#steepness

[falseandrealultravival]

The sound of Ryuichi Sakamoto is the sound of ancient Greece (verse)

greece mountain river read the harsh name, I came up with this title. The steepness of Ryu Sakamoto's music, This idea can explain

Rei Morishita

[newttxt]

crisis of disbelief

[omercifulheaves]

police to formally adopt ED-209.

[yeyinde]

the morally questionable relationship between John Price and the darling little starlet he picks up off of the street during the golden age of Hollywood would be such a treat.

because producer!John Price is known as the best of the best in Hollywood. He has an eye for talent, they say, and a keen ability for spotting the diamonds amongst the rubble.

And of all the stars in the world, he sets his sights on you. Pretty little thing. Bright and blinding—Betelgeuse glimmering on the precipice of a supernova. All you need is a little push. A backer. A chance. And he gives it to you. Ushers you into stardom with a crooked grin around the butt of a cigar and a wicked gleam in his eyes that you—in all your artless, sheltered naivete—chalk up to pride.

The problem with sweet little darlings like you is that they all sing the same song. Yearn for the same thing. And it's so easy to mistake his interest as fatherly when the name on your birth certificate reads John Doe. And when he tells you his name is John Price, well—

It's fate, isn't it?

He told you he's been married once but had no children, and the longing in his eyes must be for the family he's never got a chance to have. So, you promise to give it to him.

Problem is: the devil lives in Hollywood and drinks his whiskey neat. You told him you'd be his family, giving him the one that left him behind. Signed your soul to blue eyes for the big screen.

Not that you'd know this, of course. To you, John is a sad widower with a heart of gold. Your overprotective bear who snarls at the directors and actors who get a little too handsy with you on set. His darling little star.

It's easy to wave everyone off when they express concern about these blurring lines between employee and employer. Boss and—

Father figure.

They just don't know him like you do.

And how funny, you tell him one evening with a wry twist to your lips, eyes swimming with sheltered mischief. They thought we were lovers, Mr Price. Isn't that just the damnedest thing?

This little quip has the opposite effect, and if only you looked a little bit closer at the gleam in his eye, the clench in his jaw, you might have seen the storm gathering on the horizon before it hit. Instead of laughing with you at the director's gall, this hilarious joke, John feels you slipping through his fingers just a little bit more. And that simply won't do.

You want a father figure? Then fine. That's what he'll be. Convenient, of course, because he's been thinking about fatherhood a lot lately, too. It's only natural that he decides to cash in on that promise you made all those years ago to make him a proud dad.

[pooptoucher4000]

billford for dinner again

[is-this-even-relatable]

DC PROMPT #2:

When Captain Marvel gets hit in a fight that was a little too magical in origins for everyone’s comfort, he turns back into Billy Batson, scrawny homeless kid (actually a teen now, thank you very much), a clear difference from his healthy, strong adult form.

Billy knows that he is fine, he just needs to rest a bit and he’ll be back to being Cap. He is freaking out for a second about getting his cover blown. That is, until-

the rest of the Justice League, who on the other hand do NOT know that he is fine-

think that one of their founding and most senior members, their heavy hitter magical expert dude, is suddenly de-aged due to an attack of unknown origins.

Billy just decides to go along with it.

———

Billy, dragging himself out of the rubble of a building: “Aw shit.”

Wonder Woman, flying over after tying up the bad guy of the day: “Oh Zeus! Captain Marvel, are you still yourself? Do you feel alright?”

Billy: “Uh—”

Flash, dashing over: “What’s going on, what was that bright light— HOLY SHIT IS THAT CAP?!?”

Billy: “Ye—”

Batman from the Watchtower: “Wonder Woman, please report.”

WW: “It seems that Captain Marvel was hit by some sort of magical attack.”

Billy: “Well—”

Batman: “Is he compromised?”

Flash: “BATS HE’S A CHILD?!”

WW, sighing: “Yes, as Flash put it, he has been turned into a child.”

Batman:

Batman: “Bring him back to the watchtower and we’ll see if we can fix this.

Billy: “Shit, aiight I guess”

[casscainmainly]

The Batkids' deaths vary in severity/importance, but they all serve to shake some core part of their superhero identity. Sometimes it affirms their existing identity (Cass' first death), or it spurs them to discover more about what their current identity means (Damian, Tim); sometimes, however, it severs them from who they were. Dick's transition into Agent 37 and Cass' turn to evil both stem from very temporary deaths, where the death is not as important as what happens after. It's not the pill or Cass' dip into the Pit that actually changes them, but the boundary these events create between their old and new selves.

Which is why Jason's death is different from all of the above. Beyond being (at one point) permanent, his loss of self is irreversible. Dick and Cass claw their way back to their identities pre-death, Nightwing and Batgirl respectively; Jason does not. He cannot, because he doesn't fit Robin anymore, and Robin doesn't fit him. It's not only that his sense of self is shaped by his death, but that it was, in many ways, destroyed by it.

But it's ultimately Stephanie's death that links death so closely to the loss of a superhero identity. Her death, unlike the others, is instigated by loss - Batman fires her from Robin, which leads to the events of War Games. On her deathbed, Steph asks "was I ever really Robin?", and Bruce replies "of course you were." It's a sweet moment, but it's retroactive. He can only affirm her legacy as Robin in the past tense (it's over; it can't impact anyone anymore). Her non-existent memorial can be read not only as a lack of care for Stephanie Brown the person, but for Stephanie Brown the Robin - Jason's Robin is immortalised, Stephanie's Robin is erased. She dies because she was made Robin, and she was made Robin to die.

I guess my point is that everyone's deaths are linked to how much they are valued within their mantle, not just in a metatextual sense (as in, how much DC editorial liked them) but also in the text itself - deaths either instigate further ownership of their name, or dismantle their sense of self. This is why it's important to recognise Steph's tenure as Robin (both in comics and fandom). Recognising Steph-as-Robin is a direct refutation of her death, a long-delayed memorial.

[lonionjon]

Skrunkly (Cat!John) and Martin based on @ultramarinaa's design and @thestrangepoet's fanfic

The smaller I draw him the happier I am ...

[chowadoe]

having visions of role reversal au Shadow (created as a Weapon against humanity) who was eventually raised, and exploited, by G.U.N to become Humanity's ultimate weapon and Sonic, found by Robotnik

[starry-bi-sky]

Jack Fenton was a round kid. Jack Fenton was a round kid with big blue eyes and a pudgy face and a brilliant smile, with a big laugh loud enough to rattle your bones. He was a stocky kid, big and tough and strong as an ox. He was the champion wrestler at his high school. Then he grew up, and he's still big, and broad, with a square jaw and straight black hair. He can lift both of his kids with one arm and lift his wife with the other. His smile remains brilliant, he has eyes like the open ocean.

Maddie Fenton was a willowy kid. Maddie Fenton was a willowy kid with bright eyes and a round face and a mind sharp like a scalpel, with a smile that could convince anyone to do anything. She was a tough kid, thin and lanky and strong like bamboo. She was top of her martial arts class by the time she was twelve. Then she grew up, and she's still brilliant, and she's no longer willowy, with a pointed chin and eyes that look purple in the dim light.

Jazz Fenton was a thin kid. Jazz Fenton was a thin kid with bright teal eyes and a soft face and a mind like a rabbit's, with a silk-hiding-steel voice that could sink into your bones. She was a bright kid, social and bookish and brilliant. She jumps from interest to interest like they're lilypads, soaking in everything that catches her eyes. She wants to be a doctor, then a therapist, then a teacher. She's growing up.

Danny is.

Danny is...

Danny is a small kid. Danny is a small kid with pale skin and a chubby face and eyes that are neither round nor blue like the open ocean, with a quiet voice that sounds like the wind whistling through the trees. He is a quiet kid, shy and skittish and hiding. He has eyes like a lamb; big and sweet, and they will swallow you whole. His eyes are blue like a glacier, and they see right through you, curtained with dark, wet lashes. His hair is black like an oil spill, black like raven feathers.

Danny is a watchful kid. Staring and watching, silent. Observing. He stares at the stars, as his parents work, at the neighbor across the street as he tinkers with his motorcycle in his driveway. In a house full of suns, there must be a shadow. In a city covered in sunlight, the dark always goes somewhere.

Danny is an outcast kid. He is an ink blot on a white page. He is a dark storm cloud over an open field. The looming shadow behind the trees. He is young and sweet and scary, with gentle fingers that are slender and long. His laugh is neither big nor does it rattle your bones, and his mind is not quick like a rabbit's nor is it sharp like a scalpel. His mind is radiant, the nail catching on the loose thread and unraveling it all in meticulous precision, and his laugh is soft and warm and it seeps into the soil like rainwater, soothing the ground.

Danny is a kid with a face like a stone statue; sharp and cold and pale, smooth and tall and cutting. With hair black like the night, that wisps and curls behind his ears and at his neck, swooping in his swallow eyes. He squints in the light as if his eyes will never get used to it, if you listen to his heart you can hear it bleeding.

Amity Park is a city with a blue sky and white clouds and a bright sun, a postcard come to life. Pretty and safe, full of normal people and normal jobs and normal parks and normal schools and normal children. In a world of heroes and powers and magic and aliens, Amity Park is a place that your eyes slide right over.

Amity Park is not made for a child like Danny Fenton, and Danny Fenton is not made for a place like Amity Park.

[vampirehollie]

They must have run out of time...They didn't cross over. They're gone. And I didn't even get to say goodbye.

[ruushes]

working on putting together a bunch of doodles and screenshot studies of everyone from over the past couple months but i like how these ones are coming along and im impatient 😘❤️🧡💛💚

[vasira96]

it's easy to miss if you're able-bodied and extremely sheltered, but the fact that all architectural "accessibility" is designed with the (false) presumption that the disabled person in need of the accommodation will have an able bodied person to assist them, is a glaring oversight and failure of design, in my opinion

[darkmuffinstudios]

grips head because I have now been inflicted with rot from the collab I did yesterday

sighs

anyways have this crumb (oh boy another WIP except this time I'm actually,,, making a lot of progress on it???? And actually planning it out??? Crazy)

[lowpolyanimals]

K.K. Slider from Animal Crossing: Wild World

[neechees]

I just had the sudden thought that since we've gotten a couple of Native Lacrosse Sports films, we should also have one for Indian Relay Races

I just keep thinking of that rider at the Calgary Stampede from last year I think where they literally did that move Legolas does from LOTR when he like defies gravity and swings onto his horse while grabbing onto it from the other side