#so it goes here now

[joeyclaire]

fluffybird au where red guy is a figure skater who has just suffered a disappointing performance at his first grand prix final and returned heartbroken to his family’s inn and hot springs in clayhill and one day as he’s blowing off some steam at the skating rink he reenacts his idol duck’s championship grand prix performance and his friend tapes the whole thing uploads it to youtube where it quickly goes viral and catches the attention of duck himself. a couple days later duck arrives at red guy’s inn and hot springs in clayhill and demands to be his new coach

[d20owlbear]

WW AU-Beach Scene

This was for @cassieoh a while back

There's a sound in the distance. It's faint, but up at the top of Themiscyra's cliffs above the ocean, Aziraphale hears it. She closes her eyes and raises her face to Helios; her heart slows, her breathing stops, and she listens. 

Faintly at first, barely more than the drone of a fly ammai away, and then louder. The noise sounds like nothing she's ever heard before, growing deeper and louder… and more dangerous sounding. It raised the hairs on the back of her neck, and she wished she had her sword still at her waist, no matter that she'd given it over earlier that day. 

It was coming… from the clouds. Silently, she beseeched Theia to sharpen her sight, and within moments she caught a streak of black and beige in the distance as it crashed through the barriers protecting her home. Her heart picked back up and she felt Apheliotes tug at her heels, and the refreshing breeze made the leather feathers of her pteryges stirred at her thighs and she watched the streak marring the sky draw closer and closer. She watched as the thing fell, burning and breaking apart, leaving trails of soot in the sky. If she were a poet, perhaps she'd think of it like ink smudged across vellum, but instead she was a warrior. 

The muscles in her thighs tightened and her hands curled into fists as she watched the thing crash into the gentle ocean. There was a person attached to it, she caught that much at least, and her heart warred within her chest with the warnings her mother, the Queen, had given her all her life. But… could she be so cruel? Could she give Poseidon yet another soul to bring down to Charon with no way to pay their passage? Surely– surely even if it was only to bury that person, it would be better to–

Aziraphale burst into action as the thought trailed off, berating herself for waiting for so long already, and she felt the power in her body coil under her skin and the lightning that ran through her veins crackle within. And, with little more fanfare, she ran. Her feet beat a tattoo into the earth behind her, leaving imprints of her feet in the dust, and she pushed off the edge of the cliff knowing that any podoi she could cover in her fall was another second gained against Poseidon. 

She dove, breaking the surface of the water with her fingertips, forcing it to yield to the strength of her will and her body, and like a seabird she curved up towards the surface with all her momentum behind her to send her forward. 

~~

Crowley frantically pulled at the control stick that had warped in the crash and pinned her thigh to the seat underneath her. The plane around her broke apart, cockpit tearing from the tail and wings long since sundered. At least she wasn't on fire anymore…

Except this bloody bar wouldn't budge! Her leather gloves were useless now, sodden and heavy, slipping over the handle of the bar as she struggled with it, all the while she sank inch by inch. As she fell under, Crowley took one last breath of air, and her stomach dropped to the depths. Was this how she would die? After everything… maybe they'd give her family a medal for her. That was a nice thought.

She struggled even though it was hopeless, unable to lay down and accept her fate, not after everything she'd been through. It was pointless, impossible, but she never could give up, not even when she was beaten down. Crowley's just weren't made to give up, doubly so for those with red hair, her grandmother had always told her. 

She looked up at the surface, desperate to see the sun, wishing it could just come closer instead of always fading away, and even as air escaped her mouth and her vision turned black at the edges, steadily encroaching on her sight… she could make out a figure.

Above the water there was an angel, standing on the floating, hollow tail of the plane. And then the angel dove for her, pulled the center stick from where it was welded to the floor and then a firm arm wrapped around her waist.

It was good to know she'd done enough, finally, to be worthy of heaven. No matter what the parish had claimed.

*ammai (about 18.5136 m or 20.2467 yd) *original scene in the movie

[sunny-thoughts-with-atlan]

not my normal shiz, but like, i was watching something and was reminded that, Hygiene and Stuff, is an executive function, and one i struggle with

growing up my parents had to fight me to get me into the shower, until very recently i didn't shower but once every 2-3 weeks, I'd use a washcloth to clean anywhere that might have smelled put on deodorant and all that jaz, but i did not have the spoons to take a shower, showers sucked as a kid, and as a tween and even now i still Do Not like them, i hated brushing my hair as a kid, i hated having heat tools used on my hair, to make it look "neat" and because i didn't brush my own hair, my mom would do it, and it hurt, she'd rip it out in the process, which made me hate it more, and did this make my parents decide "maybe hair down to their ass is a bad idea for this child who hates to bathe or brush their hair?" no, i was not allowed to cut my hair short until i was 13, then i wasn't allowed to cut it again until i was 17, showers are easier now because i don't have long hair, taking care of it is something i take pride in, and i hate blow drying it, it's loud and hot, and i fucking hate it, until i was 15 i had to blow dry and straighten my hair after every shower, and i had to straighten it every day i didn't wear it up, i hated doing both of these things, and i was assumed lazy for it(even though i now put more time and effort into my hair MORE THAN WILLINGLY), because it was a perceived norm hygiene is important, and you should do what you can bring yourself to do, but keep in mind that as long as you wash your hands and your bits, don't get up in peoples business when you know you're struggling with keeping clean, and don't spread stuff, it's no one else's business, and you Aren't an awful dirty person for struggling my recommendation is to find what parts you are struggling with, and minimize those issues don't like feeling cold after a shower? make sure the rooms nice and warm, put rugs down that you can put in the washer, get a nice fluffy bath robe. don't like how clothes stick to you right after no matter how dry you try and make yourself? don't wear clothes, maybe wear a robe if it is loose enough not to stick to you, or go into a room by yourself and be naked to let it all airdry for a while, or if you live alone just go on with your activities naked for a while, if you have this issue and the previous issue, maybe sit in front of a space heater with a towel wrapped around you, not to close though, you don't want to burn yourself don't have the energy for a shower? how is the shower draining you especially? cut those parts out. is it the standing in place? sit down, be it in the tub if its clean or on a stool, or even on a washcloth if you cant clean the tub and don't have a stool that you can use in the shower. is it washing your hair? you can just rinse it for now, maybe take a rinse shower mostly and take a hair washing shower less frequently, or if its dealing with wet hair in general, just put a shower cap on and deal with it when you have the energy, it's Okay. is it the washing your body? just wash the important bits for now, it's fine, most people don't have gunk and grime on them and just letting the soap and water run over the rest of you isn't the worst thing, yes it's best to scrub all over but it's okay if you only have the energy for that every once in a while. is the sensory experience of it tiring? what is especially icky sensory wise? is it the noise, the wetness, the tub, the lights in the bathroom? do your best to dim those sensory inputs, if at all possible theres not much to be done about the wetness, i'll admit, but if you can get in and out quickly you wont have to deal with it as long if its the tub, maybe you could put down a mat of some kind that can be thrown in the washer if its the sound, maybe some earplugs if its the lights, turn them off, and get a light that doesn't bother you, it doesn't have to be that bright, just bright enough not to get hurt, and to be able to tell what products you're using, like a battery powered camping lamp with the color of light you like would probably work in general

things like this take a lot more spoons than people who don't struggle with them make it out to be, and I'm sorry you're struggling, I'm still struggling, but it's okay to make the task easier, and it's okay if even that's not enough to be able to do it right then, it doesn't make you bad, or defunct, or lazy, or gross, it makes you a person who's struggling, and that's Okay

[chloesimaginationthings]

The story of Ballora in FNAF..

[egophiliac]

buckle up lads we're going BACK INTO THE BOOK

[cassandracain52]

so I’ve seen lots of fics about Bruce coming back and finding out things like Tim loosing his spleen or Damian getting shot (on multiple occasions by different people) and he almost always finds out by either having dug into the Batcomputers records and stumbling across it or just seeing it on scans or something after Tim or Damian is injured

but imagine for a moment Bruce finds out, not on his own, but by the others telling him.

And by “tell him” I of course mean that they all automatically assume that he already knows about all of it(because he’s the worlds greatest detective so obviously they don’t need to say anything) so they never bring it up until they mention it one day in passing and nearly give him a heart attack.

for example:

Bruce: Tim, I need you to come with me to speak with Dr. Thompkins down at the clinic about that new drug that’s been circulating

Tim: Oh, sure thing, just let me grab my mask

[Bruce not saying anything but looking at him confused because Tim is already fully suited up and wearing his domino mask?]:

[Tim, now wearing a surgical face mask]: Ok, I’m ready! [Bruce just staring at him, waiting for some explanation. He doesn’t get one.]:

Bruce: Tim

Tim: hm?

Bruce: Why are you wearing a face mask..?

Tim: Oh! Well Dr. Thompkins got mad at me last time I came to the clinic without one because there’s a lot of sick people there and I should be more careful since I’m immunocompromised-

[Bruce, immediately cutting him off]: Wait, what?

[Tim, slightly confused]: She got mad at me when I didn’t wear one last time..?

[Bruce, equally confused and growing very concerned]: No, not that. You’re immunocompromised?

[Tim, now completely lost because this is all common knowledge?]: Uh, yeah??

[Bruce, even more concerned]: How??? What do you mean??

[Tim, getting annoyed and rolling his eyes]: Well that’s what they call you when you have no spleen, Bruce.

Bruce: What.

[Tim finally realizing that, just maybe, they skipped a step]: I have no spleen? It got stabbed so Ra’s took it

[Bruce, about to have an aneurysm]: RA’S DID WHAT-

______ Or like him finding out Damian had his entire spine replaced

Bruce: Hey, do you think it’s strange Damian’s so small?

Dick: No?? He’s ten?? Ten year olds are small?

[Bruce, audibly concerned]: No, I mean don’t you think he should have grown some by now? Is he not eating enough?

[Dick, immediately relaxing]: Oh, that? Yeah, it’s fine

[Bruce, still concerned]: Are you sure? I was taller than that at his age

[Dick, waving his hand dismissively]: Nah, he’s fine. I think the spine replacement just stunted his growth a bit

Bruce:…

Dick:..?

[Bruce, near hysterically because all his kids somehow keep losing pieces of their insides and none of them seem bothered by it??]: his wHAT- ____

Dick has to spend the next several hours trying to stop Bruce from making everyone do a mandatory medical examination so he can make sure none of his other kids are missing anything

Dick promises that it was just the two things

Bruce is not reassured

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Council of lovefools.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[arsenicflame]

Bonus round! Do you use a queue tag?

[aster-draws]

Identity shenanigans are a hallmark of all superhero fanfictions and i will never get tired of writing them.

This is from chapter 19 of my fic Better Halves (and other such falsehoods) which is like 100k (so far) of Tim and Danny being idiots like this please go read it it's a labor of love.

just the painted bit below the cut :) if you want it

[mimimar]

i've been completely charmed by witch hat atelier♡

(art prints)

[addamii]

Empty’s just another word for clean.

[damian-lil-babybat]

'Dead Poets Society' gang

Headcanon that these four drop poetry and literature quotes on their conversations unprompted.

Jason 'English-major-I-only-visit-the-manor-for-the-library' Todd-Wayne

Damian 'I-master-liberal-arts-unlike-you-plebs-PHD-holder' al Ghul-Wayne

Cassandra 'I-learn-English-thru-Shakespeare-as-god-intended' Cain-Wayne

Duke 'only-title-holder-of-vigilante-poet-and-will-cuss-you-just-as-poetically' Thomas-(future) Wayne

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)

TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.

(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)

This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.

---------------

Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.

....

The kid is a surprise though.

Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.

There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.

The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.

The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.

He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.

A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.

At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"

The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."

Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.

"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."

He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.

The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.

"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.

The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.

Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.

The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.

Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."

[basslinegrave]

[shotmrmiller]

ps!ghost is very interested, to put it mildly. can't seem to stop re-watching your debut video that was released a week ago. it's always the same premise. black leather couch casting. nice little bird in a modest dress or shirt and jeans who gets undressed because the "director" has to take in measurements and the like, only to end up getting railed from the back with their pretty face pressed into the cushion.

it's a thing male viewers like. they love to watch a professional break in the new girl. he, though, not so much. he doesn't go for the new girls. doesn't like to be the one to test the limit like others do. (big cock anal on their debut? ghost finds it a bit much.) he hears one tiny gasped ouch and he's not finishing the shoot.

no, what gets him going is the enjoyment one can get during sex. it's why he ended up in this business in the first place. he likes sex. a lot.

likes to have men, women, young and old alike writhing beneath him gasping his (stage) name due to the pleasure and not because a script said to. and the benefits of working in the porn industry means that he gets paid doing what he likes, and can stay safe while doing so.

this is where you come in. the only reason he'd sat down to watch your video at all is because you'd been given a contract by the same company he is under. he's bound to come across you at a later date, might as well learn what he'll be eventually working with.

and he's hooked. whatever initial nervousness you might've had at the very beginning (because this is your very first professional shoot, of course) bleeds from your shoulders once price, the lucky bloke, gets his hands on you. you're a bloody natural.

and you enjoy it. there's no faking the way your nails bite into price's scalp when he licks at your pussy through your thin knickers. you gently wrap your hand around his fingers that's rolling your hardened nipple, giving it a gentle squeeze. he's doing it too rough. you buck your hips into his face, riding it even though you're the one on your back.

ps!ghost has to swallow the mouthful of saliva when he notices strings of creamy white sticking to price's body hair, a frothy ring around the root. the best part of all of this, is that you're giving as good as you take. you're no passive participant. you could, under price's big bulk, just get folded in half and do nothing other than feel the sweet burn of his cock stretch you, turn you inside out.

but you don't. you know exactly what you like and how you like it. you look for your orgasm, make sure it happens under your manicured fingers or price's thick ones. you don't let him be too rough on you nor too gentle.

simon loves it. you're new to this. you could've just accepted what he gave you without so much as a peep of complaint and gone home to soak in an epsom salt bath. but you didn't. you didn't let him pinch your sensitive clit, didn't let him mindlessly claim a fistful of hair.

but you did open your pretty mouth so he could spit in it (fucking lovely, it was) and let him keep your soft hips in the air as john's pace turned frantic and the best of all (in his very biased opinion) you crossed your ankles around his waist to keep him there as he fucked you full of his come.

(had simon been there, he would've begged for a taste if he had to.)

he feels a bit desperate, after. can't get you out of his head. the thought of your slick pussy hot around his cock is what gets him to finish at times. the other times, it's your video. he swears he's found his equal (sorry, soap) one that'll forget that he's supposed to be putting on a show for the viewers.

sorry price, he's about to unfuck him out of your pussy until all it'll ever remember is simon.

(what he doesn't understand is that he's about to forget more than the viewers. why is price watching yall again? it's almost intimate the way you let him fuck you on a creaky mattress. he's drunk on the smell of you, your hair, your cunt. lost all thought when his fat cock slid with relative ease into your wet heat and all he'd done was let you make yourself come on his fingers and tongue as many times as you'd pleased. you'd latched onto his neck, maybe out of habit or whatever, it doesn't matter. he'll be telling the makeup artists to leave the bites you left. he earned every single one. and where he usually pulls out because it's easier to clean up for everyone? you'll not be wasting a single drop. it appears he has a lot bit of a breeding kink.)

[egophiliac]

CROWLEY SSR THOUGHTS

there is zero basis for this, but I can't get this thought of my head

I don't know why I decided to draw it this way