#their friends will be in for a treat

[screwzara]

"You've been doing this since you were younger than me, haven't you abang?"

Only years of fighting literal aliens in battle kept Boboiboy from flinching. He turned around to come face to face with one of his oldest friends, well turned his head down. Ali was at least 15cm shorter, a fact that he forever loved to tease the younger boy about.

"Doing what?" Boboiboy asked sarcastically. They've know each other for more than half their lives-he knows Ali well enough to know that the conversation they're about to have is going to be emotionally taxing. Even if it's unhealthy or unproductive (Yaya's words not his) there's a part of him that wants to delay it as much as possible.

But Ali, strong, brave, stubborn-far too much like him Ali bin Ghazali doesn't let that happen. "Being a hero," Ali's voice is hard in a way that reminds him too much of the way his Dad's would shake after waking up screaming in the night, while speaking in hushed voices with his Mom and Mechabot when they think he's sleeping. The walls of their house were never that thick.

"Why," he asks, and stupidly he feels his eyes burn and throat tighten, "Why would you do this? It's not a game, Ali. You could get hurt."

"Of course I know it's not a game," Ali declares, voice cracking in the middle like boys on the cusp of puberty do, the same way his voice did just a few years ago, "I'm not a little kid, okay? Abang please I'm not stupid, you know I'm not. I know what you do is just as dangerous and scary. How do you think I felt whenever you got hurt? Don't ask, don't tell. We promised each other that after Mama died, but I feel like we should break it."

Boboiboy feel his heart break even more when he sees the tears building in the younger boys eyes. They did promise each other that. If you won't tell, I won't ask. It was unconventional with every other adult preaching honesty is the best policy, but they both knew somethings were just too awful to speak about. With parents that were the space version of ambassadors/soldiers, and a newly widowed dad and Uncle pulling away farther and farther each year. They both needed to talk about things that weren't stressful.

It would be hypocritical to be angry at Ali for doing the same thing he did when he was even younger. Didn't mean he almost didn't go into heart failure at the thought of his adik fighting with bloody weapons.

"If you're going to do this," Boboiboy says, voice somehow both resigned and hopeful, "Just promise me something, okay?"

Ali eyes are wide and shining while he nods, but not without the same weight his hold. He looks so young that it makes finding out he's a spy-a child soldier even more heartbreaking. But what can he say when he is but the same just doing it in space, with superpowers.

He can only hope Ali stays safer than him.

"Promise me," Boboiboy says, voice taut with the fact he knows Ali can't keep this promise, no matter how much he wants him too, "You won't die before me." A tear falls down his pale face as he says it.

Ali rears back, shocked. Before a sad look appears on his too young to be fighting, to be killing face. "You know I can't, abang."

He knows, God he knows. Just like he couldn’t promise Ali that he wouldn't get hurt while on his "job". He's not naive enough to think simple words from a mildly traumatised teenager can keep someone safe, as if casting a protective spell over them.

But....

Boboiboy crosses the barely 1m distance between him and Ali in barely a minute. Then engulfs him in a hug only the hecking apocalypse could tear apart. Ali holds just as tight.

"I can still dream, adik."

*sobs into my arms* omg omg omg-

This is.. i... i can't.. *screams*

I can just hear the pain in their voices as they have this conversation(and i see what you did there, taking full advantage of my mention of them seeing each other as their brothers)

I'm loving these, thank you *cries my heart out as i reread it*

[bacchuschucklefuck]

couldnt draw my thang for mid-autumn so treated myself to a calne redesign instead

[tempo-takoyaki]

Listen, I love the "XL helps HC to see how beautiful he is" scenario as much as the next person... But I also see it like this.

[missmisnomer]

it's always a good day to wake up and choose violence

More Rise silliness [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ]

[veggiemist]

hoooo

Their “man-dates” end in them kissing

Alternatively…

[vurelly]

life trying to force me to take a break by shutting down my laptop while i'm in the middle of work, as if i'm not going to just turn it back on and go right back to what i was doing

[why-is-it-always-autumn]

Love a self-inflicted time loop. The main character isn’t trapped.  They can stop whenever they want.  But how can they when things aren’t perfect yet?  They can do better than this.  They need to try again.  They can get it right this time.  They just need to try again.  They can stop anytime they want.  Just one more time.  They can fix this. They just need to try again.  There are still things to fix.  They just need to try again.

[frascospecimen]

Please hold transgender women dear in your heart this international women’s day. Love and respect the trans women around you please.

[valtsv]

the thing about "callout/cancel culture" that convinced me it's rotten to the core is the dehumanisation you face once you become the subject of a campaign like that. a lot of criticisms of callout/cancellation attempts appeal to the humanity of the subject, pointing out that it's unfair and unproductive to treat a person, a fellow human being, regardless of how much harm they've caused and how genuinely unlikable they are, like that. but unfortunately the reality of being the target of a mob mentality often means facing the very isolating and traumatising experience of realising that you've ceased to exist as a person in their eyes. you're a representation of your transgressions, an embodiment of harm that needs to be erased like a blemish, a spectacle for entertainment, a means of earning social approval by publicly condemning and humiliating you in what quickly becomes a competition to see who can strike the blow that knocks you down so you never get up again. nobody cares about who you are outside of what you did. people make mistakes and hurt one another, but there is always the capacity for change, for regret and reparations. you are an irredeemable monster. you can't change. the only way to make sure you can't cause harm ever again is to neutralise you entirely. to drive you off and hurt you so badly that you never consider coming back. and it often succeeds. but it doesn't make the world a better or safer place. it just tells everyone that certain behaviours will be punished, so you should conceal them, and harshly condemn them in others so that everyone knows where you stand; nobody will stand up for you if you're accused and brought out for judgement, so you shouldn't trust anyone, and always be on the lookout to take them down before they can do the same to you. you're not creating a safe, welcoming community. you're creating a panopticon built on fear and punishment.

[redinthesea]

Stop putting him through situations!!!!!!! Think of his blood pressure!!! Everyone stop being mean to him real quick and start clapping or I'll blow this whole building up.

[copepods]

the demons. they’re coming for me (fic ideas that i will never write but theyre soso good i promise)

[dcxdpdabbles]

phone a friend♥️

danny is a god and poor tim is trying so hard to ignore his family talking about the wedding

Tim watches Danny as the other boy gestures wildly to the art around them. It's surprising to know that Danny has never been to a art museum, claiming the small town he was from never had one.

Oh, they had small art shows and a few street markets, but nothing official like a building dedicated to art. Their teacher had announced to the class a semi-famous water color painter's work was going to be on exhibit a week ago.

She offered extra credit to anyone who would go and write a report about their experience.

Very few people cared, seeing as a majority of the student body of Gotham would go to art auctions at least once a week. Tim had been among those that didn't plan on attending, seeing as his grade were adequate enough, and he's been to the art museum often with Damian.

Then he glanced at the desk next to him, watching frost slowly form around Danny's hands as the boy read about the museum. A few seconds later, he stuffed the flyer into his backpack, the sound of snickering from further down telling Tim that some of the more annoying classmates saw how fascinated Danny was.

Knowing him, Danny would probably act like it was lame if only to save face with his classmates who didn't accept or deserve him. The frost vanished, replaced with a soft echo in Danny's voice as he muttered about how he didn't think he could afford to waste money on a museum ticket.

Tim likely wasn't supposed to hear that. He picks up the flyer, considering it with an pair of great importance, just long enough for Danny to realize that Tim was doing so before gesturing at it.

"That sounds cool. Easy extra credit. Do you want to go with me, Danny?" Tim found himself asking. Danny's entire face lit up, frost forming around the windows near him in beautifual snowflack shapes.

Thank goodness the two sat so far back in the classroom, and the winter was well underway. No one would question the frost in this environment.

That's how he found himself, wandering around the Gotham art museum with an overly hyper meta on a cold winter Saturday. They sold hot chocolate at the entrance- with strict instructions to not go beyond the ropes- and he took sips as Danny oh and ah at everything.

He tried really hard to ignore his family, who were following them room by room just outside Danny's range. They weren't even in disguises! The idiots were walking around as the Waynes but were moving in a way that made it impossible for them to "accidentally" bump into Tim and Danny.

This kind of behavior he expects from his siblings, maybe Bruce due to Danny's meta powers, but Alfred? Why had Alfred forsaken him so?

"Tim, look at this piece!" Danny calls, pointing to a very dramatic interpretation of the Black Plague in the form of a grim reaper towering over a cowering village.

Tim shoot the doorway a glare, catching the flash of one of Jason's wavings hands before he joins Danny infront of the rope. He's eyes take in every detail, every stroke, a bit breathless by how alive the paiting is.

"It's gorgeous." Tim breathes, eyes lingering on a figure atop a hill in the background. The figure has enough details that it's obvious he is also part of the story, not just the setting.

Despite his commoner clothing, he looked like an angel among the humans. The figure looked up at the grim reaper, his white hair flowing in the wind, and a gentle glow surrounding him.

His expression was remorseful but accepting of what was happening, and his beauty was almost inhuman as he watched the reaper bring the village to its knees. Tim swears he looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place the face due to its near-human features; there was just something more to it.

Tim points towards him. "I think that's supposed to be life."

Danny's eyes lock onto the glowing boy before choking on his drink. Alarm Tim pats his back as Danny coughs through the liquid. "Dude are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" Danny wheezes "Just fine. Um, when was this painted?"

There is a plaque right underneath the painting with the art detail. He squints at it before reading out loud: "Black Death's Shadow. Painted in 1886 by an unknown Goth artist. It's said that the artist was painting a story passed down through the generations of the survivors of a small village saved by the King."

Danny wheezes harder. "Wow that's crazy. It's really pretty. What-um what style would this be called? Need to write that essay for Mrs. X. "

"It looks like romanticism," Tim responded, leaning in the closer, chest now over the velvet ropes. He squits harder at the glowing figure, trying to figure out who it reminded him of. The artist was talented, but maybe they weren't able to capture the charater well based off of stories?

"Wow so cool," Danny said in a strained voice. He turns to look at his companion and is about to ask if something is wrong when a quick spark races across his shoulder blades. Surprised by the sensation, Tim jerks his shoulders, feeling as if though someone had shocked him.

He quickly glances around with his eyes, ensuring not to turn his head and witness other guests flinching at the tiny spark. A few are also looking around confused.

Did everyone just experience static electricity? At the same time? With no one touching metal or other conductors? How could that be?

Danny doesn't seem to notice Tim's puzzelment because he is staring at the painted white hair boy with a forced smile. "Why do you think this is Life?"

"Lots of things," Tim responds, tilting his head slowly to try and gather more information without tipping off whatever caused that charge. "Mostly the glow and inhuman features."

Another shock, a few people wince and another few laugh, but this time Tim saw a flash of soft sparks race across Danny's left hand, and his mouth makes a small o in realization.

Danny's meta powers were causing the static shocks. But what emotion was causing this?

"Inhuman?" Danny stammered, more sparks zapping across his hands but not strong enough that Tim could feel them.

"Yeah, he's inhumanly beautiful," Tim answered, watching in real-time as Danny's cheeks turned rosy while the sparks stopped. His hair started to fall out slowly, indicating happiness and slight bashfulness. He was acting like Tim had called him beautiful—not that he wasn't. Danny was fairly good-looking.

Huh.

Tim truned back to the painting compare it's feacture to the boy next to him and then it clicked.

Danny was the glowing boy in the painting, or more likely when using his powers. Cass did say Danny reminded her of Captain Marvel.

Now, the question remained: Was it just his powers, or was Danny physically present the day this was painted? Even further than that, was Danny there the day the painting's inspiration had happened, five hundred years before the artist painted the tale?

Was Danny unaware he was in the painting?

"Um, we should move on, yeah? I think I want to check out some of the sculptures?" Danny sputtered while tugging on Tim's hand. Without letting go his classmate dragged him out of the painting exhibits in brisk speed walk.

He definitely knows that was him. Tim thought, watching Danny's back as he let himself be led away. Does that mean I was wrong about him being a meta? Is Danny a god or god adjacent?

Meanwhile, the rest of the Waynes are crowding around the doorway of the painting hall, watching Tim and his not-human boyfriend practically run away.

"They are so cute together" Dick cooed, gestureing at where Tim seemed to not be able to take his eyes off the other. "I mean look at Tim. He's mesmerized!"

"What were they looking at?" Bruce questions, stepping into the room and standing before the painting that had Danny freezing up. "Why did this cause such a strong reaction?"

"Obviously, Father, it was due to how weak-willed Drake's courtship is. He didn't even attempt to hold Fenton's hand. Coward," Damian snips at his side, while Jason and the rest quickly follow after Tim. "I could never. I held Jon's hand the second he agreed to a romantic outing-"

"What?"

"What?"

The pair stared at each other in utter silence before Damian coughed. "We should make haste to follow Drake, least we lose him. Come along Father"

"Damian, come back here. Explain what you just said. Damian!"

[homoquartz]

what's so cool about "kevin can fuck himself" is the way it forces you to reframe what are otherwise painted as harmless sitcom antics. it makes you really think about it.

for example, the sarcastic asides typical of a sitcom are actually cruel and abusive when rooted in reality. while you're watching the scene, set up in saturated colors and a laugh track, you have to force yourself not to slip into the banter.

it's a depiction of how abusers manipulate perceptions and get everyone else to go along with it. how it's normalized as "harmless" and laughed away.

it's a really good show.

[ikiprian]

Clone’s Best Friend

“Cute dog!” the girl says. “What breed is he?”

“Uh,” blinks Kon. "Are you asking what breed Superdog is?"

“Uh, duh?”

Well. She’ll have to forgive him his stunned expression, ‘cause he doesn’t usually run into other dog walkers on this path. This is, of course, because “path” is used in the loosest sense, the one that connotates direction and not tread ground, and the “walk” bit is entirely inapplicable, with all of them currently flying one thousand feet above sea level.

“Cujo’s a rescue,” she continues, swinging her feet in the sky, “so we don’t know for sure, but my sister thinks part husky, part shar pei. Half-and-half, like me!”

Cujo is also, apparently, half green and half glowing. He wiggles happily in a play-bow. It’s very cute, except for the way he’s the size of a small house.

Krypto’s tough, though. He barks and chases his new friend through cloud cover. Gamely, Cujo flees. They frolic in the chilly condensation, occasionally poking a head out before diving back in, like a fox in a snowdrift.

Neither of them see anything surprising about this. It’s all good fun. And, well. Krypto’s always been a good judge of character.

Kon turns back to the girl and gives her a megawatt smile.

“He’s Kryptonian. Like me. But he looks like a white lab!”

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

posting this with absolutely no context