#sneak city

[dippedanddripped]

300 PAIR CASH OUT AT SNEAKER CON MINNEAPOLIS!

[charlietheepicwriter7]

We've seen DP and DC be different universes where Danny and Valerie are the only heroes in DP, but there are thousands of heroes in DC. We've seen where DP and DC are in the same universe, and Amity Park just thinks the Justice League are ignoring them.

But what if DP and DC are different universes, BUT Danny and Val aren't the only heroes?

If we treat superheroes as basically cops/military with superpowers, then we can infer what heroes would be like using cop/military statistics. You could even use My Hero Academia society as a basis. Things like "heroes are more interested in protecting private property than serving the public" and "Heroes have high levels of PTSD and physical disability and aren't helped after they retire" are common knowledge in Danny's universe.

And specifically, the one I wanted to make clear for this prompt: In Danny's universe, heroes are highly likely to abuse their family/sidekicks outside the mask.

Suddenly, Danny's in the DC universe. For a low-stakes reason; if he's there because the DP universe imploded or his parents tried to kill him, he'd be too concerned about himself to act on his instincts. No, Danny's there for a vacation and there are so many heroes and kid heroes that he feels sick.

Maybe he catches Batman being rough with his kids, or overhears Superman "belittling" Superboy (Conner). Nevertheless...

Danny ends up thinking that all the Justice League are abusing their sidekicks and families and becomes a villain to save them.

[cassianandfenrysaremyboyos]

Azriel in the tunnel following behind Bryce and Nesta trying not to alert Bryce to his presence

[d8tl55c]

[mercymaker]

In order to better blend in with the patriar families of Baldur's Gate, both Maleane and Astarion had to pick up some of the customs and qualities that reflected one's status. Despite sneaking into numerous balls and masquerades, both of them avoided the actual dancing, only learning some moves out of necessity—to assist their act of deception.

They would practice in dark crypts and under the forest trees, at times spinning in circles around their own bedroom, moving with the poise and character of the most esteemed noblemen. Yet, more often than not, they would end their performances in a fit of laughter, poking fun of whomever they were trying to emulate with their act.

[nelkcats]

Suspicious Toxic Waste

Danny wouldn't say that the ghosts were cheating to visit the human world because technically they weren't, they were just hiding in plain sight, using the portals near or within the sea.

None of them needed to breathe and hardly anyone questioned the glowing things that appeared in the sea anyway. Of course, he didn't think he'd find a whole underwater city down there, with a government and a king, but thanks to invisibility he was sure they hadn't noticed them.

Well, he was almost sure, because a bat-shaped yacht was cruising the docks and the Atlanteans were strangely on guard. Danny wondered what was wrong with them.

Of course, Bruce and Arthur were investigating the sudden increase of toxins in the sea. Many locals (Atlanteans and Gothamites) had claimed to see something constantly glowing green floating near the shore, too far away to confirm what it was, and both feared it was Kryptonite.

[queefsencen]

kam (kill all men)

[koujaaku]

A small part of me mourns that there wasn't more time between AltMal's reconciliation and Al Mualim's death... would've afforded Altair some fun opportunities to sneak away to a certain Jerusalem bureau without worrying about Grandmaster duties.

[hoofpeet]

qhat if Sugar had a bunch of different humansonas for different occasions 

[dippedanddripped]

We Bought 250 Pairs of Sneakers at Dallas Sneaker Con!

[jonathankai]

yeah, I think neither of them planned it through

(I always feel hesitant when drawing fanart on paper, but I've been feeling such a strong pull towards traditional art lately (as you can guess, I tried and couldn't bring myself to work on this comic digitally), so I want to see if a switch from digital fanart to traditional is possible and worth if for me).

[wizardlyghost]

[periwinkle-the-11th]

I think my favorite kotlc fic that i've ever written is the one where young Sophie catches Mr. Forkle sneaking into her house (a thing he canonically did to mess with her mind) and she just. pepper sprays him. straight in the eyes. dead on.

[cyanbeetle]

I love Wonder Woman very much and I love her potential to explore themes of truth’s different meanings and violence against women and what it means for trauma to be passed on or processed in different circumstances but unfortunately all this potential is snubbed by her support of the military vis a vis her solider boyfriend and her origins as a character designed to encourage women to join the war effort. I think if you wanted to give her story real impact and meaning this would have to be completely removed and as such I long for a universe where Etta and the Holliday Girls are an internationally touring band and Steve is their loser friend who manages the finance and Diana follows them all around as the friend who can’t hold an apartment

[doodle-do-wop]

Instead of regular Fitz put ATLA!Fitz with his moon hair and everything

ATLA!Fitz as requested. Based off of an au where me and a couple of friends brainrot like no other Mild Zooms

Don't you just hate it when your crush gets struck by lightning so you gotta use your avatar powers to give him moon CPR

[radioactivepeasant]

Free Day Friday: Trespasser

(From the poll: "In Which the Demolition Duo made it to the Wastelands without being banished because They Are Trespassing)

Damas was not, by and large, a religious man. He didn't worship Precursors -- there were some who insisted that his ousting from Haven was divine punishment for his arrogance -- nor spirits. If spirits could be killed, so could Precursors. That made them oracles, elders to be respected for unique perspectives on time, but not gods in Damas’s opinion.

Which made it an oddity to find him in the temple.

He sat on the shallow steps, staring up at the six carved heads meant to represent Precursors. More insectoid than Oracles, or perhaps just more elaborate. They seemed to wear headdresses over their bizarre masks.

"If you, by action or inaction, let Mar die, then at least have the decency to tell me," he whispered into the empty air.

"You always foretold a future moment of need that my House would answer. Has that need passed unnoticed that you stay silent while my bloodline ends? Or does my son live?"

The masks were silent, of course. Carved stone could neither hear nor speak.

Ungrateful wretches. Damas had a fleeting thought that perhaps they'd allowed -- or even orchestrated -- the abduction of his little son because he wasn't servile and "pious" enough for their tastes.

Damas wondered if spirits could harm Precursors. If perhaps the "Good Grandmother"*, She-Who-Hears-Them-Cry, might take an interest if something in this temple had been directly involved in bringing Mar to harm.

Má took her payment even from the hides of fellow spirits, after all.

"Even if you were capable of bringing him back unharmed, I very much doubt you would," Damas whispered harshly to the open air. His throat bobbed with a painful, bitter anger.

"But if you took him, you owe blood-debt to my House, old ones. So grant closure or sit in your realm knowing that I will seek answers among others as old as you."

Was it wise to threaten the Precursors? Damas neither knew nor cared anymore. Two years he'd barely survived having his heart metaphorically ripped out of his chest.

What more could they do to him? Really, what could they possibly do that could be worse than not knowing?

No answer arrived, not that it surprised him. Damas sighed and braced his elbows against his knees, head in his hands.

Stone grated against stone and metal to his left, and he turned his head swiftly.

There was a door there, one heavily fortified with traps. A hovering Sentinel eye kept watch for movement, designed to activate a spike trap if anyone tried to enter the lower levels without permission. And if someone managed to somehow get past that, the door would still be sealed. Whether by an enterprising ancestor of his or by meddling Precursors, that door could not be opened without an Heir of Mar. Damas was the only one who had ever been beyond it.

It should not have opened even an inch.

And yet Damas was witnessing the two mighty halves forcing themselves apart with a tortured groan born of idleness.

He was on his feet in an instant, ready for a fight. There was no chance that this heralded anything good.

"Whoa!"

That was a hu'men voice.

Damas’s hand hovered over his sidearm, ready to draw the moment he saw a face.

"And I thought this place was huge before!"

It was a young voice. High and a little squeaky.

"It just keeps going, doesn't it?" laughed a second voice, deeper, but just as young.

And then the doors were open wide enough to see the silhouette in between them.

And more importantly, to see the object glowing faintly in his outstretched fist.

Damas’s mouth was dry as he fumbled for the pouch between belt and leather armor where he kept his own amulet of Mar. He knew the shape by heart: twin comets orbiting each other, over stylized hands.

Thief-!

Pure, outraged, fury burned through his veins for a moment. Who had this scrawny figure stolen that amulet from? Heaven forbid it be Mar's amulet, lest Damas murder this boy before his very next step.

"Identify yourself!" Damas shouted, raising his gun.

The figure stepped into view. He was small, so thin his clothes hung loosely on scrawny limbs, but he held himself like a warrior.

"People!"

The animal curled around his shoulders sat upright and spoke.

"Jak! There's real people in here! We're saved!"

Odd reaction to a man pointing a gun at them.

The boy eased a step forward, hands raised as if soothing a frightened animal. He still held the incriminating amulet in his hand.

"Whoa, okay, put the gun down. I don't want to hurt anybody-"

He took a step too far and the sentinel flashed. The spikes shot up out of the floor with a faint shunk!

With a yelp, the boy leapt back -- he was surprisingly light on his feet for someone wearing boots two sizes too big. Then, as if the nearly fatal encounter was no more than a slight inconvenience, he backed up, got a running start, and launched.

He kicked off the wall, seeming to find handholds in the tiniest of crevices as he bypassed the spikes entirely.

Once on the ground again, the boy dusted himself off.

"You okay, Dax?"

"Just peachy, considering you almost dropped me!"

"Did not!" the hu'men boy protested in annoyance.

He really was small.

The general gangly sprawl of his limbs suggested he would gain an impressive height, but for now he just looked..small.

And entirely too excited.

"Who....do you- Where did you come from?" Damas demanded.

The boy pointed back down at the steps and shrugged before scratching his head.

"Exploring?"

Oh that green hair hurt to look at. It was filthy, and matted, like it hadn't been correctly washed in years. He couldn't even determine the age of the trespasser, what with the layers of grime embedded into every crevice of his face. The clothes were just as stained with sweat, dirt, and what looked to be bloodstains. From traps?

"Exploring."

Damas repeated the stranger's explanation incredulously. "How did you even get in here?"

The boy and the orange animal looked at each other for a curiously long moment. They seemed to be having a conversation merely by narrowing and widening their eyes in turn. Then, seeming to come to an agreement, they shrugged and turned back to face Damas.

The boy pointed down a barely visible flight of rough-hewn stone steps, lit by torches.

"We came up through the catacombs."

There were catacombs? He hadn't seen anything like that down there, and Damas liked to think he'd made it pretty far! He examined the stranger more closely, avoiding his eyes -- they're not familiar, you're just projecting your grief -- and avoiding looking at the talking weasel thing. He saw sunken cheeks drawn tightly against sharp cheekbones. A pale, barely visible scar across the bridge of his nose. Deep, deep shadows beneath his eyes. How large was the temple, altogether? Were there more people living below their feet?

"How...long were you down there?" he asked after a few seconds.

"Trust me pal," the weasel-rabbit said, "he smelled like this before we got in that zoomer."

"Hey!"

"What zoomer?!" Damas asked, feeling more confused than before.

"The one we took through the lava tube to the catacombs."

Damas was beginning to wonder if he'd somehow inhaled the monks' incense by accident.

The trespasser cringed as if only just noticing the bewildered and only barely softened hostility on Damas’s face. He shoved his amulet -- not his, it can't be his, there aren't any more of us left!*-- into his pocket and waved his hands placatingly.

Was there another Heir all this time? Is that why I was given no chance to protect Mar? Were my child and I expendable?

"Didn't mean to bother you," the kid apologized, "We'll just uh- huh. Actually, where are we?"

And then he looked to the door rather than Damas.

"Hey Oracle!" he shouted, and Damas was glad no monks were present to hear this and faint at the impertinance.

"Where the rot are we?"

Alright. This was now officially more of a problem than he'd first thought. Not even the monks were supposed to have found that Oracle down there.

One of the past Heirs who never inherited the throne had sealed it up the moment he discovered it long ago. After all, the discovery of light and dark eco being opposite poles of one energy might have thrown society into chaos and they didn't want to deal with the fallout. Even Damas was leery of reintroducing that knowledge outside of the Arena yet. Apparently this trespasser had no such thoughts.

He spoke to Oracles -- or pretended he did.

He held and used an amulet.

The boy was a mystery. And Damas hated not having the answers.

"You," Damas decided, wearing anger like a shield, "are coming with me. You have questions to answer."

The boy balked.

"No!"

He dodged before Damas could seize his arm, stumbling back amidst the columns.

"Uh-uh, I'm not falling for that."

"Falling for what?"

Damas was genuinely confused, and more than a little irritated.

The boy continued to back away.

"No, no I know how this goes. You're gonna take me back to the Haven Council, aren't you!"

*

"Haven?!" Damas sputtered, "Why the bleeding rot would I want to go there?! I'm taking you to my city!"

That didn't reassure the kid, who apparently was not fond of the leaders of Haven City.

Well, that was at least a bare minimum of common ground.

"You ain't takin us to no secondary location!" the orange one declared, pointing a skinny digit at Damas.

"The last time I got transported to a new place, I got kidnapped and experimented on for two years," his friend agreed.

Embleer Frith.

Damas stared at the boy. He squinted, as if that would give him insight into the unsettling response, then shook his head.

"You what?!"

What was he talking about? Experimented on?! That would explain the sudden shift from curiosity to distrust. But why-?

Damas knew. Deep down, he thought he knew.

If the boy was an Heir -- and he didn't even want to entertain the thought, but it had to be acknowledged as a possibility -- then that alone would be motive for someone like Praxis to torture even a young man -- or young boy?

If he was still obsessed with creating the ultimate war-sage, then an unclaimed and unattended Heir of Mar would be invaluable.

But if Praxis had been so focused on an older Heir, then perhaps it at least meant that he'd never gotten his hands on Mar.

That there was a stab of shame to follow that whisper of relief was an unsettling proof that he had not successfully hardened his heart as much as he'd thought.

"You came here from Haven?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

Thoughts of a breach in their defenses sickened him.

"And others will follow in pursuit of you?"

This time both trespassers scoffed.

"Only if they feel like sharpening their reaction time enough for a volcanic subrail," the hu'men said. He almost smiled.

The orange one nodded. "Jak here's the best driver there is! Also the most demolition-happy, but nobody's perfect."

Jak?

Now that was a name his spies had been mentioning a lot in their reports. An alleged juggernaut who had turned the Baron's own secret project against him and -- rumor had it -- even destroyed the metalhead nest.

Damas had been expecting someone a little...older.

* the "Good Grandmother" Damas is referencing is a spirit I made up for the Wasteland called Má Crocadeer. Fairly grisly figure with a crocadeer skull wreathed in flowers for a head, and a crocadeer's legs and tail. Her purpose is to punish those who deliberately cause or inflict harm on children. There's a lot of people in Haven who should avoid the desert for this reason.