#the idea stuck in my mind

[quibbs126]

I kind of want a dragon Cookie to ship Dark Choco with

I don’t think any of the ones we have right now really fit, I mean in the future

[kokoagarden]

I had an epiphany

[inkedberries]

don't look at me i dont know what happened

this is DEFINITELY inspired from that one world's finest issue with clark posing as bruce's bodyguard so they can catch some kidnappers or whatever dfkgjlsd

these set of scans in particular

ref pic for brucie's pose in the first image

[room-of-lies]

something something blue screen of death

[dawnbreakerluna]

NOT WHEN IT COMES TO YOU (W. SYLUS QIN) wc. 1050. hurt/comfort. reader is the mc and experiences a panic attack. canon compliant to the l&ds story, no spoilers. character study-ish on the mental state of the mc. sylus is perceptive person and sees through the reader. non-established relationship. not proofread. side note: my writing program crashed after i pasted it to the tumblr draft. lol!

‘Does any of it matter anymore?’

You write those words in a pocket-sized journal every night. The very same one that’s tucked away in your drawer where an assortment of lingerie overfills and molds within one another. You have to do something, anything, to keep your body aware of its movement, its functionality and life.

Does any of it matter anymore?

You almost want to reach out to Zayne about it. To talk. To explain this stream of endless thoughts and the endless void of questioning your worth. Things haven’t been easy, to the point where you wonder if taking the Hunter Exam, valuing your worth on whether or not you passed, was worth it in the end. Not after everything you’ve found out. Not after everything you’ve witnessed and lost.

Now, you had bargained your life. A bold, risky step that required more trust than you could ever ask for. (You got it, regardless. You had nothing to fear in that aspect.)

“Does any of it matter anymore…?”

You ask yourself again, your voice a low whisper. You needed to make sure you were here, still. Some way, somehow. You were now shrouded by a blaring red sky and even darker red moon. Your gaze, holding faux grit, stares into a crimson gaze that looks over your sunken, kneeling form.

He wears a light curl of a smirk, lowering himself to you: “You should speak up, little Hunter. I can’t quite hear you.”

You push down that growing dread in an empty chest. But if it were empty, your heart wouldn’t be housed there, beating ferociously as you were face to face with the one who had answers you needed. If not all, at least some. The ones to point you in the right direction.

You call it going away in your own head—it’s what you do when you feel more than just your heart on the verge of giving out. It’s what you do when your fingers begin to twitch and tremble, your words struggling to come out. You don’t consider it freezing up completely, but a different sensation.

It’s just something you always dealt with on your own, always aware of.

The gentle flick of your fingers at your side gauges your knowledge of it happening again. Surrounded by desperate brokers and merchants; people with vile intentions and greed that isn’t a homely territory back in Linkon City.

You’re reminded why Onichynus thrives. Why Sylus wears the success and pride he does.

Despite his teachings intending to help you hold that same pride, you can’t. You realize too late in this room full of people who could eat you alive, you bit off more than you could chew. You remain by Sylus’ side as he indulges in the meaningless chatter of those who throw themselves at him with wretched desperation—but the room is beginning to feel hazy.

You know you should’ve arranged something. Some kind of signal to let him know you needed a breather.

This was more than a breather you needed. This was an emergency where you’re a glass sculpture, waiting and begging to be knocked over. You hated being made of glass, regrettably—hated being ogled at in that way. You feel it in the worst form now, being the guest of the most powerful man in the N109 Zone.

Your arm, securely wrapped around his bigger one, shifts back just slightly to tug at his sleeve. It’s not an obvious action, not even to the keen eye like yourself. But it’s enough that you feel the slight jerk, that startles him. To Sylus, this would be a disturbance as little of a fly on someone’s shoulder.

Yet, the air between you two shifts.

Sylus holds a hand up to the two men standing before you both, “Ah—you’ll have to excuse me, gentlemen. I just recalled that I am to assist the security detail with an issue. Please, do enjoy the rest of the evening.”

He leads you away without another word, brushing off the guests.

Vultures. Vultures. Vultures. Every single one of them.

You hold your breath in a subtle manner, your throat constricted. Sylus’ movement is swift and urgent at once, heading towards the back of the ballroom. He opens one of the double doors, ushering you out first before following closely.

It’s just you two now, in this empty, grandeur hall.

You felt sick. You wanted to die. You wanted every fiber of anguish to leave you be and never come back. You never wanted to feel anything again. You wanted to rip your heart out and burn it, to bleed out to death by its side—

—Does any of it matter anymore?

“Little Hunter,” Sylus’ smooth voice cuts through your clogged mind. His hand comes forward, knuckles gently brushing against your cheek, catching stray tears that roll down, “Just focus on me. You’re alright now.”

Oh.

Your eyes widen, your faint breath an overwhelming echo in your head as you come back to yourself. Never before had you seen his eyes so… fond. Gentle. Comforting. It makes you feel sick. You feel the need to lurch and throw up everything you’ve eaten.

Instead, your tears thicken. You blink a few times before lowering your head, pressing the back of your hand against your mouth as you pant heavily. Clawing through your throat is a string of sobs, your body tensing along with it.

Sylus reacts with instinct, his voice lowered as he gently shushed you. His arm wraps around your shoulders, pressing you into his strong torso. To hide you away from the world, to delicately hold your sorrows.

“You’re alright, Little Hunter.” He whispers into the top of your head, lips brushing softly against your hair, “I feel your shame, there’s no need to carry such a thing. I’m not upset.”

You hiccup, pulling away just enough to tilt your head back—looking up at him: “You’re… not?”

A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest. His fingers gently tuck strands of your hair behind your ear, offering you the most warmth he possibly can in this moment. Unfamiliar, but not unappreciated. You’re more grateful than anything, in spite of everything you two had rough edges about.

“Never,” he assures you with a smile. “Not when it comes to you.”

[mo-ok]

❤️ + 💙 + 💛 = ☀️☀️☀️

[oneofthosenightbees]

Do you plan on finishing the Anchordeep mini-bosses?

I do! I only have Saleos’ design at the moment, but I’ll probably get back to the rest of them once I get the motivation to finish them.

[gncrezan]

@chrysanthemumgames celebrates four years so here i am, forcing everyone to see all the various playthroughs i have ! thank you, as always, for a game that i adore to little pieces <3

(well to be more accurate i'm drawing 75 but still)

[sherrymagic]

You're totally rivals-turned-lovers.

Aou Thanaboon as TAN and Boom Tharatorn as KHAOFANG WE ARE | EP. 9

[pitchblackespresso]

Cooking Lessons

For @zelinktines24 Day 8 - Bonding

Comics master post

[raindrvq]

rest in peace Dallas Winston, you would've loved Eminem.

[icewindandboringhorror]

What would you choose? :0c

(note: original image is from HERE (link) - but I edited it to add a wider variety of options.. also added $3 extra to the total, even though I know that makes it more uneven lol, I thought if you're adding 10 whole extra items, the money to spend should at least be increased slightly, if that makes sense..)

[theminecraftbee]

After forty-five minutes of no word, the three of them finally decide that someone should go check on Tango. Normally, Xisuma would have reluctantly advocated for just starting without him—it’s Tango, he’d probably gotten caught up in Decked Out work, he’d apologize and laugh it off later and wouldn’t change—but he’d seemed so genuinely excited this time. He’d rambled back at them the moment Etho had invited him to join in on the wither-mining. He’d promised he’d try to show up. He’d checked the time more than once.

It’s been a while since most of the hermits had seen Tango outside of his fortress. Or spoken to him for more than about twenty minutes if their name wasn’t “Zedaph”. Or—it’s been a while. That man is working himself to death, Xisuma swears.

(It’s… not Tango’s fault, Xisuma tells himself. He’d meant to have more done by now. The whole Empires fiasco had put a damper on that. Tango’s always been the sort to fixate a little on his latest project. Besides, all of the Hermits get caught up. It’s normal to occasionally go a week or two without talking to anyone else. It’s just that it’s starting to hurt a little, to reach out and get...)

(Xisuma will make up a better excuse. It’s why he volunteered to go check on him. Save Tango and Etho a little heartache.)

(Tango had been really excited—but so had Etho.)

It’s a short enough elytra flight to the Deep Frost Citadel. Xisuma takes a deep breath. He’ll probably have to locate Tango and convince him to come up from the outside. That place is a death trap already to half the server, and Tango’s normally in the maintenance tunnels instead of the main body of the cave, which are a death trap in a unique “largely unfit for habitation by anything breathing” way that Tango seems to be the only one who knows how to navigate. He’ll make sure he’s okay, and then…

Xisuma‘a thoughts come to a pause as he approaches. There’s someone else at the Citadel, standing near the base of the hill, just past where the borders of Tango’s snowy base fade into the grassland.

A few minutes of approach later, and it becomes clear it’s Tango. He’s standing oddly, his feet braced and arms unsteadily placed forward like he’s worried he might fall. When Xisuma lights another rocket, he looks up in Xisuma’s direction, but before really catching sight of Xisuma, he turns around and winces, rubbing his eyes repeatedly.

“Hello,” Xisuma says as he lands. Tango turns to—not quite look at him? Tango is looking in the direction of Xisuma, certainly, but isn’t quite looking at Xisuma’s face. Maybe there’s too much glare in Xisuma’s visor today?

“Oh, hey X! How’s it hangin’?” Tango says.

“Oh, you know, I was just here to check on you. You’re a bit late to our demonstration.”

“What?” Tango says. “It’s—of course it has.”

“Did you get caught up?” Xisuma asks. He tries very hard not to sound disappointed.

“I—yeah,” Tango says. “Sorry, I swear I set an alarm, but if you’re here I must be later than I thought.”

“Probably nearly an hour by now.”

“I’ve been—a whole hour? Feels like longer,” mumbles Tango.

“The others agreed to wait if you’re coming, and you’re already outside,” Xisuma says. “We can get over there in a few minutes. It’s not too late. Put on your elytra and—“

“No!” yelps Tango, stepping back, stumbling, and then, eyes wide, looking around like he’s trying to find something. “I mean, uh. Not used to open-air flying right now. I was planning on taking the nether but I ran out of fireproof potions and don’t have the blaze rods to make more, so here I am. I promise I didn’t mean to be late, I just…”

Xisuma has no idea where to start. But. “Tango, you built the nether hub? You know you don’t need fireproof potions to get to the Ancient City we’re using.”

“Haha, yeah,” Tango says, and doesn’t elaborate.

“So I guess you were going to the shopping district, to get more blaze rods and their portal?” Xisuma says.

“Yeah, uh, then I realized I, uh, don’t. Remember how to get there,” Tango says. “And, well, you know how it is. Even when you have permission to leave it’s still kind of daunting!”

His voice goes high and a little squeaky. His eyes, Xisuma realizes, have had a sort of wild fear to them since Xisuma first suggested stepping further than where he’s standing. If Tango had pupils, Xisuma imagines they’d probably be darting. The rest of his facial expression does the work well enough.

Xisuma really doesn’t know where to start.

“And you’ve been stuck here for… nearly an hour?” Xisuma says.

“Yeah. Man, I got permission to leave and everything,” Tango says again, which, okay, very concerning phrasing, Xisuma’s just going to put that away for the time being though, because there are a lot of other things to unpack here. “And like, I wanted to see the Withers and a Warden fight! Who would win, right?”

He still hasn’t moved. As Xisuma’s talked, he’s gotten closer to looking Xisuma in the eyes, but it’s more like he’s very confidently looking at Xisuma’s chin. He keeps squinting and blinking when his eyes aren’t wide with a wild, lost sort of panic.

He’s also still rambling.

“Probably for the best I don’t leave, though. I mean, I held you all up, I’d hate to hold it up further because I got caught up. I can just go back; best to keep doing my duty after all. Sorry about that!”

Tango turns back towards his base, as though making that excuse was the excuse he needed to go back towards safer ground. Maybe another time, Xisuma would have let that be, but the thing is, Tango and Etho had both been so excited, and Xisuma can hear the disappointment in Tango’s voice. He doesn’t want to be making this excuse either. Xisuma has no idea what, but something’s wrong.

(Well, Xisuma has some idea, but while he may be a derp, he’s pretty sure it’s rude to ask someone whether they’ve gone blind, developed agoraphobia, gotten possessed, or multiple of those things at the same time. If someone doesn’t bring it up it’s not Xisuma’s business, right? Right.)

(He’ll just…)

“…no, we want to do this with you,” Xisuma says. “Do you need help getting to the cave we’re doing it in?”

Xisuma can see Tango warring between the pride that stops him from asking for help and whatever it is that had paralyzed him the moment he’d tried to step past his base’s borders. He can see Tango war between how easy it would be to claim he didn’t have time and how much he’d wanted to see the wither mining.

“It’s all going to be underground?” he says.

Weird question. File that away. “Yep! Inside an ancient city!”

“And I got permission to leave,” mutters Tango. “So it’s going to be fine once I actually get there.”

“I can even grab some fireproof potions from Cub’s shop when we’re done,” wheedles Xisuma.

“…fine. Lead the way. Uh, and, if you could hold my hand. It’s… very hard to know where I am outside of my base when it’s so bright,” Tango says, voice a little small, and okay, so a mix of all three. Xisuma really should pry, but he’s got what he came here for, and it’s not really his business, is it? He’s sure Tango’ll work it out in the end. He’s a smart guy.

“Gladly, my friend. Let’s go die to withers sixty times.”

Tango laughs shakily. “Yes, let’s!”

Xisuma laces his fingers around Tango’s hand and, suddenly aware of just how many things there are to trip on, starts walking towards the Ancient City.

Gosh, but this is going to take an hour, isn’t it? He sighs and pulls out his messenger to tell the other two. A thought strikes him.

“You know, next time you have this problem, you should text ahead. You can use text-to-speech, you know.”

Tango barks a laugh, louder this time. “Yeah, sure, that’s going to be on my mind. Yeah. I’ll do that.”

Well, good enough for Xisuma!

They make their way to the Ancient City together.

[awkwardlyflustered]

Best Babysitter Ever

A/N: I have been watching too much Criminal Minds recently, I just started it over for like the 5th time. I love the BAU so goddamn much, and I specifically love Reid (he’s just a lil guy) so y’all better get so ready for so much lee Reid in the upcoming weeks. For now though, Reid and Hotch interacting has my entire soul and being so here’s a quick little story for the two of them. 

“Hotch, I promise you everything will be okay, I read five parenting books on the way here just to prepare.”

“I know, I trust you’re gonna be fine, you’ve just never babysat by yourself before, and JJ was supposed to come over and help…” Hotch trailed off, unable to keep the overprotective dad side from surfacing. 

“We’ll be fine! I’m great with kids,” Reid continued to argue, “We’ll have so much fun, isn’t that right Jack?” Both men turned their eyes over to the small six year old playing with his trucks in the corner. Jack agreed enthusiastically and ran over to hug Spencer’s leg. 

“Alright, I’m sure you guys will be fine,” Hotch finally relented. “Reid, call me if you need anything at all, and Jack, be good for Spencer” Spencer gave a salute towards his boss as Jack ran to hug his dad goodbye. 

A few hours later, Hotch walked back into his house and was immediately greeted by the loud screams of laughter from Jack. Smiling, he made his way towards the two, not saying anything. 

“SPEHEHENCEHEHER!” Jack squealed as Reid’s fingers scribbled across his belly. 

“Spencer? Who’s Spencer, I’m the tickle monster!” The curly haired boy announced, scooping up the small kid’s wrists in one hand, and drilling into his underarms with the other. Jack kicked out and tried to squirm away from the intruding hands, finally noticing his dad standing over the two of them. 

“DAHAHAHAHD HEHEHEHELP!!” 

“You can scream all you want, no one can save you from the tickle monster!” Reid called out with a grin taking over his face as he turned to Hotch as a greeting. 

“You heard him Jack, I can’t save you, there’s nothing I can do.” Hotch had a soft grin taking over his face as well, though not quite as smug as Spencer’s. 

“PLEHEHEASE,” Jack whined out, obviously enjoying himself. 

“Hmm alright fine, I’ll do my best but no promises.” Hotch threw his coat that he had just taken off onto the couch and crouched down by the two of them. “Let’s see here…” he muttered out, taking a hold of Jack’s arms and pretending to pull as hard as he could. 

“You’re no match for my incredible strength!” Spencer continued in character, vibrating his fingers into Jack’s ribs causing a whole new round of laughter. 

“Hmm I have an idea,” Hotch thought aloud as he stalked towards Spencer. 

“You’ll never beat me! Jack will be mine forever,” the so-called tickle monster called out yet again, too busy with his charade to pay any attention to the older man getting closer and closer to him. Without warning, Hotch practically tackled Spencer and started digging into his ribs. Spencer squealed and kicked his feet, completely caught

off guard by the attack. Jack quickly stood up from his position on the floor cheering and encouraging the attack. 

“Well well well, looks like the tickle monster is ticklish.”

“Nohohoho” Reid giggled out, weakly swatting at the offending hands currently wracking his nerves. Hotch grabbed Spencer arms and held them above his head, waiting while Reid panted beneath him.

“Hey Jack, come here,” the father beckoned his son over, and started pointing along Reid’s torso. “You know if you poke him right here he makes a really silly noise.” Jack, excited he got to play too began poking his little fingers along Spencer’s tummy. With every poke Spencer gave a hiccupy squeal, that quickly advanced into hiccupy giggles when Hotch’s fingers found their way to his upper ribs. 

“Wahahahait guhuhuys,” he pleaded, being careful with his squirming to not hurt Jack. 

“This is only fair after you tickled Jack for so long, what do you think buddy?”

“Yeah! You did this to me, you deserve it!” Reid just squeezed his eyes shut, threw his head back, and gave into the ticklish sensations. 

The Hotchner duo continued their attack for a few more minutes, making sure to get thorough revenge on the tickle monster before letting him up. Spencer sat up panting, with slight tears in the corners of his eyes. 

“The tickle monster isn’t gonna forget this, you better watch out,” he teased Jack, reaching out to pinch his side. 

“My dad will rescue me every time!” Jack replied indignantly, clinging to his dad’s leg. 

“I absolutely will,” Hotch reassured, ruffling his son’s hair, “But until you need more rescuing, it looks like it’s time for bed. Go start getting ready.” With that, Jack starting running off to get ready for bed, but quickly back tracked to give a crashing hug to Reid.

“Goodnight Spencer, thank you for playing with me.”

“Of course kid,” Reid replied, hugging Jack tightly. “I had fun playing with you.”

“Are you gonna come back tomorrow?” Hotch interrupted the interaction before Reid could be put on the spot.

“No buddy, not tomorrow, but you’ll see Spencer again soon.” Jack just nodded and finally left the two to begin getting ready for bed. Spencer stood up from the floor to stand next to Hotch.

“So I take it the babysitting went well?” Hotch asked with a slight smirk. Spencer nodded happily.

“Yeah, Jack is great. We had a lot of fun together.”

“I could see that. Do you maybe want to come back next week to babysit some more?” Spencer nodded again, much more enthusiastically. “And I take it the tickle monster will be making another appearance?” Spencer blushed out to his ears at the mention of the silly character. 

“Maybe he will.”

“Well then it looks like I’ll have some more rescuing to do, won’t I?” Reid just smiled and looked down at the ground, too sheepish to continue meeting Hotch’s eye. Hotch smiled warmly, remembering just how young Reid actually is despite his age. He quickly pulled Reid in for a hug.

“Thank you again Spencer.” 

“You’re welcome, it was nice getting to feel like an older brother for a little while.” Spencer’s eyes widened and he pulled away from the hug as he realized what he just said. “Not like that I just meant-”

“You’re the best big brother Jack could ask for,” Hotch assured the genius, clapping him on the shoulder. Spencer smiled an almost cheshire grin as the pink tint returned once again to his cheeks. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he called out, slinging his bag over his shoulder. 

“Yep, and I can’t wait to see the rest of the team and inform them of what a great babysitter the tickle monster is,” Hotch teased, a smirk taking over his features. Reid froze, his hand on the doorknob. 

“Hotch you can tell anyone and everyone you want, but don’t tell Morgan I’m ticklish, he’ll never let me live it down.”

“I don’t know, I think Morgan would really like to know…”

“Hotch!”

“Alright alright, I’ll keep it to myself, for now anyways.” Spencer breathed a quick sigh of relief and waved goodbye before leaving the house. 

Hotch smiled fondly, and pulled out his phone to text Derek. 

Tomorrow morning you should ask Reid how babysitting went. He has a really funny secret to tell you

“Technically, I’m not gonna tell him anything,” Hotch muttered to himself, smiling. “Plus what fun is having this information if I’m just gonna keep it to myself?” With that, he walked towards Jack’s room ready to tuck him into bed. His heart was full between his son and his work family, he couldn’t be any happier. 

[nhaneh]

Arsay coming out of her well the ocean to shame mankind devour fish @wildstar25 happy raw fish day!

[vaguely-concerned]

Thinking about the symbolic weight of smoking in the TLT universe that comes to the fore in The Unwanted Guest -- the way it moves through from person to person: Pyrrha smoked, and Augustine wanted to impress her in all her stone cold fox MILF James Bond glory (and tbf who wouldn't) so he started too. and even though as far as he knows she's been gone for a myriad and is never coming back, he keeps the habit. Ianthe sees something in the hollowed-out Faberge eggshell of Augustine that resonates with her, all that gilded eloquent emptiness and disdain through the ages, so she picked it up from him to try to emulate it. She picked it up so hard that Palamedes -- the exact spiritual antithesis of the 'smoking! on a space station! what a powermove' ennui Ianthe so admired -- spontaneously unnerded enough to even known how to, simply from a sort of contact contamination of the soul.

G1deon and Augustine sharing a jittery smoke after their near-Harrow experience during soup night, and it's the closest thing to any real sense of brotherhood that remains between them. Pyrrha going ten thousand years dying both literally and for a smoke (and then Camilla sold her fucking cigarettes (for a third of what they were worth, probably Pyrrha's own good, and also more importantly grocery money). what an entirely haunted time to be alive etc.). Augustine and Mercy trading a cigarette back and forth in the middle of their collusion over the love and murder of god.

An act of small and measured self-destruction in the name of something a little bit like connection when you're stuck somewhere in yourself where love itself dares not or cannot tread (ritualized, transmissible)..........