#Dynamic Costing

[costitright]

What is Cost Forecasting? Master Predictive & Dynamic Costing Techniques

Learn about cost forecasting and its importance in project management. Explore two key techniques—predictive costing and dynamic costing—to master project cost forecasting and ensure accurate financial planning with Cost It Right.

[foxholecourt22]

andrew and allison would’ve been too powerful if they had gotten along. they would go to the mall together and buy clothes for people who are not themselves that those people do not want and then get back to fox tower to give said people the clothes they do not want along with opinions that they also do not want. they know everyone’s business. they don’t care much about the emotional boundaries of others except yes they do. they’re mean in a way that’s fun if you fw them and very not fun if you don’t. they will be honest if you ask them if your club outfit is ugly. they will also be honest if you don’t ask them if your club outfit is ugly. they have very expensive cars in which they drive people around in silently. they are fueled by spite. they are blonde.

[weaverofink]

watching fma 2003 again :)

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #13

"So?" Red Hood asks, arms crossed. "Was I right?"

"Yes," Phantom says, deepening his voice, "this is one of mine."

"One of your what?" Robin growls. Nightwing's hand on his shoulder is the only thing keeping him from invading Phantom's personal space, which, please, continue to do so Mr. Nightwing, Sir.

Phantom would take a deep calming breath if a) he wasn't trying to appear as otherworldly as possible which means no human breathing and b) if that wouldn't so obviously telegraph how uncomfortable he is in the Batcave surrounded by the entire Batfamily.

Next to him Red Hood shifts in slight discomfort. His ties to the spectral realm mean he's picking up on Danny's unease even if he can't fully translate the feeling. Which is good. Danny needs to maintain what little control he has over this situation.

"There's a gh-spirit in my...realm," Phantom says, letting himself drift gently to the other side of Batman's medical table which just coincidentally puts more distance between him and the the rest of the clan staring him down. Black Bat leans forward and he violently suppresses a flinch. "They're known as Nocturne. They wield power over dreams. Their signature is all over this."

And Danny means that literally. Their ecto-signature couldn't be more apparent if they'd written it in sharpie across Batman's suit. This is what Jason—Red Hood, because Danny couldn't have been dealing with a simple civilian case of ecto-contamination, nooo, he's got to have connections to the superheroes Danny has spent the better part of his afterlife avoiding—managed to pick up on, even being the low level entity that he is.

At which point he'd called Phantom in, even though Danny had spent the better part of two weeks trying to intimidate the guy into never contacting him, Ruler of the Spirit Realm (lightning crash!), again, but here is his calling card just in case (thunder and creaking noises!!), but again, you should never use it unless things are very serious, OoOoOoOo~~~

Damn it. It's been like 10 days.

"So how do we fix it, Your, uh, Ghostliness?" Nightwing says, ducking his head in a sort of half-assed supplication when Phantom turns to him. Nightwing glances at Jason for affirmation who shrugs out of the corner of Danny's eye.

"Phantom is fine," Danny says, waving his hand and letting his upper lip curl in an expression of distaste. "Remember, it's like you're Vlad when Dad offers him a glass of eight dollar wine!" Jazz's voice reminds him. Robin growls lowly, likely meaning he's nailing it. He looks away dismissively ("Honestly, it's like you're Vlad, anytime, ever." Sam notes dryly) and thanks god he doesn't have a heart in this form because it would be beating so loud right now.

Beside him, Jason scratches compulsively at the back of his neck. Huh, his anxiety is manifesting physically as an itch. Good to know.

"You can't fix it," Phantom says. "I can."

"At what cost?" Red Robin asks. "Red Hood mentioned you'd want something in return?"

Frick. His other contingency to keep Jason from ever contacting him again. Phantom had lightly hinted his taste du jour was, uh, souls.

Something Red Hood has apparently let slip, because now Robin shakes off Nightwing's hand, puffs out his chest and declares "I will trade myself for my father's safe awakening, Spirit!"

The other members burst into denials which almost covers up Danny floating sharply back and saying "What? No!!!"

Key word: almost.

Danny coughs as they stare at him.

"That is to say, I have no desire for a child," he puts a bit of snarl into it, showing fang. The mood in the room plummets drastically as Nightwing gently grabs Robin by the arm and pulls him back to his side.

"We see," he says. He steps forward more assertively, placing himself in front of the others, all of which are now eying him warily. "Then, is there a gender you prefer?"

It takes a second to click in Danny's head and then he swings his head wildly away from his audience to hide his reaction, nausea and embarrassment turning his face bright green. "Fika Kristo," he mutters in Esperanto as quietly as he possibly can, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He gives himself a moment to settle and game plan before turning back around. "I have no desire for any of you, and it matters not. In this instance, a deal need not be struck. Nocturne is my subject, and they have done this without my permission." Danny blinks, eyes widening. "Not—not! that I would give them permission to do such a thing. In the first place. Ahem."

"Okay...so you'll do this for free?" Jason asks. "Seems like a bad business practice since you also fixed me up for nothing—"

"What he means to say, Your Majesty, Phantom, is thank you!" Signal says in a rush as Nightwing starts, "Wait, Hood, what do you mean—"

"Enough!" Phantom says loudly (nearby bats take off and Jason's itch migrates to his forearms) "I have little time," read: he has a test tomorrow and he's only one-third of the way through the study guide "And I grow tired of this...dilly-dally." Frick! Is that an old-timey word?

"Of course. Thank you again, Phantom." Nightwing says stiffly, eyes still narrowed in Hood's direction.

"Wait, sorry, Phantom, Majesty, I'm Spoiler by the way," the purple-caped vigilante Danny already knew was Spoiler says. "How do we keep this from happening again? To any of us? Is there a way to defeat this Nocturne?"

"Moreover, why Batman?" Red Robin asks. "Why would a spirit from another dimension want him asleep?"

Phantom sighs. "Nocturne was trying to send a message. To me. Through you," he says, nodding at Red Hood. "They...how do I put this. They like attention. Being the spirit of uh, dreaming, they don't receive that attention. And you were in my realms for quite some time. And they wanted...attention."

The lackluster explanation sits for a moment before "They were jealous? Of me?" Red Hood asks skeptically.

"It's more complicated than that. Your...physiology," Danny puts it as delicately as possible, watching regretfully when Red Hood still stiffens at the mention, "Is particular. You gather attention in our realm. And having my attention is...special. But not!" He says to the group at large, a touch panicked, "Romantic!"

Jesus, he's never gonna hear the end of this from the others.

"Anyway, I will ensure it does not happen again."

"By paying them attention," Spoiler says under her breath, wiggling her eyebrows at Black Bat, Red Robin shooting them both a glare. Nightwing ignores them in favor of staring at Red Hood and Phantom. Danny is unsure what Red Hood has disclosed about how he knows Danny, but now he feels confident the answer is close to nothing.

Before Nightwing can ask whatever uncomfortable thing he's about to ask, Phantom disappears. Invisibly, he hovers over Batman's sleeping body and silently apologizes for the intrusion before intangibly slipping into Batman's REM realm and finding the man...oh...

Probably thirty minutes later he reappears to the group, who all perk up at the sight of him. Their eyes bounce from him to Batman; who does not move, to the monitor; which shows no change in his brain activity.

"I'm going to need your help," Danny says to Jason, getting to the point.

"Why? What can I do?"

"It's easier if you come with me," Danny says, grabbing his arm.

"Come with—"

Danny wastes no time in turning them both invisible and flying them into Batman's mind.

"What the—" Red Hood twists and turns, taking in the hallways of the manor. From afar, they can hear the tinkling of a piano. "You, I had your word—"

"This isn't where you think it is," Danny says hurriedly. "We're in your—Batman's dream." He walks quickly down the hallway, towards the music. Jason follows.

"What?"

"The way to break a dream spell is to wake the dreamer. You can't do that externally so you do it internally. Usually you wake the dreamer by turning the dream into the nightmare, scaring them awake."

The hallway stretches on longer than realistic, the dream attempting to divert them. But it can't outrun Danny. His power seeps into the halls, ice creeping along the paneling and freezing the way behind them.

"Batman, however, is hard to scare."

"So you want me to do it."

"What? No." Phantom shoots him a confused look. "Why would I—Ahem, The other way is to convince the dreamer they are dreaming. They break the dream themselves."

"Alright..." Jason says slowly, now keeping pace with him. His breath forms a cloud as he speaks. "And you think I'm the person to do it? I'm not the one he listens to you know, that's more Nightwing's schtick, or hell, anyone other than me."

"This isn't just Batman's dream, Jason," he says. Hood's eyes narrow at his real name, but now the truth is necessary. "This is The Dream. The perfect life. Everything he could ever want."

They're approaching an opening on the right side of the corridor. A bright light emanates from it, alongside the noise of stumbling piano keys and laughter, deep and male and unrecognizable. The Dream.

"Thomas Wayne," Jason breathes. "You want me to convince Bruce it's worth walking away from the center of his universe? It'd be easier if I put a bullet in their chests."

Danny stops abruptly before the doorway, turning to face Jason.

"You know, I fixed you," he says, head cocked. "Those feelings you felt, you shouldn't be feeling them anymore."

"I...I don't."

"Then why do you act like it?" He lets himself drift up, reaching beyond their planes of existence and extending a metaphysical hand to Jason's spirit. It shivers away. "You don't have to hide behind what was."

"I'm not hiding! And I don't have to explain myself to you!" He tries to move forward but Danny puts a hand out and he cannot move past it. He growls in frustration.

"I'm grateful to you, but with or without the Pits I'm fucked up. This is just who I am. This is just what he made me."

"You've never asked why I look like this. But did you know my form is malleable?" Phantom says, letting his legs shift into a tail, letting two eyes become three. "What I believe is what I am."

And then he takes several steps back, putting the doorway between them. "From here on out, the Pits can't tell you how to think or feel. Your decisions are wholly your own. Starting with this one."

Jason stares at the doorway, then Danny.

"I won't make you," Danny says simply. "And if you desire, I will retrieve Nightwing instead."

Jason scratches at his arms, grits his teeth, and stomps through. The light resolves into the sitting room, massive windows letting in sunlight so bright it streaks yellow-white across the room. Bruce sits on the maroon versailles couch next to Cassandra, who sits cross legged, excitedly watching Alfred pour her a cup of tea. To their right, in the open space, Damian barks instructions at Tim on handling a katana. Stephanie and Duke sit on the ground besides the coffee table, homework sheets sprawled across the surface, suffering their way through a calculus problem.

Bruce, smiling softly, looks across the room to where the atrocious playing is coming from. Red Hood follows his gaze.

Sitting at the piano, trying to play while Dick distracts him with a pair of chopsticks, is Jason. He puts a hand on Dick's face and shoves, both of them hitting the wrong keys.

"Get—away—dumbass!"

"No, see, it's a duet! Jay!"

"That's not why it's named—" and Jason Todd-Wayne tips his white-tipped head back and laughs.

[thunderberryz]

Fast Forward action sequences, my beloved

[naffeclipse]

Champion

Gladiator!Reader x Gods!Sun, Moon, & Eclipse

Commission Info

This was such a fun and unique fic to write and I'm honored @drops-of-the-sun requested my writing for their AU! A mix of gladiators and gods with two offers and difficult choices. I also loved describing the boys as gods and how they interacted with their champion!

Content Warning for suggestive themes.

———

The domus, a large house, stands tall and grand. In the shadow of the colosseum, it is a mere footstep of smooth marble but no less imposing. The double doors are gilded in gold, and the guards escorting you speak not a word as they push you through the entrance and into the atrium. You gaze around, wary. A large central hall is open at the roof, allowing sunlight to stream down and open up what would otherwise be drenched in shadows. Lavish decorations of gold vases, jewel-bright pottery, and marbled floors scream of the high importance of those residing here. The walls are splashed in frescoes of deep blue midnights and burning yellow mornings; the glorious depictions of the astral beings who must use this as a villa during the god games.

Why do they summon you now?

Aligned with the front door is a dark curtain of blue speckled with tiny yellow stars separating a study from the rest of the building. The guard pushes you towards it. You glare back at the rudeness of your escort. Though you are still a captive, you are a famous gladiator. Your renowned skills earn you much recognition within the colosseum, and though fame does not grant you freedom, it provides you with status. Status that should keep from being treated so harshly, like a lamb led to slaughter. 

Unless that’s what you have become in such a short time. The god games are soon. Your heart cools like iron left out to crumble and crack at the thought of your patrons choosing to cast you aside for another—and forsake your chance for freedom.

A strong, steady voice speaks beyond the curtain.

“Enter, our champion.”

The guards step back in a unison beat of footsteps, standing tall and fearful of the gods they serve.

You however straighten with grizzled anticipation. You smooth down your chilton, a knee-length, short-sleeved tunic, and adjust the cloak carefully wrapped around your body. Stepping forward, you sweep the curtain aside and enter the study.

The room glitters lowly with the light filtering in from small square windows. A glow from the bronze couches, overrun with plush cushions, brightens the space. A center table piece of polished wood lies gilded in gold. The walls are finely decorated in frescoes of yellow ochre and blues so dark they’re almost black. 

Two astral beings fill the room with their radiance. You remain guarded as you bow yourself before them in reverence. Your patrons are powerful. You do not trust them.

One steps forward, his body flickering with living flames. He dons dark armor, cladded with a rich red cloak down his back. Gold chains bridge over his chest and attach to his shoulders with the rich symbol of the sun. Aptly decorated, for he is Sun.

A marking that is upon your lower back, a stamp of claim when you first became their champion, shares the symbol.

The second astral being leans against the wall, draped in shadows. Moon. You resist a shiver as his crimson, otherworldly eyes look over you with an expression you can’t read. He lingers on the scar on your face, and you nearly turn your head away in anger that he would openly gaze at the marred flesh you despise. His arms are folded, and his skin is the living flesh of the night sky, dark and deep blue, with tiny stars speckling his body. He wears gray linen, thin and climbing up his throat. A tendril not unlike a nightcap falls over his shoulder from behind his head, shimmering softly.

“Welcome,” Sun greets boldly. He gestures an open arm over the couches. “Make yourself comfortable.”

You silently pad to the bronze seat. Sitting down, you loathe how they stand over you, lording, commanding, an untouchable power radiating from their beings.

“You are stunning, our champion.” Sun steps closer, and draws his finger along the scar of your face, leaving a hot trail over the bridge of your nose. “Your physical prowess is lethal and your strategic cunning is a marvel to behold.”

You hold very still, jaw clenched and muscles pulled taut along the length of your body. The beat of your heart jumps.

“Yes?” you inquire.

Sun flashes a burning smile, his pale eyes flicking like candlelight.

“We have an offer for you.”

Moon steps forward. He studies you fiercely, eyes half-lidded before he speaks.

“Become our consort.”

You stare, struck by the astral beings. A thick haze takes over your mind.

They already claim you, a marking of a moon and sun sitting on your lower back, circled in black. You, their champion. But to become a consort would mean a fight you have never faced before. Would they use you? Bleed you dry of all your mortal love before casting you aside? Do they only care to preserve their favorite fighter?

You don’t dare lean into their silvered words. How can you?

“We are waiting for your answer, my champion.” Sun steps closer. He takes your hand and brings it to his mouth where the temperance warmth of his flames lick your knuckles. “You have never been so uncertain in battle. Why begin now?”

“If you accept, you will have freedom,” Moon rasps darkly. He slips like a shadows to your side. He gathers your other hand and drags the back of his finger down a scar that cuts the length of your forearm. “You may refuse if you wish.”

“And rot in the colosseum,” Sun punctures cheerfully. 

You shiver in equal parts fear and uncertainty.

Freedom. You could see your mother again, after all these years. She was frail before you were thrown into the gladiator fights. You have often imagined how unkind the years have been to her and your younger brother while you’ve been held away in the colosseum. How big has your brother grown? Has he moved on? Begun his own life? You hope so.

The two gods loom over you. You cannot keep them waiting.

You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again. This is not the simple task of cutting another down. This is your fate of dancing between the will of astral beings and your desires. 

Can you trust your patrons?

“I beg, my lords, for time to consider this most gracious offer,” you speak, cool and cordial, but careful.

The flames of Sun’s being flare for a heartbeat, and the heat upon your hand creeps to an unbearable degree. Moon’s hand tightens around your wrist as if to place you in shackles. Would it matter to them if a consort is willing or not?

Sun grins and releases your hand. “Very well. A day should be plenty for you to understand what a gift this is. Moon?”

“Agreed.” He sets your hand back on your lap with a rubied stare. “You may go.”

You bow again and slowly rise. Without a word, you leave their presence, their stares cutting through your spine and into your very core before the curtain falls. You breathe out.

Is freedom worth the price of becoming two gods’ consort?

Your quarters are meager, dusty pale walls with simple wooden furniture strangely strewed with lavish gifts from rich contributors and sponsors of your battles. There are letters from those you celebrate your victories and root for more bloodshed by your hand. 

If you accept being Sun’s and Moon’s consort, you are then slotted in as their champion for the god games, and winning such a battle would win you everything. Your gods’ affections, freedom, and the power to choose your fate—should your lords treat you well and properly.

You don’t believe they will simply adore you. They yearn for something. They wish to use up precious life at their whim.

But do you stay and fester, fighting until you grow older and more unbalanced, and a blade catches your heart?

What choice is there when it is between two shared fates of doom?

You do not light a lamp. You stay in the darkness and contemplate how you will answer in the morning. 

A disturbance pulls you from your brooding. Under your door, darkness shifts. Before you can reach for your weapon, a column of smoke slips into your room. It spills and twists upon itself. From it emerges a god.

Your eyes widen before you throw yourself down on your knees, and bow properly. Never had you hosted such a guest in your pitiful chambers.

“Eclipse,” you breathe.

“Do not speak,” he growls. The god holds his two sets of arms wide. His skin is dark maroon, almost colorless. His loose brown robes expose his chest and the burning orange star set within his chest like an exposed heart. His one eye glows not unlike embers pulsing within a fire. A fierce marring on his other eye removes it completely. He glides deeper into the darkness of your room, standing before you.

“Rise, and sit with me.” He moves without confirming your movement. Draping himself upon the humble workings of your dull wooden couch, he waits for you. His head tilts expectantly. His sharp teeth flash, waiting. 

You have no choice but to answer. Straightening, you rise to your feet and stand before him. His relaxed, reclined position on the couch is too uninhibited for your liking. 

The god smirks up at you, his tongue running over his wicked fangs.

“Sit.” He pats his thigh.

You do, falling into the god’s lap. His arm immediately wraps around your waist. You hold your breath steady as if you tread black water, afraid of sinking into his abysmal mass.

“I have come here to make you a most beautiful proposal.” His upper right arm finds your hair, cut short with an undershave, and strokes the scars over the back of your neck. It takes all your being to not shudder.

Your eyes flash to his in the darkness. 

He grins wickedly and snarls softly, “Become my champion.”

Your lips part, eyes widening. 

“Oh, I know,” he chuckles ruefully, “Sun and Moon think they can keep you all to themselves. But you don’t have to be tethered to them, dragged into their apathetic schemes. No, I will show you what a true champion deserves.”

You hold horrible still as his claws softly scrape over your hip bone. His eyes fall to your lower back side, where your chilton conceals the gods’ marking upon you.

“And you would not have to tell them you have chosen another,” he says, his eye half-lidded. “You need only to say you have accepted their proposal. Then you will watch them, study them, and tell me what you have found. What do they lack? Where do they stumble?”

You wish so horribly to speak but if an astral being commands you, you must obey. Your teeth grind softly together.

“Do this,” he lowers himself to your ear. His glinting teeth graze the shell of it, and you clench your fists, “and I will free you. I will adore you eternally.”

You hold yourself rigid under the god’s offer. That may be the ultimate demise. If you taunted Sun and Moon and betrayed them to another, how would they obliterate you? Your very being could be scattered to the cosmos like stardust. 

But Eclipse offers you something more. 

“You may speak,” he says and draws a clawed hand down your thigh. He clutches you close. His one eye admires you as if you were a golden crown.

Your mouth is dry. Wetting your tongue, you face the astral being as if he draws in the very light of the world into him. Nothing can escape, not even you.

“Do I have your sworn oath that no harm will come upon me should I agree to such a plot?” 

His single burning eye glimmers.

“Yes.” His hands tighten around you. “I give it now, pledging myself to you, gladiator. We will be equals. Though you will be consort in name, you hold the power of a god at your disposal when you accept my hand.”

You hold your breath. A god’s oath is too powerful, and unbreakable, even by their strengths. 

You could soon be free.

“I will give you the night to reach a decision.” Eclipse slides you off of his lap as if you were only a feather. He sets you sweetly back on the thin cushion of your couch. “By morning, when you return to Sun and Moon, I will have your answer. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Twisting smoke envelopes him. Again, the thick haze of his traveling form slips under the door, and you are left in the dark without his crackling orange light.

You don’t move. Your fate is in your hands, and you must choose.

[linkedin-offficial]

teetering on the edge of "is this even sky anymore",

a ghostly train conductor and a runaway coven witch

[jerksbitch]

spn rewatch 3.05

deans face and the awkward moment of silence after sam tells dean "because you said so? well you're not dad!" ... yea

[wasabi-gumdrop]

thinking about modern au Kabru

ivy league college student, probably studying law and political science on a full scholarship. first time living away from Milsiril so he has to promise her, yes mom i’ll call you at least four times a week, no mom i don’t need your amex black card, yes mom the normal credit card is fine i need to learn how to budget like a Normal Person (it has a limit of $20k — that’s not normal Kabru).

Milsiril insists for a long time that she’ll just get him a house off campus so he can have his own space (aka a place she can drop by anytime and possibly live a few months out of the year just to be close to him) but Kabru puts his foot down and tells her the best way he’s gonna make friends is by living with other students (bye mom).

his floor in the coed dorms is the party floor and he always makes sure to invite everybody (his nightmare is accidentally leaving anyone out and having them think that he doesn’t like them). somehow it’s always a good time, everyone leaves with more friends than they came with, it never gets totally out of control, and plenty of girls who are interested in him (and a lot of guys too tbh) bring tons of baked treats so there’s always free food. Kabru is the RA’s favourite person to have in the building (even though Kabru himself is messy but most of the people he’s friends with are nice and clean up after themselves).

he has a porsche (Milsiril gift for his 16th bday) but he’s adamant about not driving it unless he absolutely has to (because he doesn’t wanna look like a douche). BUT he never says no when his friends ask for rides (so he ends up driving all the time anyway). he actually contemplates selling the porsche and going for a more practical car but Mickbell is like ‘dude you are not taking this away from me.’ Kabru sighs and decides to keep it because his friends (Mickbell) like being chauffeured around in a fancy convertible (Rin, Holm, and Dia don’t care, they’re just glad they don’t have to walk to the grocery store).

he’s probably on a casual texting basis with most of his professors and you know he’s going to all their office hours, grabbing beer with them just to keep chatting about life outside of school. and that’s how he winds up in some super secret faculty group chat where he’s now privy to all the college administration gossip.

Kabru is elected for student council during his freshman year and he’s probably the favourite to be sc president one day.

he doesn’t really date (gets too in his head about how he doesn’t wanna ruin any friendships) but he does hang out one on one with a lot of girls and treats them all really well. he probably goes so far out of his way to be platonic that he flies a little too close to the ‘Just Like One of the Girlies’ sun, he kinda forgets that most people interpret it as flirting coming from him. which leads to a few awkward conversations. people feeling led on, a few angry jealous boyfriends, scathing dms about him being a girl stealing homewrecker.

it’s such a nightmare for him and he needs it to end right now. so he begs Rin to ‘date’ him for a week or two and then publicly dump him just so the entire student body gets the message that he is Just A Friend.

Rin stares at him for a few seconds. then she laughs. she laughs and laughs. she laughs for a crazy long time. and then eventually she goes, ‘wow you’re an asshole, Kabru. no i won’t be your fake girlfriend. you’re gonna suffer and i’m going to enjoy it.’

and that’s when Kabru has a moment of enlightenment. ok yeah. asking for that is probably really selfish and mean. maybe he needs to think about girls’ feelings more and that’s maybe more important than his deep seated need to be liked, and when has Rin ever been wrong about anything.

he apologizes. and so begins one of the more serious talks he’s ever had with Rin about being okay with not being liked.

he thinks he can really turn over a new leaf. the whole ‘not worrying about what other people think’ thing goes pretty well — up until Kabru meets the aloof professor for his Monsters and Myths class who keeps forgetting and mispronouncing his name.

Kabru has never needed someone to like him So Bad, he needs Prof. Touden to like him as a matter of life and death, and he’s willing to look stupid for it (fails a midterm on purpose to justify begging for one on one tutoring)

[radio-zephyr]

alskgjdslk jthe new animated short for hsr,,,,,

the way black swan went from in control, leading the dance and moving with acheron, to being the one moved around, puppeted, torn apart and brought together under acheron's hand. THE SWAN GETTING KILLED BY A SNAKE IN THE BACKGROUND. THE PREDATOR PREY DYNAMIC AS SHE'S HUNTED DOWN OVER AND OVER, BRUTALIZED IN HER MIND before returning out of the abyss of acheron's memories, now the one being dipped as acheron looks down on her impassively.

oairesghdjkair IM GOING INSANE

[treviso-nights]

*kisses felassan on his brow and hands him the most scrumptious bowl of soup on earth*: for my precious angel. my handsome boy. only the best. you sweet sweet king. let me massage the tension and betrayal from your shoulders.

*reveals my primordial fangs when solas so much as glances in my direction*: you're on thin fucking ice. everything you do vexes the bottomless animosity in me. if you have no mortal enemies then i am dead. i love you (sometimes) and with great, unending resentment.

[beckett-flavored]

Depending on windspeed and other variables, the explosion of anthrax could spread up to a mile. 26 Fed is within a mile. Alright everybody, pay attention. You are moving to a continuity of operations site. I will remain until that site is established. Listen to me, the JOC is our last line of defence. But you are the JOC. So please... go.

[riamaple]

I’ve been reading Bucky fics again for the past few months and been feeling really inspired by all of you amazing writers out there.

I have a really long Bucky x f!reader fic that’s been sitting around for a couple of years and I’m thinking about actually finishing it and posting it on here. I’ve done a lot of writing for the past decade but never had the courage to actually finish and publish any works. I don’t know…maybe it’s finally time I tried?

[fujii-draws]

Fffffuck man. Celebi and Dusknoir(Duskull?) knowing eachother first does open up the avenue for even more angst and interesting dynamics…………. Especially since now I’ve been kind of thinking abt Debbie and Nolan from Invincible….. and (Looks at them) does this make sense……

[thetealhummingbird]

hawkeye and radar doodle by @eye-may

I absolutely love them! They look so adorable! 😍 💕

[blighted-lights]

something something, thinking about the fact that the idw cassettes, who are already smaller than most other cybertronians, were likely made into thinner frames with less armor in order to fit into soundwave's chest. something something, thinking about soundwave being their transport, protection, and home. thinking about if any of them ever regretted having their frames reformatted, and if the protection soundwave offered was enough to outweigh the want to be more autonomous again.

thinking,,,