#prompt was 'rabid'

[sparxwrites]

Joel remembers things after the accident in flashes. 

The accident itself, he remembers fine – don’t mess around with enchanters, kids, stay in school, and especially don’t mess around with an enchanter, a chest full of various potions, a charged creeper, and several untamed wolves – but everything after it? Not just a blur, but gone. Other than the flashes. Funny little snippets of memory, half-order.

-

First: Him, on the ground, in a crater. Enchanter, gone, wolf corpses, still very much present. There’s broken glass everywhere; he’d forgotten he was storing potions in the next room. His body aches like he was hit by a truck, burns like he was hit by a bolt of lightning, and is– whatever the fuck the correct adjective for feels like he’s mainlined a month’s caffeine intake directly into his brainstem is. It’s not a great combination.

There’s also a Gem beside him, crouched carefully down in the grass. She’s saying something. His ears are ringing; he can’t make out the words. She looks worried.

She reaches out to touch him, and Joel’s entire body hurls itself at her without his conscious permission, jaws agape, fury rising like a red and mad tide. Everything goes black before he makes contact, but the terror on Gem’s face burns itself into his retinas before it does.

-

Next: He wakes up, alone, unclear where he is, struggling to move. His mouth tastes of blood. He’s lying on a mattress, wrists and ankles bound down. There’s something over his mouth. And Etho is there, too. Etho with a sword. Which doesn’t make much sense.

“Hi, Joel,” says Etho. “How you doing? You know where you are?”

Joel feels like shit, and has no idea where he is. But when he opens his mouth to say that, the only thing that comes out is a croak. He tries again, nothing, only pain, and then gives up. “Face,” he says, instead, voice raw like he’s been howling. He tries to lick his lips, and they taste of blood too. The sword, slowly, starts making sense.

“Uh. Oh, yeah.” Etho shifts in his chair. “We had to muzzle you. You’ve been, uh– well. The teeth have been a problem. When you… you’ve been like. Blacking out. And biting people. So…” He gestures, vaguely, at Joel’s prone body. “But it’s just a temporary measure. Some of the others are working on it. We’ll get it fixed soon.”

Joel wants to say more, wants to ask more, but things are fading. He can feel them fading. The black wants him again. “Hurts,” he says, raw as gravel, as his vision begins to tunnel.

“Yeah,” says Etho, soft, sympathetic. His hand is very warm, where it touches Joel’s wrist. “I know, buddy. I know.”

-

Last: He’s on fire, he’s burning, he’s fucking burning, they’re burning him alive, holy shit, why is no one trying to help him? 

There’s a dog somewhere nearby howling, or else a child screaming, or a horse being murdered, or maybe just a grown human in spine-melting pain. Hard to concentrate when he’s busy being ripped apart. Difficult to hear. His ears are ringing, vision blurred and half-dark, skin crawling as it tries to get away from the agony. 

Dimly, distantly, through the pain, he sees Jimmy. That’s when he knows he’s dying; no Jimmy on Hermitcraft. And also he called him Jimmy, even if just in the privacy of his own head. Sure sign of imminent death, that. 

The Jimmy who is not real looks at him, eyes calm and kind, and says, “Well, you’ve really fucked it now, Joel, haven’t you?” And then, before Joel can say anything back, he’s gone – and so, blissfully, is the pain. So, blissfully, is everything else

-

He wakes up, and hurts like someone has tried to make taffy of his bones. Everything aches, deep and abiding. But– he wakes up.

“M’alive,” he says, surprised, and his throat is full of knives, but the words still make it out. He could whoop from that alone. If not for the knives.

“You are.” That’s X’s voice, and when Joel flops his head to one side, the admin’s stood there, hands outstretched over Joel’s chest and belly. Even through the helmet, he looks tired. “I don’t know what you did, Joel, but I’m going to have to ask you to never do it again. Please.”

“Yeah, Joel.” Grian. Who else. “Or we’ll kick you off the server.”

“We won’t kick you off the server,” says Xisuma, exhaustedly. “...But I might want to.”

Joel laughs, but the knives, so it comes out more as a dry wheeze. He needs water. He needs a piss. He needs some painkillers, and to sleep for maybe two or three days. What he says instead, though, before he can help himself, is, “Jimmy. W’s Jimmy ‘ere?”

He expects Grian to laugh. It’s a mark of how bad things were that Grian doesn’t. “No, Jimmy wasn’t– Do you want Jimmy? We could maybe whitelist–” He looks at Xisuma.

Xisuma sighs. “Sure. Let’s invite the whole Empires server, while we’re at it.”

“’d be nice,” mumbles Joel, and then, “g’nna. Mmm. Sl’p now.”

“That’s fine.” Grian’s voice, and there’s a hand stroking his hair, which is nice. That might be Grian’s too but, since his eyes are already closed, he can’t tell. “Sleep, Joel. Jimmy’ll be here when you wake up. Which you might regret asking for, actually. Ah well.”

[dreamwinged]

hey sorry but you actually have to imagine a universe where your s/i is canon and a bunch of people in the fandom are super invested in shipping you with your f/o. you gotta think about the “daily” accounts that would be made for your ship; the way ppl would go crazy whenever the two of you had screentime/interactions together and post things like “omg the way they look at eachother 😢” “they’re so in love”. all the in-depth analysis threads pointing out the nuances and arguing for why your ship is canon ???!!! yeah just consider it

proship/comship/neutral dni

[vakariaan]

ultimate ships challenge - [1/10] cuddling scenes

[transformer-hardlyknowher]

Starscream week day 3 betrayal/deception

As the war raged on, Starscream gained a reputation as being "traitorous" among both sides of the war. But how does one gain such a reputation?

Well, he was charismatic, often said before the war that he wasn't a fighter, and, since he was technically leader of Cybertron, he was trusted.

So he'd convince groups of Autobots to follow him, and he'd lead them into traps, ambushes, and sometimes directly into a decepticon base, where they'd be arrested.

Though, usually, he'd just deal with the groups himself, with the help of his brothers.

And even as the war continued, and his reputation for being untrustworthy grew, there was always a few autobots with a bit to much hope, that fell for the trick.

[iguessthisisanewobsession]

Rent is a terrible musical and Jason will not be the first person in Gotham to voice this opinion

it's a musical that while having the backdrop of the story being about revolution against an upper class that refuses to make anyone uncomfortable. The status quo is not rocked so people with money can still relate.

The entire character cast are assholes, even the kindest of the main cast still murdered a dog and sang a catchy tune and had no remorse afterwards.

the show never really goes anywhere, character 's don't change and frankly don't care to.

It idealizes drug use and being poor, while there is a subplot for the homeless, there is no care shown for them and kind of implies a choice to be homeless.

That being said he was in the main cast as angel.

Jason is a hypocrite but is well aware of the fact unlike the rest of his family.

He doesn't choose the musical, the director did, and when he had a role time seems to slow down.

Being a vigilante, everything is fast paced, you need to get ducks in a row before one of the ducks takes out an third of the alley.

But to be able to shelf that mindset, even if only for the rehearsals it was nice.

That being said, artistic liberality is a thing.

To hell with angel going into the light peacefully, it ain't right for someone dying of a disease that can be treated.

If you wanted a show about romanticizing dying from a disease than you should go to the opera they tried to be with La bohème and tuberculosis.

No Jason is going to lasso his rage and put a pretty mask on it until he feels the need to put his own twist on a scene.

[i-eat-mold]

I don’t post my ocs that often but drawing her always feels like home

Also I’ve been looking through my old stuff and the first drawing of her I made… it haunts me…

God I think I was like 13??? What the fuckkkk

[storytimewithtibby]

warnings: fluffy, vaguely stalkerish word count: 875 work - one shot prompts from @creativepromptfills - golden hour (x) and @scealaiscoite - tangerine squares (x) may lists

     A breeze passed along your jaw, almost too hot to be comfortable, your gaze shifting to the clock. Finally. It had been a long day of phantom touches, one sided conversations, and a piercing ache that settled under your ribs with every hushed noise you could almost believe was a whisper. Shadows shifted, thickened, but other things gleamed brightly, the rays of sunlight broad and warm as they fought against the dark. 

     And felt the ache slowly dissipate as a weight rested on your throat, a slender finger hooking your jaw to turn your face. Soft golden glow caressed high cheekbone, exposed the dove soft curve of lips that pressing against your cheek. Your arms that had been loosely wrapped around your middle shifted, the feel of feathers ticklish against your skin as they pressed against you to pull you closer to the body finally firm behind you. 

     Fingertip brushing your lower lip, you breathed out a greeting, the heat settling into your bones making it hard to think. Their other hand sought yours to tangle their fingers with yours as they nuzzled against your hair. The whispers sounded like beloved, and grace, and you smiled hearing them inhale deeply as they murmured praises into your ear. 

     You’d told them it wasn’t necessary, that you would be just as happy if they told you what they’d seen doing whatever it was they did. The praise so heavy handed that had it been another fellow human being it would have been irritating, suspicious even. But it felt like light painted across your skin, seeping in like a balm to ease the ache of how exhausting every day was. 

     Except for those moments when you started the day, earlier than you had any reason to be awake, because it was the only time they could pull together a human form. Photographers called it the golden hour, chased it with a fervor that startled you as you had been looking for any information you could find in regards to angel manifestation. 

     That had been a long, exhausting crawl through fanatics and religious dogma. You could have asked, and who knows they might have answered. But they hadn’t answered any of your other questions, so the chances had been slim to none. They hadn’t even given you the decency of giving them a name to call you, their finger feeling like a brand as they gripped your chin to give your head a playful shake. 

“Sorry.’ 

     But they didn’t want an apology, they just wanted your attention, kissing the corner of your mouth. A silent plea for you to shift your focus to them instead of whatever it was you were thinking. Which, was kind of suspicious, could angels read your mind if it wasn’t a prayer? Not all of those were said out loud, and still got answered. Testing it, with the most basic thing you could manage to think of, you waited patiently. 

     The response was almost immediate, first one set of wings and then the second loosened to allow you to turn. Sun warmed plum was what it felt like, but the taste held a sweet bite. You’d spent a month raiding your local market trying to find something that compared to the taste. It had been ridiculously disappointing that you’d found the texture but not the taste when you’d heathenly plucked the plum from the bowl on the counter. 

     But it hadn’t been until you’d been making a fruit bowl, licking juice from your thumb, that you’d finally figured it out. Tangerine, sweet, bright, danced on the tongue and brought a smile to your lips. Fingertips lightly catching their jaw, a low hum vibrated through you as the wings tightened again trapping you there. Fair, you didn’t have an hour, the time a misnomer as they purred praise against your lips. 

“I love your song.’ 

     And sometimes the praise didn’t make sense, feeling fingers trail along your cheek. And again, and again, a soft sigh before the kiss deepened hands lowering to wrap their arms around you and squeeze. They were so pleased with the gasp it startled out of you, lightly prodding your lower lip. As their tongue traced the line of it, your jaw dropped and they spilled into your mouth like morning light. Soft, insistent, warming you from your core outwards as their fingers trickled up and down your lower spine. 

    You’d tried asking what that meant, and they’d told you the divinity that spilled from your skin had edges that vibrated at the slightest touch. They’d sounded in awe of that fact, with no little hint of jealousy that always reminded you that sometimes angels fell. They fell because they’d done something really bad. 

     But the way they held you as if breaking you would destroy a part of them. The fact that every single morning they sought you out when time didn’t mean the same thing to them. Or the fact that throughout the day there were moments you could almost just see them out of the corner of your eye. There was a lot to process, but getting hurt was low on the list. Even though a small part of you kept trying to find a reason to worry.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 270

Wing Au? Wing Au. 

But see, ecto-contamination has an effect on those of Amity Park, even more so after their temporary stint into the Zone itself. They were there for hours, if not more, that has an effect on things. It’s like suddenly being transported in the middle of the sight of a nuke, there’s no way you aren’t getting irradiated. 

So their wings might start to… mutate a bit. Just shift and adjust here and there, grow bigger than how they should, with how flight had been lost so long ago. Some now covered in a waxy sheen, others bioluminescent, more with flickers of scales like moths. Others even further changed, the tops opening into maws, eyes blinking amidst feathers, leaves growing from bone like it’s a branch. 

And the Outside remains oblivious beyond the shields, unaware of the rising anger behind it as instincts of predators are returned and brought anew. Where the dead and the living meld into something new. Something Other to what they once were. 

And the GIW are starting to become concerned with how the things inside are searching for a way out. It… might be time to ask for assistance. 

[astrum-aetherium]

lots of inappropriate thoughts surrounding a certain henry winter but the one that sticks out to me the most is cockwarming while he’s studying. can u imagineeee. he’s just a little too preoccupied to fuck you but he’ll let you sit on it as long as you stay still. this is, of course, a hopeless cause as you’ll grow squeamish but he’ll hold your hips to keep you steady for as long as necessary until boom! crazy hot sex

before i entertain this wondrous thought, i would like to extend the invitation for you to continue frequenting my inbox with prompts as great as this one. i’m jaw-dropped. goddd.

he would absolutely resort to a scenario such as this one due to his studies simply posing a greater priority — he’s too determined and work-oriented to succumb to allurements all too often. to you, however, that would translate as unbearable, however lasciviously so — he would mount you on himself, expecting you to simply still with him hot and snug inside you, giving hearty pulsations every now and again. you don’t know who on earth could handle this much whilst remaining motionless — you would have to count out each passing second in anticipation of your liberation. and unfairly, he would take his sweet time, too — reading, researching, writing, translating, and whatnot; occasionally giving stirs that would nudge his tip against places so sweetly pleasurable and so clandestine that you wouldn’t many options left but to issue agitated whimpers.

“everything all right?” he’d ask indifferently, and yet you’d be able to discern a note of thrill in his tone. he would be all too well-aware of your frenzied state as well as the effect each slight movement of his has upon you. in spite of it all, he would consciously divert his focus back to work anyway — even if you’d call out to him by name, pleading and whining for him to mercy you. you’d resort to shifting around in your seat, spurned on by him stretching you so amply and being situated so deeply you would simply prance along the realm of disintegration, entranced.

“behave, please,” he would request of you in response, kindly at first, though with the premise of becoming more stern upon another portrayal of misbehavior. after you’d settled back in to your rooted position, he’d reassuringly add, “soon.” he would free one of his hands, then, and attach it to your hips in order to retain you in place were you to disobey his orders again. his grip would be unflinching yet gentle upon your flesh, and you’d keep your arms hooked around his shoulders and legs drawn into yourself upon the chair, face sweltering from how flushed you’d become. it would be purely impossible to survive — pure torture.

until, of course, he would finally set an end to the cruelty of it all by concluding his studies. that’s when his other hand would shift upon your hips, and he would start guiding you — painfully slowly and nowhere near enough — up and down his length. you’d yelp for him to give you more, and he wouldn’t have many choices but to do so — he’d lift you into the air and carry you to the bedroom, where, according to this prompt, he would fuck you as hotly and as hardly as you had been fantasizing about whilst painstakingly waiting for him to find the right moment for it. he would call you sweet names yet simultaneously poke slight fun at your desperation; how badly you always seem to want him — without a single complaint or retort, you’d take him, grateful that you got to in the first place. after all that horrifyingly long dallying, it’s all you’d deserve and need.

[idiototheinternet]

These are all things that make me go FERAL to think about my ships and my partner and I doing

The 3 most popular ill draw fanart for with one of the ships chosen in a different poll

(btw I'm getting really into Danganronpa bc of my partner @addi-the-boxhead524 )

[heungmins]

and if i say the rabid shipping culture that crosses so many lines on twt has ruined some of the friendships in the club (and has actually probs already ruined one) then what

pardon

[kitsunesakii]

Guys I'm cooking

[zappedbyzabka]

.

[hylianengineer]

We just had a class discussion in Spanish about what it means to be a responsible consumer, and the level of ignorance is kind of making my head explode.

I heard several people say things like, oh I'm a responsible consumer because I recycle. One person even said "Yeah I recycle I have lots of Amazon boxes."

facepalm

I'm glad they're recycling, I really am, but I wish they would realize that recycling is not where responsible consumption ends! (Most people also recycle incorrectly but that's a story for another post).

To be a responsible consumer doesn't just mean thinking about what you do with your trash after you generate it. It means trying to generate less waste in the first place. It means thinking about where the stuff you buy comes from and how its production, use, and disposal affects both the planet AND people. If you buy from Amazon on the regular without checking to see if there are alternatives, maybe you should be thinking about where your purchases come from. Sometimes there aren't alternatives, and that's not your fault, you gotta do what you need to to survive. But maybe think about it?

[timothyclare]

imagine jason sets up a meeting with this new driver, wanting to hire him.

to set the scene: jason could only set up this meeting by talking to the short librarian who works at the front desk at Gotham Public Library, who had to direct him to the archivist in the deepest basement level of the library, who then told jason he needed a 'time and place', and 'he'll be there'.

jason's not sure if that was even true- this guy is so fucking elusive, though, that it took jason 2 weeks to find just that librarian at the front desk.

so here he is, praying this guy shows up to the address he'd given, if only so he at least gets intel on the guy.

when he hears the door open, it scares the shit out of him- there had been no footsteps. he's on edge, ready to fight-

and behind the door is a kid.

black hair, slightly wavy, thick and messy, with a few different white streaks and spots scattered throughout, blue eyes that are just bright enough to be unnatural, and a lower face covered by a blue surgical mask; that's the first thing jason sees, followed by the kid's 5'3 stature, skinny limbs, and then the prosthetic arm peeking out of the left hoodie sleeve.

they lock eyes. jason feels something he can't explain, and he knows suddenly that this kid is his, his to protect, his to keep safe-

because that's what he is, just a kid, cautious and careful and quiet, watching diligently from the doorway.

something changes in the kid at the same time, a slight loosening of the posture, a spark in his eye.

"do you want a job?" jason asks, because what else can he say?

"... yeah, sure," the kid responds, because what else could he do?

"show me what you've got, then," jason says, cocking a hip before he raises a hand to beckon the kid along, moving to the door at the other end of the abandoned garage. he tugs the garage door up, and behind it is a small, inconspicuous vehicle, no doubt tricked out on the inside with power equivalent to the batmobile (because when was jason one to be outdone?).

the kid's eyes sparkle just a bit, and he jogs over to hop in the driver's seat as jason slides into the passenger.

jason watches as the kid nerds out over the car a bit.

he gets no warning when they're suddenly moving out of the alley, speeding out onto the street- straight through the fence blocking the alley from view?!

jason can do nothing but brace himself and watch as the kid zips through gotham, not following even one traffic law with how frequently he veers off the road and through buildings supernaturally, drifting all the while to make directional changes, as if to throw off tails that weren't there-

and before jason knows it, the car pulls up, slowing immensely, to park right in front of red hood's known HQ.

there are a few seconds of silence before jason says, just a little shakily, "you've got a job. can you start tomorrow?"

"yeah, sure," the kid replies, and there's just a bit of mirth in his eyes.

"wanna come in and talk about benefits?" jason asks.

"yeah. by the way, i never introduced myself- i'm danny."

"i'm hood," jason says, climbing out of the car. "welcome to the gang."

3 months later, jason learns that none of danny's previous employers had gotten the efficiency danny had given him- apparently, danny didn't go through buildings and drift on slanted rooves for them.

danny, when questioned, responds that "you would understand. they wouldn't."

which leaves jason with questions, but oh well.

3 months after that, danny drops the bombshell that he trusts jason because, quote, "you can only really trust another ghost."

that opens up an entirely separate can of worms.

it's okay, though, jason thinks, because at least he's got a new little brother.

Driver Danny.

Danny goes to Gotham (you can pick why) and he's strapped for cash.

So he tries everything to keep the flickering lights on and the leaky roof over his head.

Dishwashing, pizza delivering, grocery shop Manning, beverage making, tutoring.

He does everything.

Eventually he ends up doing less then legal stuff.

Keeping a look out while a store gets robbed (didn't really feel guilty for that one, the owner was an asshole) work at the iceberg lounge.

Somehow he ends up as a gettaway driver...

Danny, the son of Jack "what's a red light?" Fenton.

He becomes the most sort after driver in Gotham.

[bolshiebunny]

tags.