#this one just came up in conversation

[nelkcats]

Refuge

Danny was not retired, technically he came when people needed him, he helped or protected them as the case may be. It just turned out that over the years they stopped needing him.

And that was fine, it meant humanity could take care of itself, it meant they were safe. That was what had to matter, no matter that deep down, the halfa was hurt by the information.

It was harder to accept change when you weren't part of it. Danny was immortal, eternal, and powerful, things that no longer fit the world. Not with all the heroes and wizards running around, not with Amity Park fading away, becoming nothing more than a part of his memories.

He fit in perfectly in the Realms, sure, but he knew that if he stayed there too long he'd stop feeling human, and that was dangerous.

So, no, Danny wasn't retired. But he lived in a simple house in Metropolis, though sometimes he got tired of Superman being able to hear literally everything and moved to his house in Fawcett. He used to switch between the two houses frequently, not that it was difficult since he had figured out how to make portals.

He had a few friends, like the orphan boy who lived at the train station and Conner, a teenager who sometimes just needed a house to stay in when he couldn't stand his father.

Neither Conner nor Billy minded his age, which was comforting, although they both got curious when he visited the other house. Danny didn't know how to explain that Eternity Rock and Superman made him nervous if he stayed too long (he didn't like feeling watched), so he just shrugged and told them he had two houses.

Neither of the kids understood but they accepted it. They both had a habit of calling him "Uncle", Danny thought it was odd, given that his appearance wasn't exactly...adult, but it seemed they were comfortable with that, and he left them alone.

Apparently his house (occupied or not) had become a haven for them. Danny always greeted them with a sandwich, or cookies, even though he felt like a grandmother doing so. He smiled for the first time in years, feeling happy to fit into someone's life.

That's why it was quite disconcerting to find the Justice League outside his door asking him to join them. Danny chuckled internally, because the current heroes actually believed they could force him into something, but he accompanied them anyway.

Superboy and Captain Marvel scowled at the League as soon as they entered the Watchtower, when they were told they were bringing in a "dangerous individual" they didn't expect to see their unofficial uncle.

[wigglebox]

Suptober - Day 1 || Liminal [x]

[slashmagpie]

Look, he’s no idiot. He’s no cheater, either. He knows that it’s extraordinarily unwise to be sneaking around the dungeon of Decked Out when you’re not playing the game itself. But the thing is—the thing is, is that Bdubs dreams. And when Bdubs dreams, he can’t always control where he goes, and sometimes—sometimes that’s right into the heart of the dungeon.

Here’s the other thing: Bdubs sleeps a lot. More than most. Sunset to sunrise, he’s curled up under the covers of his bed, fast asleep and dreaming. Others—other people, they stay up all night, attract all the phantoms. Not Bdubs! He’s the only sane, rational person on this server. He sleeps. But the others—they stay up all night.

Recently, they’ve been staying up all night playing Decked Out. 

Bdubs doesn’t know if Tango sleeps anymore. He certainly hopes Tango sleeps, but the man is too engrossed in his redstone for his own good sometimes. Maybe now that the game is done, is launched, is actively being played, he’ll take a nap or two. But right now, Bdubs is dreaming, and Tango is in the dungeon, and Bdubs, against his will, is here too.

Tango is not-quite-solid, ephemeral, and Bdubs gets the sense that if he were awake and standing where he is, he wouldn’t be able to see Tango at all. Tango doesn’t seem to see him, either, back turned as he approaches a ravager on the bank of the River of Souls. 

Ghostlike, Tango presses his forehead against the (unknowing, unseeing) ravager’s, a smile on his face. The ravager slips through Tango’s form, leaving Tango pressed against its side, but he seems unfazed, patting affectionately at its flank with a hand. “Good job, Pumpkin,” he says, and Bdubs can hear the pride in his voice, the hint of a laugh. “Good job. You listened. I appreciate the effort.”

In his dreams, Bdubs can’t feel the chill of the dungeon; he’s toasty and warm under the blankets of the waiting room bed. (Okay, look, he may also be spending the night at Decked Out, but at least he’s sleeping—if he pays attention, he can hear the faint, unintelligible babble of voices in the waiting room, see the soft golden light through his eyelids. He flinches away from it, back into the dungeon, back into his sleep. The others may be content to spend the entire night waiting and dying to ravagers, but Bdubs needs his beauty sleep.) And—hey, what was he thinking about again?

Oh, right.

Bdubs can’t feel the chill of the dungeon, but a chill runs down his spine nonetheless as Tango looks at the ravager with cub’s blood on its teeth with affection and pride. And—okay, the whole point of the game is getting killed (or, preferably, not killed) by ravagers, they’d all signed up for this, they knew what they were in for—but did Tango have to look so… happy about it? So fond of the murderous beasts he’d wrangled for their entertainment? Did he have to look so—

Hm. Now that Bdubs is looking—

Tango’s ghostlike form doesn’t have a shadow, but it trails off towards the end, less him and more ghost, an echo of some sort, and the ghost tendrils stretch into the snow and the water and the stone of the walls. It’s almost like a spider’s web, Tango’s consciousness at the centre of it, flickering and ephemeral. Tango lets out a contented sigh, and Bdubs swears he hears the dungeon sigh too, and out of the water where Cub died the blood starts to drain, though Bdubs can’t tell where it’s draining to. It’s just—there, and then smaller, and then gone, and Tango swipes his tongue across his pointed canines, and Bdubs feels cold. Colder. The tendrils stretch long, and the more Bdubs looks, the more he sees, and he can’t quite tell anymore where the dungeon ends, and Tango begins, and hang on, is Tango a spider on his web or are those tightening more like puppet strings as Tango turns—

His eyes land on Bdubs, and he frowns, the smile slipping from his face. The dungeon feels darker than it did a second ago. Bdubs flinches back, because Tango shouldn’t be able to see him, even if he’s also not in his body right now—

“You shouldn’t be here,” Tango says. “Cheater.”

Bdubs opens his mouth to defend himself, but he doesn’t even get the chance before he’s gasping awake in bed, covered in a cold sweat, shooting straight upwards. The movement draws Scar’s attention, and he looks over, one eyebrow raised.

“You’re up late, Bdubs,” he comments, teasing.

It takes Bdubs a moment to find his words. “Hard to sleep with all this racket!” he grumbles, scowling as he pulls the covers back.

“Oh.” Scar blinks. “Do you want us to be quiet?”

“Yeah, we can quiet down for you man, if you need us to,” Jevin offers.

Bdubs shakes his head. “No, no, I’m up now.” In truth, he doesn’t think he could sleep again after that even if he wanted to.

And now that he’s thinking about that, he’s thinking about—

“Hello there,” Tango greets, dipping past Scar and into the room. He glances at Bdubs, and then just past him, not a hint of what just transpired on his face. He’s back in his body, solid and whole again, and he looks—fine. Frosty and blue, like he’s been all season, basically, at this point, but—fine. Tired, maybe, but they’re all tired. It’s the lack of sleep.

(Does Tango even need to sleep, anymore? Dungeons don’t need to sleep, after all. Ravagers don’t sleep. Do spiders sleep? Do—?)

Tango turns away from greeting Jevin to look at Bdubs, a grin on his face. “Bubbles, how you doing?”

Bdubs jumps, startled from his thoughts, and doesn’t get an answer in before Tango is distracted by Jevin once again. The two of them talk game mechanics, and Bdubs stares at Tango, trying to find any hint on his face, in his body language, of what exactly he is, but—

He’s too awake, darn it. If he’d still been sleeping, maybe he could have seen something, but it’s late, and he’s awake, and Tango looks as ordinary as ever. 

“I saw you petting a ravager down there,” he says at last, and Scar gives Bdubs a weird look, but Tango doesn’t seem surprised. He just laughs, shaking his head.

“No, no, no, no. I was reprimanding them.”

“Yes, you were!”

“—for their vicious attacks—”

“You’re rooting against us!”

“—on my… friends, here.” 

There’s a weird pause, a solid second or two where Tango seems to struggle to get the word friends out of his mouth, and when he does the tone is flat, insincere. Scar is still frowning at Bdubs. He doesn’t notice the way Tango’s expression flickers. Bdubs notices. Bdubs can’t tear his eyes away.

Hey, is it cold in here?

“I’m starting to learn something dark about you, with all the laughing and smiling you’ve been doing while we’re strugglin’!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tango says, then smiles, turning away to Scar, changing the topic of the conversation. They move on, teasing Grian for being AFK, and Bdubs—

God, Bdubs needs more sleep. 

[autumnoakes]

i'm having trouble forming this thought into words but there's something about melinoë being raised the way that she was and being taught to think the way that she does to the point of not being able to think any other way. it's not naivety and it very much reminds me of how prejudices get passed from parent to child. i keep seeing these statements coming from the olympians saying that the old golden age was a farce and that chronos is manipulating the humans into following him (note that we don't have any living human perspective on what's happening, so we don't really know how far chronos' reach has spread. all we have to go on is what's happening in the realms of the gods and in ephyra). it's all being perpetuated by gods that melinoë has been raised to trust and believe in. i think she could be nearing a tipping point as the plot progresses, though. like i said, i don't think there's necessarily a "good" or "bad" side here, only the side that melinoë/the player is on and the side that chronos is on (plus many of the NPCs that we meet who are generally uninvolved in the whole mess). but there's also a lot that we're missing simply because melinoë is unaware of it.

[pepperf]

Pop quiz, hotshots! Which would you rather have:

A relationship that, when it goes wrong, you can tell the other person that you need a break to reassess your relationship, and they will discuss this calmly, let you go, and then go away and think about what you said, agree that they were in the wrong, and start working on ways to fix their own behaviour;

OR

A relationship that, when you want to leave, they tell you that you don't really want to go, that you're happier with them, that you should isolate yourself from your family and friends so you can stay with them - and when you disagree and tell them the relationship is just a matter of necessity, they start in on your other relationship (which they have apparently decided is the reason you're going back, despite you making no mention of it), telling you that it's broken, that you shouldn't go back to him - and when you tell them to butt out of your personal business, they tell you they're entitled to have an opinion because you've been stranded alone together for a long time...

Is that or is that not what happened? Because I remember Lila making herself pretty clear on these points, but apparently a bunch of people think we should disregard a woman's expressed opinion about her own life, and go with what she's being told. Because Five knows best, amirite? Gosh he's so smart and clever! And he deserves this - he deserves Lila, no matter what Lila herself says. He's owed it by the universe, because he had a bad life.

Lila did have another relationship like that, where she was told what to do, kept in the dark, told that the other person knew what was best for her...and it wasn't Diego.

[thisisallthehattersfault]

Someone makes a choked, shocked sound. Someone else yelps. It occurs to Ace, somewhere between the howling in his ears and the ache in his lungs and the taste of salt and iron flooding his mouth, that this is probably pretty surprising for his brothers to witness. Maybe even downright upsetting.

The thing is, Ace was wading into the jungles on his own as early as four years old. Dadan taught him how to do basic shit like talk and wipe his ass, but he honestly didn't have a ton of human interaction before meeting Sabo. And the thing about Sabo was that he had more than enough human interaction for the both of them. Ace learned some manners from Makino, but while Sabo was still around, there wasn't really any reason to get... good, at people.

But then Sabo died, and Ace needed to teach himself not only to talk his way out of trouble but also how to be the nice brother, how to treat Luffy with the softness he needed and deserved, how to gentle his hands and his voice and his words. So Ace did that, because he needed to, and it turned out to actually be pretty useful for dealing with people when he wasn't actively looking for a fight. So he stuck with it.

Which is all to say that by the time he'd joined up with Whitebeard, Ace was as close to tame as he had ever been. Almost downright domesticated.

Ace snaps his head to the side, putting some real momentum into it, heaving with all his weight until something tears. When he drops to his feet he springs right back up again, lunging. He spits out his mouthful as he goes, lets his jaw drop open.

The thing is, Ace is a child of the wilderness. He raised himself among that wilderness, and then he raised Luffy among that wilderness. He's a son of the jungle at heart, no matter how good he's gotten at pretending to be a person.

The sea-stone cuffs are chaffing his wrists. He feels tired and heavy, but he doesn't need his fire to be dangerous. Doesn't even need his hands.

Teeth find an artery. Body-hot blood sprays his face as Ace bites down, lock-jawed and snarling. Rears back and rips.

Another marine goes down. Ace spits out a chunk of the man's throat and is already rounding on a third. Notices, with a vague annoyance, that he's gonna need to find a toothpick -- there's a scrap of tendon or something caught in his teeth.

Mmm. Boar. They had pork for dinner, ah, the other night? Three days ago? Something like that, but it doesn't taste the same as wild boar does. And anyway, meat on the Moby is always overcooked. Ace is allowed to eat blue steak, but everybody always yells at him when he tries to steal bites of poultry or Sea King or whatever else while it's still tender and bleeding. This fight is giving Ace a real craving!

Duck. Lunge. Bite down, hard, thunder of a rabbit-quick pulse against his tongue, bulge of tender flesh against his soft palate. Iron and salt in his mouth.

Fear has a flavor. It is bitter and acrid, reminiscent of char, and Ace hadn't liked it much when he was young and still learning how to hunt. It stiffens up the meat, too, makes it kinda chewy. Somewhere along the line, he'd acquired a taste for it, though. He still marks it as a point of pride, his ability to hunt and kill prey without it ever knowing he was there, roasting something that is tender-sweet and gives easily under his teeth -- but the taste of fear isn't so bad either. Sometimes he even prefers it, gets a craving for it. Like wild boar, he hasn't had it in a while. Maybe he'll chase down his own dinner tonight.

Ace rears back. Muscle fibers split, skin stretches until it snaps. A heave, and a body crumples to the ground, gurgling. He gnaws kind of idly on his mouthful while he catches his breath, snorting blood out of his nose and straining his ears. Sounds like the fight's over, then.

Another lump of trachea gets spat into the dirt. Ace turns to face his brothers, counting heads -- good, it looks like nobody got hurt too bad, everybody is still standing! He grins. Ah, they're all pretty pale though, that's a little bit concerning, he hopes nobody's in shock. He learned from Marco that that can happen to anybody, even if they've been in a whole lot of fights.

"Hey!" Ace chirps. "Is everybody okay?" His wrists are killing him. Also, he really needs a shower. He's got blood in his ears, how the hell did that happen? But first he jogs over to where the others are all standing, clumped together, still just. Kinda staring at him.

Okay. Concerning. "You guys alright?" He asks again, lower. "Is anybody hurt? What happened?"

"Ace, man," Deuce says. His voice sounds kind of shaky. He drags a hand through his hair, fucking it up even worse than it already is. "What the fuck was that?"

[edge-oftheworld]

real talk though how much of their success was facilitated by the fact liz hemmings sees 'child with adhd' and thinks 'future world renowned musician' and just invested so much love and time and money into nurturing not only her own child's ambitions but also these two kids he brought home from school and the table drummer from her year 9 math class of 2009

[ratatatastic]

you know whats wacky about the whole walking in with robes? that sasha tells katie engleson (before their interview it was maffhews idea) but forsy tells swedish media that it was "captain's idea (motions head towards sasha whos doing an interview with viaplay in finnish next to him)" and when katie finally gets an interview with sasha for scripps he doesnt mention whos idea it was but during the postgame presser he goes "it wasnt my idea i think- i think it was chucky right? (turns to reino to confirm) it was chucky's idea then we just- [...] we just thought we should wear it for the game as well"

wacky game of what first the chicken or the egg but sasha and maffhew edition for some reason

[1karuga]

LMK Story Prompts & Ideas + AUs

What if Sun Wukong and Macaque just had an intense and borderline irrational hatred for each other?

Two Sides of a Coin AU

Whenever they see each other, they scowl.

When close to one another, they gag.

And if--heavens forbid--they have to talk, they converse through insults, taunts, and gritted teeth.

Honestly, the idea of just leaning into their inability to have a non-emotionally charged conversation with each other is hilarious to me, especially if they're just built in a way so that they click together so flawlessly.

In almost every aspect, such as fighting prowess, strategy, and even personality they work together with a synchronicity rarely found... but they can't bear eating at the same table.

And despite how much they don't like each other, they have built a tight bond together out of trust and respect...always trusting that the other will always have their back no matter how dire the situation is.

Though, this was before the Journey to the West.

After Wukong killed Macaque, their bond was broken. So there was nothing much was left of that respect and trust that kept hatred from being all that was left of their relationship.

And even so, the two of them are still like two haves of a whole, and despite all of their animosity they do have a desire to get back that feeling of being unstoppable that was present whenever they were together...

[sygneth]

I have always admired people who could write one fic or draw a comic for years because I am living in a constant fear of not finishing what I have started. Not in a 'maybe something terrible will happen to me' way, but simply knowing myself and that after a couple of months or years, I will catch a new fixation and finishing the old story will become hard. And yeah sure, I have heard people say "You don't have to finish if it doesn't interest you anymore" or "It's your art and you decide what it will be about" and I fully agree, but I still love those old things I came up with you know? I still love these characters and I want their stories to be told, but at the same time there already are new characters with new stories in my head and I want to tell them too.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[sweetest-honeybee]

Some people do kinda suck but I find a lot of joy in giving people really specifics compliments at my job and it makes their whole day sometimes c: 💛

[cicadasketch]

Here’s a bunch of silly messy little sketches for the mungrove peeps

[umbrellacam]

Secret Origins (Vol. 2) #13 - April 1987 - The Secret Origins of Nightwing

Oh my god five-year-old baby Dickie is so small, the panic when he fell, I wanted to lunge into the page and grab him!!

I love him boldly flinging himself into an attempt at his dad's triple spin, though - and almost managing it, though he fell short on the catch! Little daredevil ❤️ And his absolute beaming grin after John caught him, ohhhh my heart, he's so - fearless, effusive, full of grace. Lookit his lil dimples, I can't.

But also - he feels so safe and secure with his Momma and Daddy ;A; They'll always catch him when he falls. They're his safety net, even when he's flying without one.

And then they're gone 💔

[winepresswrath]

i am absolutely a nicki girl by the way it's just that much like show!lestat my love for him is so pure he doesn't even have to be hot. he can be an ugly crier with a floppy lil wig it only inspires tenderness.

[megumi-fm]

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