#shatter zone

[absurdlakefront]

The coming days will be ugly. Yet I feel it’s my job to remind you that, bad as this is, we are not Weimar Germany, and this is not 1933. Trump and his lieutenants aren’t battle-hardened trench fighters, they’re Elon Musk and a coterie of half-enthusiastic half-frightened billionaires who got rich gambling on apps to let you rate your classmate’s tits. Their foot soldiers are used car salesmen from Encino, not Freikorps. The United States is not starving to death and crippled by war, it’s irritated and anxious because its working people have been robbed blind by those same billionaires.

The one thing we do have in common with Weimar is that our fascists now find themselves at the head of a state that capitulated to them not out of enthusiastic consent but exhaustion, cowardice and above all a feeling that it didn’t really matter.

That last one, the feeling that nothing matters, the system is fucked, there’s no point in engaging or organizing- that is the most powerful weapon they have right now. Because that feeling stops you and everyone else from opposing them. From interrupting as they reach out, yet again, to take something you love or need.

[spam-extemporal]

Dcxdp where Danny has been working with a hero team (did Bruce adopt him? Did he help the teen titans and got told to join them? Idk) for less than a year, maybe they knew eachother for longer, but Danny has been living with them for some months.

Now, I imagined this as a "Danny has to flee to a different dimension after a giw attack/reveal gone wrong" but it can work with other scenarios, the important thing is, death days are important for a ghost's wellbeing, but nobody knows/remembers Danny's deathday or that it's important to commemorate the dead. Maybe he hasn't told anyone yet cause he doesn't want to be a bother, or doesn't trust them enough yet.

So Danny takes the matter on his own hands, each year he goes to a quiet corner of the local graveyard, where he has a piece of marble and a small vase, he usually buys some flowers for his memorial grave and makes some fudge as an offering.

This year wasn't gonna be different, he told his team/family that he was gonna spend the day out, he chose an elegant but comfortable outfit, made some fudge, and saved it on the fridge with a note that said "phantom, do not eat".

The next part might work better with a young hero team, cause despite the note, someone took a bite of the fudge for breakfast.

Danny clearly gets mad, they didn't know, but they just ate an offering, a great offense to the dead it was offered to.

It all ends in a big fight, Danny doesn't want to admit that it was an offering for himself (it just hurts to admit that nobody remembers his death), and the other person thinks he's just having a tantrum over some fudge, like, c'mon, they can make you some if it's SO important to you 😒

And I don't know how to end it cause it came to me while falling asleep and don't remember more T-T

[amogus-real-not-clickbait]

oooooo i made fanart!! can you believe it?

this one's inspired by @deadpatrol's amazing fic :] idk exactly what vibe i was going for i just threw some feels at the wall and this happened :'D

(it's been sitting in my art folder for a while. finally had the inspo to finish it! yayayyay)

[ghoulspaw]

LYCA DW IM YOUR FRIEND!!!!! WE'RE BEST FRIENDS !!!!!!

(lyca's affinity 8)

LYCA I'D DIE FOR YOU 🗣

Bonus: (the other option)

[mystery-salad]

The world is safe now.

You tell yourself that as Zhaitan clings to a tower of decay, crumbling beneath its claws as the canons aim true. The shots hit, cheers raise as the dragon topples down. Falling from view through the miasma it created below. No one can hear it hit the ground over the relieved shouts of victory ringing across the airships. But everyone feels it in a resounding rumble that shouldn't have carried through the air like that. The celebrating falters, confusion rising but not fast enough to prepare for what follows. The shockwave hits like nothing you've ever felt. Everything goes dark as the screams begin.

The world is safe now, Orr is not.

You wake up in the rubble as survivors try to make sense of what happened. The dragon is dead, but no one accounted for where all the consumed magic had to go. No one planned for this despite generations of preparation. Perhaps there's a reason for the dragons, you hear murmurs through the tents. But you didn't come this far to call it quits, and one land riddled with a decaying radiation can't stop the mission. The contamination in your blood won't stop you.

The world is safe now. Orr is gone.

Mordremoth stares you down from within his mind. You're like a weed that won't die, small and foreign but resilient and ready to take everything. The odds are against you with the team sent away, you can't face the gaze of the dead like last time. They're safe at a distance, you have to hope they got far enough as you defy the odds and strike another dragon down.

The world is safe, but there's a catch.

Trahearne shudders as your mind returns to your body, as you look around in wonder that there isn't a shockwave like last time. He's so calm as he explains the truth of it, defying how terrified he is of dying, of asking a friend to do this and stand at ground zero once again. But you stand just as calm, picking up the blade and telling him to close his eyes. You hope he'll rest well, wherever his life takes him next. As the blade cuts through, you know it's real as the shockwave begins just like last time. You brace for impact as much as you can.

The world is safe now. The desert is gone.

It's almost tempting to let Balthazar handle the rest, let the god walk a path of destruction to each dragon, sparing yourself further damage. But his path leaves so much unnecessary devastation...so here you are alone with another dragon. Well, not completely alone now. You have Aurene, though you're still not sure if that's truly a blessing any more. The two of you corner Kralkatorrik, the perfect trap laid deep underground in old sunspear ruins.

The world is safe now, until the dragon takes a last stand.

Waking up in wreckage is becoming normal to you. When did that happen, when did the panic vanish? No time to think on it as new plans have to be laid out. You chase him down, you and your dragon, to kill her grandfather and save the world again. Setbacks are numerous. It's harder to work alone on this one, so many soldiers are ready to see it to the end with you. You tell them they don't know what they're asking for and send them away again. Aurene, still a child, fights the dragon's minions nearly overwhelmed as you get to his heart and strike. You've never seen the explosion from inside before. It's so bright.

The world is safe now. The island is gone.

Is it worth it all? It has to be, you tell yourself, as people celebrate your victories in a shrinking world. Refugees who have fled the fallout zones don't seem to agree, but at least they're alive right? And you know you're almost done. Jormag and Primordus, opposites and twins, rise together and somehow feel like childsplay after the last one. Perhaps it's because aurene is an equal to them now. You don't dare to think of the devastation that would be left if she were to die now. Thankfully you don't have to as the siblings tear each other apart.

The world is safe now. The mountains are gone.

No one has seen the final dragon in ages, hidden away deep underwater until you stumble into the truth while chasing a lesser threat. Soo Won was so gentle once, but the void ravages all. It feasts on the magic you released so willingly into the world, your devastations have paved the way for this chaos.

The world is safe now, for the void to reform.

You've survived so much despite the odds, held together by the very magic degrading your bones and poisoning your blood. The void pulls at those strings as it taunts you through the voice of the dragon who started it all. It's the hardest fight you've ever faced. As Aurene pumps you full of power to survive, you wonder if your death would bring destruction too in this moment. But it's left a mystery as Soo Won falls and the void fades. There's a moment of peacefulness you've never felt before, the grandmother hanging on long enough to comfort her granddaughter. But she can't prevent the state of her death. The jade sea shatters beneath your feet as she dies.

The world is safe now. But how much of it is left?

[eebie]

i drew this for you

[wreywrites]

Sorrows and Squeaky Toys

Summer of Bad Batch Week 2

Prompts: Injured & Comfort Zone

Warnings: Vague references to torture, nightmares (nothing graphic) AO3

“Crosshair?” Zara asked quietly.

She got a wordless growl in response.

“Crosshair, can I see your hand?”

“Kriff you—”

“Later,” she said, without any of the usual venom, snatching his wrist anyway, and scrutinizing his hand.

He jerked away, glaring at her.

“Crosshair—”

“It’s not that hand, idiot.” He held up the other hand.

That one definitely looked shaky.

With a resigned sigh, he held it out to her.

“Look all you like, I guess. Since I can’t stop you.”

Zara took his hand, working her fingers gently over his. “Master Brallo could have had you fixed up in no time. He was an excellent Force healer—kriff, he didn’t even need the Force, he could do it the medic way too. Ky had him teach me some—enough to get by. I wasn’t ever as good as the Healers though.”

“Are you trying to be comforting?”

She let out a short huff. “Wasn’t a very good way to phrase it, was it?”

“No. We need to work on your bedside manner.” He looked like he was going to say something more, but he stopped short with a hiss. “Ouch!”

“Sorry.” She paused, holding his palm like it was made of starfeather eggshells. “What happened? You know, why—?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he growled.

“Okay, but it would be easier to help if I knew what the injury was.”

Another growl.

Zara sighed. “Crosshair…”

He glared off over her shoulder.

“Crosshair, can I please help you? I know you don’t like it, but I really think I can at least make it better if you would just step out of your comfort zone—”

His face was an inch away, eyes burning into hers, fingers closed around her wrist like a vice. “We are so far beyond my comfort zone,” he snarled.

Zara wasn’t really afraid of Crosshair—not usually—but at that moment she didn’t exactly feel safe. Shaky hand or no, if there was going to be a murder, he had the advantage and the motivation. She flinched only a little, but she knew her eyes were wide and her nostrils flaring with every breath.

Crosshair’s voice dropped to a horrifying hoarse whisper. “We have sprinted past my comfort zone. And yet we are always in yours.”

“You’re right.” The words came out higher than she would have liked, but not a squeak—not yet. She swallowed and tried again. “You’re right. I—I know what sets me off and I avoid it like a plague. And it’s not fair that I get to do that and you don’t. So…” Zara took a deep breath.

After several seconds of silence, Crosshair said, “So what?”

“So I’m meditating. I don’t think I can actually heal your hand with the Force. I was never that good and I don’t want to mess it up. But I think I can help. I just have to meditate and focus on it and—”

“And that won’t set you off?”

“No, it will, it definitely will.” She finally felt brave enough to look him in the eye again. She was surprised to see how much his gaze had softened from murderous rage to something nearing legitimate concern. “I will absolutely have nightmares tonight, so I’ll need to borrow Batcher.”

He didn’t quite smile as he shook his head. “She likes you best anyway.”

“Companion animal breeds can sense trauma and are very emotionally intelligent. So it’s not exactly a good thing that I’m her favorite. Just means I have the most baggage. Now,” Zara smiled, “can I see your hand?”

*****

AZI told him once—more than once, probably, but when the droid got to blabbering Crosshair tended to tune him out—that the tremor might be psychosomatic.

Crosshair knew it was. But knowing the problem and fixing it were two separate issues.

More annoyingly, Zara was probably right—he needed to talk about it.

But not tonight. And besides, if he told anyone, it was going to be Batcher, because she’d never share his secrets.

Either way, his hand wasn’t shaking. Whatever Zara had done—he never knew—Omega told him once he had all the Force sensitivity of a meiloorun, and Zara had heard and laughed and agreed, and that hurt a little, even though it was true—whatever she had done when she closed her eyes and wrapped his hand in hers and just sat quietly for half an hour, it had worked. He’d gone all day with no shakes. When they ran into each other in the market, Zara headed one way with Echo and Crosshair headed the other way with a pack full of the little clay boats that made such good targets, she noticed him carrying the rifle and gave him a grin and a nod, and he nodded back, and that was it.

He hadn’t missed a single shot.

Crosshair sighed and knocked.

An excited bark came from inside the house.

“Batcher, it’s okay! Hey, get—get down, silly girl! Go find Squeaky Moon-yo and we’ll play.”

Another bark and the scrabbling of hound toes on hard floors.

The door opened.

“Hey.” Zara gave him a lopsided smile. “You’re out late.”

“You’re up late.”

“Yeah, well…” She shrugged and stepped back, gesturing him in. “Not like I’ll sleep well anyway—wasn’t in a rush to get to the nightmares. Batcher and I were watching Corrie Cops.”

Batcher came skidding back through the house, her squeaky toy dangling from her jaws. She dropped it at Zara’s feet.

“Good girl!” Zara picked up the toy and tossed it out the open back door. Batcher bounded joyfully after it.

“You don’t leave the door open at night, do you?”

“No, I close it before I go to bed. But when I’m up I usually leave it open so Batcher can come in and out.”

Batcher barked and Squeaky Moon-yo squeaked.

“I swear that thing was the best twelve credits I’ve ever spent.”

Crosshair nodded. Then, without waiting for an invitation, he walked into the living area and sat on the couch facing the holo screen. It was an old episode of Corrie Cops… Commander Thorn old. “What are you, eight seasons behind?”

“I’ve seen them all—well, not the last few episodes of the new season, but I’m not sure I’ll keep watching. It’s not as good as it used to be. Makes me…” She trailed off, arms crossed, not looking at him.

He nodded again and patted the couch next to him. “Sit.”

Zara frowned. “Serious?”

“Serious.”

“You wanna talk about things being outside your comfort zone.”

“Yeah, well…” He shrugged. “Hand hasn’t been shaking all day. You deserve a good night’s sleep.”

She wrapped herself in a blanket off the armchair, then sat beside him. “I’ll still have nightmares.”

“I’ll wake you up.” Tentative, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

She started to lean in, then sat back up. “Oh, the door—”

Crosshair whistled. “Batcher!”

The lurca trotted back in and dropped Squeaky Moon-yo next to her bed.

“Bring it here.” Crosshair held his open palm toward her.

Batcher tilted her head, then picked Squeaky Moon-yo up again and carried it to Crosshair. He took the toy, sizing it up for a moment. With a flick of the wrist, he whipped the squeaky toy across the room where it thumped into the door switch and slid the door shut.

“Nice.” Zara leaned against him again.

Having retrieved Squeaky Moon-yo, Batcher returned to the couch, dropping heavily to the floor in front of it.

Crosshair reached down and rubbed the top of her head. “Good girl.”

Batcher sighed, then sprawled out and fell instantly asleep.

The kitchen light was still on, but there was nothing to be done for that, and Zara didn’t seem terribly concerned as she snuggled closer.

“This is the episode where they catch that guy smuggling spice by—” She stopped.

Crosshair was already reaching for the remote. He remembered this episode too. Not that he would ever admit how much he enjoyed Corrie Cops or the fact that he had seen every episode at least four times. Unfortunately, he didn’t get the holo screen shut off before they showed the Jedi Temple as the backdrop for their undercover operation.

Wordlessly, Zara waved a hand toward the kitchen. The lights flicked off. Then she sniffed. “Might as well be lazy—already going to have nightmares.”

“Zara—”

“Good night, Crosshair.”

“Thank you. For—my hand.”

“You’re welcome,” she whispered.

“Now, go to sleep.”

She nodded against his shoulder, and soon he had a snoring lurca at his feet and the slow rise and fall of Zara’s chest at his side.

*****

Squirming next to him woke him up.

Crosshair shook his head, blinking, confused for a moment about where he was—not his bunk, not his bedroom, not Kamino—

Zara squirmed again and he remembered.

“Hey.” He put a hand on her shoulder, shaking her just a little. “Zara, wake up.”

Nothing.

“Zara.”

She sat up with a strangled yelp. To her credit, she didn’t pull her lightsaber on him. She sat ramrod straight, staring through the far wall, sides heaving with shallow and much too quick breaths.

He wasn’t sure if he always rubbed circles on her back when she had nightmares, but he was now, hand still on her shoulder, thumb tracing little circles by her shoulder blade. “It’s just us,” he said quietly. “Just you and me and Batcher.”

Slowly, he felt her calm down. Her shoulders rose and fell less frantically, her breaths were less raspy and audible. Finally, she leaned back against him, staring up at the ceiling. He could see tears in her eyes and chose not to comment.

“Your nightmares—they’re about the Purge, aren’t they?”

Zara took a shaky breath and nodded. “They didn’t do anything to your hand on Tantiss, did they?”

He shook his head. “It’s psychosomatic.”

Her fingers laced between his. “Must be why you’re Batcher’s second favorite.”

*****

“Omega, you know you need to knock before you barge into people’s houses—”

“Shh!” she hissed. “I messaged Zara and she didn’t answer, which means she’s sleeping, and she told me I’m welcome to let myself in—especially if she has Batcher overnight—so I did, and—” She stopped, pushed Echo into the living area, and gestured at the couch.

Crosshair was on his back, fast asleep on the end of the couch that reclined, one arm hanging off the armrest, the other draped across Zara’s stomach and ending in their fingers tangled together. Echo couldn’t tell which one of them was snoring a little.

Echo smiled and shook his head. “Batcher,” he whispered. When she looked up at him, he jerked his head at the front door and she trotted out, tongue lolling. He followed the lurca, steering Omega in front of him by the shoulders, then closed the door behind them.

“Didn’t know they were having a sleepover.” Omega sounded impish. “She just said she was going to see if she could do something for his hand.”

Echo resisted about eighteen different jokes and simply said, “She did—yesterday morning—and then I’ll bet you a hundred credits he felt bad last night because he knew she’d have nightmares, so he came over to keep an eye on her.”

Omega looked thoughtful, then nodded. “It’s nice that they can help each other. Even if they don’t always like it.”

Echo laughed. “Yeah, the inherent bitterness of being a portable comfort zone for someone you aren’t sure if you hate or—” He caught himself and shot Omega a look out of the corner of his eye. “Hey, don’t tell anyone about this.”

The girl snorted. “I won’t. I like Zara, but I don’t want to have to cuddle her after her nightmares because Wrecker teased Crosshair into quitting.”

“The inherent bitterness strikes again!”

“Hey! Besides, if I’m bitter about anything, it’s that I can’t do what she does, and she can’t teach me because—because it hurts.”

Echo pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The thing about injuries like that—they go deep. They take a long time to heal.”

“But they do, right? She says she’s better than she was.”

“Yeah. You just have to feel safe enough to let yourself heal. And now she does. They both do.”

[criminal-sen]

This isn't a hc, it's a FACT

[chipsoda]

i am old!!!

[kifu]

Fuck this year.

[mimir97477906]

im so sosry for ranting abour this again but auhgufhgh im making a ref sheet of my ocs for myself beacse EVERYTIME I DRAW THEM THEY LOOK SOOOSK DIFFERENT os i thoguht maybe this can help me memorize their faces but EVEN THO IM USING GUIDELINES THE SAME CHARACTER LOOKS LIKE DIFFERENT PEOPLE ITS JUST A HEAD TURN AROUND I CANT DO THIS I FEEL SO VIOLENT WHY IS MY ART STYLE HAVING AN IDENTITY CRISIS HOWWWWWWW DO I FIX THIS

[spacelandz]

big strong man thing (gender neutral)

[crotovane]

studies

[noxhiemis]

classic wizard-didn’t-check-the-size-of-the-room-before-casting-an-AoE-spell L, except instead of fireball it’s zone of truth

[lovelesslittleloser]

Guys

Guys look

I’m not only the 1%

I’m the 0.1%

@cyanidesymphoniesxylophones friend look I am the top percentage of rattata