments to warm. He talks when he pulls out from his car space and into the sparse traffic of the little-travelled riverside road.

"I'm not sure," he says slowly, "that Sasori Akasuna is a man at all."

"Ah," says Hannibal, unshakable and sanguine as always, "the perennial question of philosophy."

"I was thinking more about... biology," Will admits.

"Were you?" A pause. "And what did you conclude?"

He's a doll, Will thinks. He's a doll and he makes other people into dolls. If you cut him, I promise he won't bleed.

But these are not the kinds of thoughts a man tells his psychiatrist if he wants to keep doing field work. And so Will ignores the great shadow that passes between himself and the sun — the towering shape of Sasori's preserved stag, moving with all the beautiful mechanical efficiency of a polished watch escapement — and instead says, "He's lying about the bomber. They're close."

"Hmm," says Hannibal, as if he doubts it. But in the end he only raises his eyebrows and tilts his chin inscrutably. "I suppose we will have to see."

(Will isn't a gambler, really. But would bet virtually anything that Hannibal will be receiving an invitation to a performance very shortly.)

[will80sbyers]

My speculation over the teaser!! Part One!

Spoilers

So let's start from the end lmao

El is in the Upside Down fighting something/someone and I'm deeply confused on if these are pants or a shirt, I think I was right and these are pants tho lol

anyway I think this will be around ep. 2 or 3 and the talk on the roof happens before this maybe ? unless it's some kind of vision

Vecna approaching, it could be the same scene, but I'm not sure because Vecna looks like he's inside a place not outside (?) could be wrong

Castle Byers is in ep. 1 I think this may be a nightmare/ vision Will has, idk it's giving nightmare, also @grandmags thinks this may be Will in his costume of the s4 finale

but this could be a different scene of Castle Byers irl (?)

Dustin going to Eddie's grave ep. 1, I think he gets attacked by the bullies here, I think Chance is present too or at least I think it's him

Ep. 1 at school 1987, Dustin gets attacked by the bullies before classes start, probably by Andy the one with the hat, and they destroy his shirt, he goes to Eddie's grave after school and gets attacked there too ?

Mike and Will go to the radio station and accompany Holly for a piece of the road, Lucas probably goes to Max at the hospital

these are all from the same sequences at least timewise

I think they are running to Dustin when he's being attacked, maybe before lunch?

I'm not sure about this moment because Lucas is dressed differently but Dustin has the shirt ripped... I think here they are the actors running lines more than anything also bc Gaten has his glasses on lol but this could be a moment where before going away from school they talk in the woods, because of the other screenshots where Will is having a vision - this may be before they divide and go to other places in ep. 1

this is the actual scene, Will is having a vision of some kind, parallel to s2 and to chrissy's vision probably? I'd say ep. 1

I think this may be ep. 2 (?) it's after they go to school because Dustin has the shirt ripped ( I think this happens at school bc we have a pic of him with the shirt ripped there, they get bullied) and they see each other at the radio station, something must have happened, I think Robin is the one near Nancy, and Nancy is dressed as the candy striper so maybe she's working at the hospital to help (?) or she needed to go there for some reason... Dustin looks like someone beat him up so I think the bullies at the cemetery beat him up and then after that he goes to the radio station

we have the rainbow room taken over by the upside down

the tunnels under the farm

Ep. 4 I think from the colours it's a scene in Mike's basement, it could be a vision, we already had a better frame of this from something Ross posted, I'm gonna try to link the other posts after I finish this one so y'all can see what I'm talking about

This is Lucas that for some reason is inside the Mansion of that family, it looks like the interior, and we had another pic from paps where you can kinda see him inside, maybe ep.3

from how Jonathan is dressed I think he's either not doing anything / working at the radio station or he's attending art classes in a college? he's dressed weirdly idk like a art college student trying to be cool... I think Jancy may be broken up at this point?

Holly, I think she just came home from school, and she's watching a monster attack Karen ? She seems wet too idk why... anyway this is ep. 1 or 2 probably

Holly is having visions / dreams or the lights flicker because a demogorgon has arrived ? maybe this is before she goes to see what's happening and Karen gets attacked, also like... Holly biggest queer ally lmaoooo everything is rainbow room themed... ep. 1 probably

not sure about what this is about, maybe El visiting Max at the hospital in a vision? I'm not sure of where she is, but she looks sad, maybe this is what she's looking at in her mind in the roof with the bandana before Mike arrives to talk in ep. 1/2 ?

I think Joyce and Robin are trying to figure out how to make the radio or the lights in the radio station work? probably ep. 1 or 2 - not sure of when this is temporally speaking in the timeline, maybe they have a blackout and go to check?

Steve in the UD, ep. 4 or after ep.4 ? It seems they end up there in that episode and Steve looks hurt

this is before ep-4, I think maybe ep. 3 they are at the mansion and go there with the car and they still have the antenna outside of the car which it should mean they haven't fallen yet... I don't think it's the moment in which they fall because Dustin is not there

Episode 4 ? at the farm, Erica and Derek must know each other like the spoilers said, tbh I hope they are not romantic but just friends... Robin, Mike, Will and many others should be there too all together

I'll continue in another post and link the posts that make me think this! just speculation from the bts pics we have!!

Part two

[whereonceiwasfire]

If you're game to write a cheese melt (Vlad & Dani father-daughter dynamic) ficlet, I'd love to read one. If not, that's cool :)

*vibrating with excitement* My friend. Your cheese melt art has been living rent free in my head for WEEKS. It's my sincerest pleasure to write a ficlet for this. I hope it's okay that it's an outsider POV, I just had an idea and my brain went brrrrrrr LOL

May I offer you a dysfunctional parent-teacher interview?

Parent-teacher interviews are always a nightmare, but there's one in particular that’s making Amity Middle School’s beloved Ms. Burnell sweat through her shirt. As the time slot nears, her gaze keeps flickering to the clock, her classroom door, back to her nervously interlaced fingers on the desktop.

It’s going to be fine. Perfectly fine.

“This one! Over here! Dad! This is my class!” The excited words, shouted in the syrupy sweet voice of a little girl, sets every nerve on edge, Ms. Burnell’s heart plummeting straight into the pit of her stomach.

Oh lord. Maybe it’s not going to be fine. 

Her student comes bounding into the classroom, eyes bright and excited, oversized blue sweater sleeves slipping over her hands, even as she gestures emphatically for her father to follow. Black hair spills out of her ponytail, whipping across her face as she throws herself into a desk across from Ms. Burnell’s with a bright smile. 

Her father, on the other hand… 

The heel of his expensive Italian loafers strike against the linoleum as the man stops at the threshold of the classroom, cool gaze doing an assessing sweep of the space, expression crinkling in distaste as it does. He doesn’t say a single word, doesn’t make any move to actually step inside the classroom. 

Ms. Burnell is the one who clears her throat, pushing to an awkward stand as she extends a hand out to the man. 

“Hello, Mr. Masters. Thank you for making the time to come discuss your daughter’s education. I know you’re very busy.” 

The man’s eyes slip to her outstretched palm, and for a motifying second, she doesn’t think he’s going to take it. When he finally does, he just gives a brief, cursory shake before swiping his palm off on his suit jacket and striding past her toward his daughter. 

Ms. Burnell’s face is all kinds of warm, chest tight with embarassment as she fumbles back to her desk, trying to wrestle herself back into some kind of composure. Still, she barely looks up as she pulls out a folder with Danielle Masters scrawled across the tab.

“Dad! Dad! That one’s mine! Do you see it? Do you like it?” Danielle calls proudly, tugging on her father’s suit sleeve and pointing toward the paintings that are spread out beneath the windows to dry, paper wavy and crinkled.

“Oh, er. That’s actually a good place for us to start,” Ms. Burnell cuts in apologetically. 

Mr. Masters gaze snaps from where he’d been examining his daughter’s project, over to her, brows dropped low. 

“Why? Is there a problem with my daughter’s work?” The question is sharp, accusatory, and she’s pretty sure her soul shrivels up a little bit at the unguarded disdain in the man’s eyes.

Swallowing hard, sweat beading against the back of her neck, Ms. Burnell resists the urge to immediately take it back. Surely he can see the problem with the piece—isn’t going to make her say it? 

It's too scary.

When his challenging gaze doesn’t waver, she forces the words out. 

“Uhm. Well. It’s just. Not quite. Appropriate for a sixth grade class?” It pitches up into a question as she gestures vaguely toward Dani’s painting. 

It’s a bit sloppy, the layers of paint caked upon each other, the lines hasty and uneven, but the scene itself is clear enough—a little, smiling, white-haired girl in the shadow of some kind of hulking creature, its skin blue, eyes red, sharp fangs bared as its cape flares out to take up the rest of the page. 

Ms. Burnell almost set up an appointment for Danielle with the school counselor when she saw it, wondering if Dani felt like she was the little girl, trapped amongst nightmares and “monsters.” She decided against it for the time being, until she could speak with the girl’s father, but that’s proving rather unhelpful so far if the contemptuous way the man is looking at her is any indication.

“Did Danielle complete the assignment?” he asks finally. 

“Uhm. Yes.” 

“And adhere to the grading criteria?” 

“Sh-she did,” Ms. Burnell answers reluctantly.

“Then I don’t see the problem,” he answers, finality in the words as his gaze turns to his daughter. He takes a much softer tone with her, brushing the disorderly strands of hair off her face, an absent domesticity in the way he straightens the ponytail gone lopsided. “I think you did a lovely job, dear.” 

“Thank you! I used Alizarin Crimson,” she answers proudly, hair flopping right back into her eyes.

“Excellent choice.” 

“Uhm. Well, there’s also the matter of Danielle’s conduct,” Ms. Burnell cuts in.    

The man lets out an irritated sigh, arms crossing over his chest as he leans back against one of the desks, one ankle crossed over the other, unimpressed gaze finding Ms. Burnell once more. 

“What?” he says, like it’s an inconvenience.

She swallows hard. “She’s been…uhm. Not getting along with some of the other girls.” 

“That is so unfair, Mackenzie started it!” Danielle shouts abruptly, popping up to her knees on her chair, palms slapping down against the desktop. 

“Well that’s not what Mack—” 

The girl keeps going, cutting Ms. Burnell off. 

“She said the only reason Eli agreed to play with me at recess was because Joshua dared him too, and I said nuh unh and she said yuh hunh, and I asked how she knew that, and she couldn’t even prove it, it was so obvious she was making it up!” 

“Mackenzie told me that you said some pretty unkind words to her, Danielle.” 

“Barely! I just said it was a bad look for her to be so jealous of me and just because she looks like she fished her outfit from the same trash bin she got her personality from isn’t any reason to be a jerk.”

Her father’s expression twists into a sharp smirk, amusement lighting his blue eyes, and Ms. Burnell thinks she’s starting to get a better sense of why Danielle is proving to be one of the most challenging students in her class this year. 

“We treat people with kindness and respect in this classroom, Dani. Do you think what you said to Mackenzie was kind and respectful?” 

“Well…” Dani’s gaze drops, expression pinching in thought, and Ms. Burnell thinks she might actually be getting through to her.

“It doesn’t sound as though this other girl was treating Danielle with kindness and respect,” Mr. Masters answers, the words coming out with a mocking turn, like he finds the concepts incidental at best.

“That’s true. She did start it,” Dani reasserts, turning her gaze up to her dad.  

“I’ve spoken to Mackenzie about her part in everything,” Ms. Burnell answers tightly. “But we’re here to talk about Danielle’s conduct. That’s not the only incident of its kind that’s occurred this year and—” 

“You know, it sounds to me as though Danielle’s doing just fine,” Mr. Masters says, pushing up to a proper stand, tugging the bottom of his sleeves and smoothing the dark, wrinkleless fabric.

“But—” 

“Did she make this girl cry?” 

“Well. No, but—” 

“And how are my daughter’s academics?” he asks, gaze fixed on hers, sending a chill creeping down her spine. 

“Fine, but—” 

“Has she gotten into a physical altercation with anyone?” 

“Not exactly, but—” 

“Started any fires?” he asks, sarcasm and derision dripping from the words. 

“No, she hasn’t started any fires.” 

“Then I believe this meeting is finished. Thank you for your time, Ms…”

“Burnell,” she answers weakly.

“Thank you for your time, Ms. Burnell. Danielle, are you ready to go?”

“Yup!” She pops up to an enthusiastic stand, rushing over to the windows to snatch up her painting, twisting it toward Ms. Burnell. “Can I take this home?”

She gives a heavy sigh, massaging her temples with her fingertips. “Sure, Dani. That's fine.” 

“Thanks, Ms. B!” As the girl traipses after her dad, a bounce in her step, horrifying painting swinging at her side, Ms. Burnell can hear the girl still chattering away, even as they pass out of her classroom, voices growing distant. “Do you think I should have made Mackenzie cry?” she asks.

Ms. Burnell is glad she can’t hear the man’s response—she doesn’t even want to know his answer.

[cosmerelists]

Pros and Cons of Inviting Cosmere Shards to your Next Boardgame Night

So you want to invite a fragment of Adonalsium to your next boardgame night? You do you, but here are some pros & cons you might want to consider first.

1. Autonomy [Taldain; White Sand]

Pros: If you're good, Autonomy will respect you. You actually managed to complete the coast to coast railroad in Ticket to Ride? Autonomy is giving that a fist bump.

Cons: If you are bad at your chosen game, or even if you just have a bad night, Autonomy may simply kill you.

2. Preservation [Scadrial; Mistborn]

Cons: Preservation HATES it when the game progresses. You've been playing Risk for three hours now, and Preservation is still trying to get it to look like it did at setup. He's crying.

Pros: Preservation doesn't mind losing. He kinda likes it if his score stays at 0.

3. Ruin [Scadrial; Mistborn]

Pros: Ruin is not a bad loser either.

Cons: In fact, Ruin hopes that EVERYONE will lose. He's mainly in it to see everything burn. Do NOT play Pandemic with Ruin.

4. Harmony [Scadrial; Mistborn]

Cons: You are SO SURE that Harmony is trying to manipulate how you play.

Pros: H-He just put down a Scrabble word that can be pluralized one square away from the triple word score tile--is he trying to manipulate you into winning?! Does he want the game to be easy for you??

5. Honor [Roshar; Stormlight]

Pros: He will DEFINITELY not cheat.

Cons: He's just...a bit of a windbag, you know? He tells like the same six stories over and over again and always looks at you like he thinks he's changing your life. It's like--it's been your turn for five minutes now!

6. Dominion [Sel; Elantris]

Cons: Ugh, Dominion is the WORST winner. Laughing, mocking you, rubbing your face in it... It's like, cool it. We are playing Settlers of Catan.

Pros: ...It's actually very satisfying to beat her, especially at the card-building guide Dominion. Heh heh. Heheheheh.

7. Devotion [Sel; Elantris]

Pros: Devotion has a whole library of fun co-op games where everyone wins! It's delightful!

Cons: Just once you wish you could play a competitive game. With winners and losers. But you just can't take Devotion's round, moist eyes when you suggest it.

8. Endowment [Nalthis; Warbreaker]

Cons: It's not too bad of a con, really, but she is REALLY particular about what piece color she gets.

Pros: She always brings snacks! And she never asks for anyone else to take their turn or anything; she just likes to bring stuff!

9. Cultivation [Roshar; Stormlight]

Pros: You swear that playing with Cultivation has made you a better player. Yes, she kicks your butt at Checkers repeatedly, but she also seems to want you to get better at the game. It's kind of sweet.

Cons: You just wish she could be more...normal about win conditions. "Winner gets to pick the takeout place!" Normal! "And winner also has to pour a glass of water over their head!" Now it's weird.

10. Virtuosity [Komashi; Yumi and the Nightmare Painter]

Cons: Sometimes you like a game, and you'd like to try it again. But Virtuosity always pooh-poohs that idea. She only likes to try new games.

Pros: She's always really taken with the art on the game box. It's kinda sweet.

11. Odium, Rayse vessel [Roshar; Stormlight]

Pros: Odium understands and adheres to the spirit of the game, and he doesn't take it personally. When you block his Draw 2 with a Draw 2 of your own, he just shakes his head and comments that it's his own fault for agreeing to house rules.

Cons: Whenever someone loses, Odium insists that they be banned from game night forever. Sometimes you catch a cold look in his eye, like he intends to be the only boardgame player left at the end of this...but that would be crazy, right??

12. Odium, [spoilers-for-Rhythm-of-War] vessel [Roshar, Stormlight]

Cons: You thought you were playing by house rules Monopoly, you know, like everyone does, when all of the sudden Odium stops your brother from loaning you some money by calmly pointing out that it isn't allowed in the official rules. Suddenly you see that he has the Official Rule Book in hand. Many pages are earmarked. A chill comes over you.

Pros: Well, you agreed that if the Monopoly game lasted longer than two hours, then whoever was up at that point would simply win. S-So, at least there's an end in sight? Why are you so scared though??

13. Ambition [Threnody; Shadows for Silence]

Pros: Whenever someone gets eliminated from your weekly poker game because they run out of chips, Ambition insists that they stay at the table and continue having a role in the game. How sweet!

Cons: ...is what you would say, if the role weren't sitting there in silence, watching for any rule-breaking (like card counting or collusion). Ambition always says that the punishment for rule-breaking is...death. You know she's kidding.

You think she's kidding.

You might stop inviting her.

[stuiie]

OK to keep the nosy duck headcanon going; if it's not too much trouble, can we have the trio returning to the pond and the minute the ducks see them getting all cutesy, they start flapping their wings and quacking in excitement? 🐻

#humansarejustduckstelenovas

Here you go sweetie, a small piece of sweetness and excited ducks 🥰.

You had the worst day at the lab. Everything seemed to fall apart—the experiments, the data, even the coffee machine rebelled against you. Stress clung to you like a second skin, and by the time you stumbled through the door of Natasha and Wanda’s house, you were a walking bundle of exhaustion, ready to curl up under a blanket and hide from the world. But those plans crumbled the moment Wanda’s face appeared from around the corner, her wide grin like a beam of sunlight cutting through the storm cloud hanging over you.

“Sweetie, I was hoping it was you!” she said, voice bubbling with excitement. She was walking over to you with excited steps, arms outstretched, and you couldn’t help but melt just a little at how effortlessly radiant she looked—her light jeans splattered with flecks of paint, a loose, comfy shirt that looked like it had seen better days, and her hair twisted into a messy bun. A streak of bright color ran across her jaw like an accidental piece of art. You bit your lip, trying to suppress the smile threatening to break through.

Wanda’s grin softened as her eyes swept over you, her brows knitting together. “Hey, you look… off. Rough day?” she asked, her hand gently brushing against your cheek, her thumb lingering in a soothing caress.

You sighed, leaning into her touch. “You could say that. Lab's been a nightmare.”

“Aww, my poor baby,” she cooed, pulling you into a hug that felt like a shield against the world. She dropped a soft kiss onto your temple, her lips lingering just long enough to send a wave of comfort through you.

You breathed in deeply, her familiar scent—a mix of lavender, something sweet, and faint traces of paint—helping to steady your nerves. Wanda tilted your chin up and captured your lips in a kiss that was gentle but full of warmth. Kissing Wanda felt like coming home, her cold rings pressing against your skin while her palm radiated warmth, cupping your face tenderly as she deepened the kiss.

It was all too easy to get lost in her. But the sound of the front door opening snapped you both out of it. You glanced back, and there was Natasha, shrugging out of her coat with that casual confidence only she could pull off.

“Hey, you two. Sorry I’m late,” Natasha greeted, her tone amused as she glanced between you and Wanda, clearly having caught the tail end of your moment.

Wanda pulled you a bit closer, her arms tightening around you. “You’re always late, Nat,” she teased, though her tone was light and affectionate.

Natasha chuckled, her green eyes twinkling as she crossed the room, her fingers cold against the back of your neck as she leaned in to kiss you, her lips cool and firm but tender. “Had to run a couple of errands, you know,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing as she pulled you in a little closer, her kiss deepening, making you grip her shirt to steady yourself.

After a few seconds, Natasha pulled back, her lips brushing over your cheek before she kissed Wanda, squishing you between them. You squeaked in surprise, which only made both of them laugh. They finally gave you some air, stepping back slightly.

“Actually,” Wanda began, her tone taking on a playful note as she reached for her coat, “I thought we could all use some fresh air. How about a little walk?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that. “A walk? In this cold? What are you up to, troublemaker?”

Wanda just smirked, tossing Natasha’s coat back at her, which Natasha caught effortlessly. You gave a little shrug, equally clueless but intrigued.

Before you knew it, Wanda was holding up your coat for you, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Let’s go, sweetie. You need it after your day,” she said with a grin, helping you into your jacket before zipping it up herself like a mother fussing over her child. She pressed a quick kiss to your lips before tugging your hat down over your ears.

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile. “Wanda, I’m not a toddler. I can dress myself.”

“You say that, but then you let your ears freeze off,” she quipped, adjusting the hat with a look of concentration. “You need to be warm.”

“You pull it down too much! I look ridiculous!” you protested, tugging at the edges.

Wanda’s only response was a fond smile and a quick peck on your forehead. Natasha, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth, chuckled and leaned in to kiss Wanda’s cheek. “You’re smothering her, love,” Natasha said, though there was nothing but affection in her voice.

Wanda gave one last tug at your hat before letting go. “Fine, fine. But if you get cold, I’ll say I told you so.”

The three of you set off, with Wanda skipping a little as she led the way. The crisp air nipped at your cheeks, but the sound of the water lapping against the shore and the sweet, silly quacking of ducks quickly lifted your spirits. You let go of Wanda’s hand and darted ahead to the edge of the pond, laughing as the ducks quacked excitedly at the sight of you.

Natasha sidled up behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her chin on your shoulder. “Look at you,” she murmured, her breath warm against your neck. “Feeding your cousins again, little duckling?”

You snorted, elbowing her playfully. “Don’t start with that,” you warned, though you were smiling. Natasha laughed, dropping a quick kiss on your cheek.

Wanda soon joined, handing you the bag of food. “Here you go. Show them some love,” she said with a grin, watching as you eagerly tossed the seeds out to the waiting ducks.

Natasha took that moment to sneak up and grab a handful of seeds herself, flashing you a mischievous smile. “Let’s see who can get more ducks on their side.”

“Oh, it’s on!” you declared, scooping a large handful and tossing it further out, trying to tempt the ducks over to you.

Wanda groaned, shaking her head. “You two are impossible. We’re supposed to be rationing those!”

Natasha winked at you and threw a massive scoop of seeds into the water, making you laugh as the ducks practically dove at it.

“I told you, not all at once!” Wanda scolded, though her stern tone was completely undermined when she blew raspberries against your neck. You squealed in surprise, spooking the ducks, but laughing so hard you could barely stand.

Wanda finally relented, rolling her eyes playfully before wrapping an arm around you both. “You’re lucky I love you two,” she said with a smirk, leaning in for a kiss on your cheek and Natasha’s.

The three of you stood there, watching the ducks squabble over the remaining seeds as the sun dipped lower, casting a warm glow over the water.

[rad-batson]

The Robins as RA’s Because I Said So

Credentials: I’m an RA, trust me.

Dick Grayson: The “Cool” RA

His friends told him he’d be great at it so he applied

Holds your hair back when you’re throwing up in the bathroom

Gives life lessons at every opportunity even when you don’t want them

Sees his residents in the hallway and proceeds to talk their ear off

Knocks on your door if he hasn’t seen you in a few days to make sure you’re doing alright

Has the “I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed” face on point

You actually feel bad when he catches you drinking in the halls :(

Jason Todd: The Cool RA

Wanted something to pad his resume so he applied

Will help you hide a body. “Just ask.” You didn’t, but you can’t remember how it came up either

Doesn’t care about the Rules, per se, but he will judge you for lacking common sense

“You know what, Derek? I’m writing you up just for being stupid. You could have at least put it in a paper bag.”

Organizes all of his events last minute, best attendance in the building

One day, he lets it slip that he has a 4.3 GPA

No one believes him until he actually shows them with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face

Tim Drake: The Invisible RA

Didn’t want to go apartment hunting so he applied for the free housing

Do you even have an RA? Does he even live here?

Apparently, he’s like triple-majoring or something, but like…no one knows what for. Or how. (He's really Undecided)

Does the bare minimum, but somehow still excels at his job

Everyone who sees him has a completely different description of what he looks like

One person starts the rumor that he’s a vampire, which is only made worse when someone sees him looking ghostly pale while chugging some weird red drink (Ultra Red Monster) in the middle of the night

Stephanie Brown: The Best Friend RA

One of those people who actually likes living in student housing so she applied

Gossips with everyone

“You didn’t hear this from me but-“ and “What am I, your mother?” are her most common phrases

Will probably get fired just because of how many university secrets she’s spilled

Keeps her door open at all times, her room is super cute too

One of her residents walks in and says, “You won’t believe what my boyfriend did this time!” Stephanie is already popping popcorn.

Will let you get away with shit if you make a good case for yourself

Damian Wayne: The Try-Hard RA

It’s a tradition in his family now, and he takes those very seriously, so he applied

A troublemaker’s worst nightmare

He will catch you drinking. No one knows how. Even his boss thinks it’s suspicious.

Seconds from a mental breakdown at all times of the day

Absolutely livid when the event he spent the least amount of effort on gets the best attendance (He just brought all of his art supplies to the lounge and taught people how to draw)

Writes incident reports like they’re addressed to the Pentagon

A resident comes to his door crying because her grandmother passed away, and Damian completely blanks on what to do so he lets her into his room and gives her a really long hug while she calms down, then he sits her down and lets her vent for an hour. A week later, she comes back and thanks him for being there when she needed it. It sticks with him for years.

[nyhti]

Batman Rogues Tumblr AU:

Jervis:

-Joined Tumblr in 2009, has had the same blog all this time -Has a big follower count, but most of those blogs have long since been abandoned -Is very active -No sideblogs, everything from kink to cute animal pics is on the same blog -Has witnessed or been involved in every single major event in this site's history -Attended Dashcon (he was the one who pissed in the ball pit) -Involved in some sort of petty drama on a daily basis -Has a 20km long post of just going back and fort arguing with some random user. This argument started in 2016 and neither remembers what it even was about. He gets worried if the other person hasn't responded in a while. -Gets at least 3 callout posts a week. Always makes sure to reblog them and adds an essay underneath defending himself no matter if the callout post was about liking the wrong pony in MLP or murdering someone in cold blood. -Kinnie drama the likes of which you've never seen before -And in general just discord you never thought anyone could ever come up with -At this point you wonder if he's even having fun on this site, but he just keeps on reblogging bunny pics like it's nothing -Has a Wacom drawing tablet

Jonathan:

-Joined in 2011 after Jervis introduced him to the site -Has some really tacky theme he hasn't changed since 2013 -About a couple hundred followers, but they are very devoted. Lots of mutuals -579257405547 blurry photos of Nightmare -Post fics and essays on various topics he's been thinking about lately -Of course reblogs every single spoopy art piece he finds -Definitely does fic request -The most fucked up smut you've ever read -Like smut you don't even know is smut, because it's just that confusing -Most of his post don't get past 50 notes, but he has made a couple of post, mainly of the: ”Here's how you write x, y and z...” and ”As a Professor of Psychology, I can tell you...” variety, that have about 10 000 notes -Has a chill time on Tumblr -Only uses Tumblr on desktop. Has never even seen the app. -Completely unironically reblogs every cool skeleton on a motorcycle pic

Joker:

-Joined in 2013 -The only reason he joined is because he once came across a horny drawing of Batman and searching for the artist led him to Tumblr. -Starts writing a post, gets distracted mid way though and starts doing something else. Comes back to Tumblr 3 hours later, notices he was making a post, doesn't even bother rereading it despite not remembering what it was about and just hits posts. His blog is full of completely incomprehensible post that just stop mid way through -Makes a couple post that get so popular they are still making rounds today. They will always have additions like: ”I still can't believe this post was made by the fucking Joker” and ”Joker had a Tumblr?!” -Forgot his password a month after joining and never visited the site again. Barely remembers he ever had an account -Those true crime people still harvest his 20-post-pathetic-excuse-for-a-blog-blog for content to this day all the while completely ignoring all the rogues with still active (and better) blogs. They are saying things like: ”Ooohhhh, it's like a deep dive into his twisted mind :00” and are always trying to find some hidden symbolism and meaning behind all his ”just farted so loud it scared the neighbor's cat” kinda posts.

Eddie:

-Joined in 2011 -759752974576 sideblogs, 55425720752174838+1 sockpuppet accounts -When he's really low he'll post a poll like: ”Be honest, am I cute? Yes/No” and then has his 55425720752174838+1 sockpuppet accounts hit ”Yes” and somehow ���No” still wins. He deletes the whole post. -Posts the most obvious ”and everybody clapped” Tumblr fake stories you've seen. When he gets called out, he pretends you were supposed to figure out they were fake -Has an awful time on Tumblr, but can't delete, because he's addicted to getting notes -Always falls for every one of those post where OP pretends to be stupid on purpose (i.e. smooth sharks, putting fingers in guns etc.) -Posts riddles everyday that even his biggest haters cannot help but try and solve -Sends himself hatemail so he can post the witty comeback he just came up with. Forgot to hit anon once and people just won't let it go

Hugo:

-Banned for posting cock :/

[darija-morgan]

Unexpected Baldur's Gate 3 post~

Me, just regularly talking with myself:

"Hmmm... but what if The Dead Three wall pic, but with their Chosens instead! Nice idea, but it's unlikely to find such art... what do you mean 'then draw it yourself'?! What am I, an artist?! What a nons-"

Whops

Another shitty redraw is here! Sorry for this nightmare, but I was unable to control myself and created it in like 1 day haha...

Goddamn, this fancy shmancy coat of tyranny... It will suit anyone, even Bane himself, just look at the dude!

He is cool now!

...that's so horrible omg, probably should go for some sleep and then delete it