#and he barely did anything

[thenotoriousscuttlecliff]

Really is weird how out of all the current showrunners, Russell T. Davies is the only one who has never done a queer fulltime companion.

[eurodynamic]

KINGDOM COME: DELIVERANCE II (2025) -> Into the Underworld

[vaguely-concerned]

the strength it must have taken for illario to not immediately go full 'lmao since when have you even had a kiss hello lucanis' sibling violence mode during the café talk. inspirational. rook and lucanis really were doing all that right in front of his salad huh

[roses-and-revolutions]

DC x DP Idea

After several years, Danny and Damian meet each other again at a gala. But there was no heartfelt reunion since the moment they led eyes on each other it was all-out war. Damian takes out a sword from somewhere and Danny just starts throwing hands.

The fighting is intense, and blood is being spilled (what are those glowing green specks?). They are screaming at each other in Arabic as it's easier to slip back to your mother tongue when in rage right? This makes the fight more personal.

Most people don't understand what they're saying but those who do look at the boys then Bruce. Bruce then back to the boys again. Like B, we know you're stupid but you fucked this person twice.... did you NOT see the red flags the SECOND TIME!?!?

The fight ends with Damian on the ground with the sword grazing his neck. He looks up to Danyal with the fear of god in his eyes, knowing that with one swift movement, he'll be dead on the dance floor. But Danny's eyes were cold and tired, they were dead. No spark, no sense of life in those chilling blue depths.

Calmly, Danny spoke to Damian. His voice was crystal clear, cool like a mountain stream.

"Just because you jumped into the fire behind me doesn't mean you felt the pain I did.  Your hand was held above the flames while I was being burnt in the fucking fire."

Damian begins to cry because he knows that Danny is right. No matter what he went through, it would never compare to what happened to his big brother. Even more so, when he feels long lanky arms wrap around him, a cool hand rubbing his back soothingly, and whispers of sweet nothingness entering his ears.

He cries because no matter what he does he will never be like his big brother.

[wishchip106]

i genuinely want to know what Erik’s routine was when he was in prison because they clearly managed to keep his hygiene up somehow

i’m still trying to wrap my brain around it HOW DID THEY TRIM HIS HAIR AND SHAVE HIS BEARD WITHOUT USING METAL?? REALLY SHARP PLASTIC???

it’s also sad but funny comparing him to the man who wasn’t in prison for ten years but still Erik manages to look better then him 😭 that’s what depression does to you though so 😔✊

also another thing the government hadn’t even built the plastic prison when they captured Erik so for some reason this man (who’s one of the most powerful mutants on the planet) managed to escape and then get caught SEVERAL times before they threw his ass in his cell

i thought you were better at this Erik come on man….

[mbohjeezart]

[ WIP ]

Bring a goat to a courthouse...

[mildarka]

For the art request I'd like to ask for reverted AU Night in Killer's big jacket missing the boys and Dream trying to comfort him?

Dream's trying his best

[darkfluffydragon]

Here are some sketches I drew of Phantasmagoria Corrupted Burning Spice (Change) and Mystic Flour (Volition) :D

Just a fun lil thing while I debate to myself over whether to focus on the world-building or the story. Also Change as a cowboy..just for fun :')

[starmocha]

Mirror, Mirror [Sylus/Reader ★ 750 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] Sylus knows who is the fairest of them all. A/N: Yes, that clip of Sylus saying just one line flipped a switch in me. Of course I watched it like 80 times.

“Sweetheart,” Sylus’ sinfully deep voice rumbled behind you, his arm snaked around your stomach, pulling you closer to his toned chest and keeping you trapped between his long legs propped up on either side of you. He continued, his voice holding shades of mock-disappointment as he tsked and asked, “Did I say you could close your eyes?”

His hand stilled from their place between your thighs, just close enough that you could still feel its presence near your wet entrance, but far enough that you whined in frustration from the sudden lack of attention. “It’s embarrassing,” you managed to say as you opened your eyes to gaze up at him with a half-hearted glare.

He smirked at your expression, unbothered by the glare directed at him. He leaned down and nuzzled his cheek against yours. “There is nothing embarrassing about looking at yourself in the mirror,” he murmured, chuckling darkly when you squirmed against him, “Especially when you were looking so pretty falling apart from my fingers alone.”

You tried to nudge yourself closer to his hand, needing his earlier ministrations again, but he noticed your attempt and pulled away tutting in disapproval. You whined again. “This is so unfair…”

“It is not,” he replied pointedly. “I’ll let you get off, sweetheart, but only…” he pulled you roughly back against him, his long, slender fingers at your slick entrance again. “…if you keep your eyes open.” He pressed his lips against your cheek, his husky voice sending shivers down your spine: “I want you to watch yourself—look at how close you are to coming just from my fingers alone.” He sighed against your neck, pressing a kiss there as well, “So gorgeous…”

His fingers found your clit again, rubbing it in slow circles and drawing out your sweet moans for his ears alone. You relaxed against him, your eyes nearly closing until you heard him tutting again in disapproval, and you forced yourself to keep looking at the full-length floor mirror opposite you both.

It truly was embarrassing and unfair, you thought again grimly, cheeks reddening at the lewd sight and Sylus’ smirk in the reflection. How come he was still fully dressed and you were completely nude and exposed and—

The thought quickly dashed away as Sylus reminded you of his fingers, slipping one inside you, and then another, finding that sensitive spot inside you that had you instantly gripping his knee, holding it tight like an anchor as you gasped and arched forward, “Sy-Sylus!”

“Such a pretty girl,” he murmured in response to your cry, working his fingers in and out, relishing in the sight of you squirming against him. His thumb brushed over your clit again, drawing out your cry of pleasure, your helpless moans music to his ears. He sped up his pace, his fingers sliding in and out at a steady rhythm that had you approaching your climax.

He laughed low as you started gasping out his name, unable to form a full sentence as your mind could only focus on his fingers and the sound of his sinful voice behind you. You started mumbling helplessly, “Please...please…please…”

Sylus’ eyes twinkled in amusement at your repetitive pleas. He could tease you, taunt you and draw this out longer, but he knew you had been good, holding up your end of the deal. He watched your flushed face, seeing the tears forming in your eyes, knowing that you were not going to last long from this ministration. “Such a good girl.” He leaned down and kissed your cheek again, whispering against your ear, “Look at you just clenching around my fingers.”

You moaned low, barely comprehending his words, just getting drunk on that deep, rough voice of his. “Sy—ah!” you cried out, body tensing as you came hard around his fingers, unaware of anything around you but the sweet feeling of ecstasy that only he could bring to you. Sylus smirked as he pulled out his fingers coated in your release and he sucked it clean as you watched him with half-lidded eyes, your stomach doing a flip just from his action and knowing expression alone. As you came down from your high, Sylus drew you back into his arms, letting you lay boneless against him while you tried to even your breathing again.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,” he murmured mischievously against your ear, knowing you were too tired to protest to his teasing, “This sweet little hunter is the fairest of them all.”

[serpentface]

A braithuvi horse at rest under the close protection and watchful, scary, pale-eyed gaze of her herd's guardian, a dírgrahdain. Both are landraces developed within the Highlands. The ancestors of braithuvi (and other Highlands native horses) were brought overseas by the ancestors of the Hill Tribes, while the dogs were obtained from native livestock guardian landraces used by proto-Wardi tribes. Each have become distinct over their centuries of living in the Highlands, and dírgrahdain are have a particularly unique place in the cultural schema.

Braithuvi are a woolly horse breed (and one of many, wool horses are widespread, second only to camala in value for textiles) that are also somewhat specialized for milk production. Their meat is relatively poor (other horses are preferred), but they produce high yields of milk and thick, continuous growths of wool.

Horses are not as culturally significant as cattle to most in the Highlands, but are still highly valued animals that are critical to subsistence. Few plant-based textiles can be produced in the Highlands, and almost all in the region are made with braithuvi wool. They can eat a greater variety of forage than cattle, more efficiently converting energy intake from pastures into milk and wool. Their milk is considered to be the very best of all livestock, and is usually what is used to make the prized murre beverage.

Dogs have a very small specific place in the cultures of the Hill Tribes as utilitarian working animals (specifically for livestock and occasionally as home/village guardians), and rarely ever fill other functions. The practice of keeping dogs purely for companionship is virtually nonexistent (though affectionate bonds between people and their herding or household guard dogs will be fairly common), and their meat is considered worthless. Most dogs are not elevated within the cultural schema, and tend to be merely appreciated as useful, loyal animals. Livestock guardian dogs are an exception to this, and tend to be of more significant cultural import. They are animals that exist to protect the herds on which all subsistence depends, and thus have an elevated cultural status and roles in religion and folklore as uniquely protective entities.

Dírgrahdain are the key livestock guardian dogs in the region, and the only natively developed LGD. Their name means 'lion dog', both in reference to their maned appearance and their ability to fend off and even kill the largest of predators. The dogs are characterized by tall, long-legged builds, deep chests, a curly tail, thick hair (and a thicker winter coat), and a shaggy mane. Their bodies tend to be thinner and lankier than their fur coat suggests, but still well-muscled and powerful. Their coloration can vary wildly, but a black mask with a brown or reddish body like this is most typical. Unnerving, pale eyes are prized in these dogs, with the belief that they not only intimidate predators but are uniquely potent at fending off malicious spirits.

The dog's exclusive function is to protect livestock. They are used primarily for the defense of horses, which are small and very vulnerable to predators (lions, hyenas, king hyena, wild dogs, jackals, nechoi, and even eagles can be threats), though some dogs will usually be posted up with cattle herds to deter raiders.

Pups are most commonly born in the field among their herds. They will be carried in their master's coat while still nursing, but will be allowed to join their mother in her duties from the moment they are strong enough to follow. Dírgrahdain live with their herds day and night. Most will never see the inside of a home, and most seem to prefer it that way. They form close and protective bonds with their charges, and will thoroughly integrate themselves into the social fabric of the herd.

These dogs are not human-oriented, and will usually only form bonds with people that they have imprinted on as puppies (and will merely be cool and polite to those met later in life). They are highly aggressive towards strangers, and introductions must be done incrementally and with great care. This is desirable, as this trait makes them an excellent line of defense against livestock raids. Their loud, booming barks can alert of intruders from a great distance, and they can often successfully intimidate khait, causing some mounted raids to end in humiliating failure. Dírgrahdain are often killed in raids, either to fend off the attacking dog or to silence it before its master can be alerted. This is not outright dishonorable, but not something one will be commended for. Cattle raiding culture here values swiftness, stealth, and strategy- such smash and grab tactics are seen as brutish (and will often result in harsher retribution).

Like most LGDs, they primarily defend their herds by displays of aggression and power, using their loud bark, fearsome growl, and powerful bodies to chase and intimidate predators away without physical contact. Even so, it is necessary for all working dírgrahdain to be willing and able to physically confront predators when necessary. A well-trained, well-bonded dog will defend their herds with their very life, and is often effective in combat against even very large wild predators. Their dense ‘manes’ offer a degree of protection from wounds to the throat, and may be supplemented with spiked collars.

If a mother dog kills a predator, it is often customary to open the carcass and lead her puppies to feed on it. This is thought to teach the pups to be fearless against their enemies, and that they will grow up to be uniquely powerful and brave adults. Pups are given names upon reaching adult size, and ones who have consumed the flesh of predators will get unique names related to their mother's kill, or epithets as supplements to a given name (the exact details of this practice culturally varies). One might encounter dogs in the Highlands named things like Lionsbane, Hyena-killer, She Who Bites Jackals, Lion-Fed Shaggy (Lion-Fed being the honorable epithet, Shaggy being the dog's name, possibly given by a very small child)

The mere gaze of a dírgrahdain is said to fend off malicious spirits, and their thundering bark can scare away even the most dangerous of mountain devils. Their shed hair is needle felted into little dolls (usually into the form of dogs themselves) and placed into the cradles of infants and worn as charms by children to protect them from harm (both mundane and supernatural). Manes taken from dead dírgrahdain have uses among some of the Hill Tribes, and are typically only allowed to be used by their masters (unless recieved as a gift). The most prominent usages are being worn to fend off evil spirits and predators while traveling alone, and some traditions involve placing the manes around the necks or across the bellies of women in labor as a means of spiritual protection for mother and child during birth.

The Hill Tribes and Wardi both identify the same constellation along the ecliptic as a dog. In the case of the former, this stellar dog is identified as Mak-Urudain, a gigantic dírgrahdain with fur the color of flame and eyes as bright as stars, who is the eternal guardian of the Celestial Fields. He allows the souls of the worthy dead to pass into the afterlife and for esteemed ancestors to descend back to the land to guide the living, while preventing malicious spirits, devils, and the dishonored dead from entry.

One Bernike tale describes her attempting to fly into the Celestial Fields to steal the heavenly cattle who graze there. She took the form of a golden eagle, pretending to be an ancestor returning from a sojourn to the world of the living in order to get past the guardian hound. Mak-Urudain was not fooled for long, and led her on a long chase through the night sky before capturing her and hurling her out of the Celestial Fields.

She was never able to even touch the ground of the Fields (much less take any cattle), but had just enough time to take a single seed of heavenly grass in her beak. She returned to her mountain (missing most of her tail feathers and much of her pride) and planted the grass in her then-barren slopes. This is why the grass on Bernike's mountain is so tall and abundant and why cattle there grow so fat and healthy, like all cattle will in the afterlife. The howling winds heard from the mountaintops are playfully suggested to be the barks and howls of Mak-Urudain, calling down from the heavens to keep the witch grounded in the world of the living.

[navree]

Incorrect, the fact that Biden has dropped out and a candidate with history of supporting medicare for all and being more receptive to a ceasefire in the I/P conflict has made me go from "I cannot morally support the Democratic nominee" to "I am voting for the Democratic nominee despite the fact she isn't perfect in every respect." I'm really happy this played out. The Dems for the most part abandoned the old Obama platform and it feels like its possible an actual progressive agenda could come to pass in my lifetime.

Kamala 2024!

If you weren't going to vote Democratic in this election before Biden dropped out you're a dorkass loser who does not care about any of the issues you're yammering about here and also a fundamentally bad person, and I hope you get run over by a bus.

But you got one thing right in all of this gibberish, Kamala 2024.

[badninken]

Law demanding racoon healthcare.

(doesn't answer)

[itsafreetrialofdeath]

*archduke voice* “Excuse me. He asked for no pickles”

[artuurle]

So what happened to Gru's eye anyways?

This will be very very tied into my personal headcanons about both Grujaja and a little about the drain so be warned:

info under the readmore for sanity reasons hope u understand<3

My interpretation of the drain is a very bad place to raise someone. The whole place is essentially the slums of a city- though the most dangerous part of the place isn't because of anything living, but because the place is actually crumbling from poor infrastructure. Gruja was from a very low income family that lived in that area; just trying to live like anyone else.

The infrastructure expectedly ended up failing and in the collapse he got cut really badly by some of the resulting shrapnel across his face and left arm. He was one of the "lucky" ones. If you could even call it that.

He sure didn't.

[jessmalia]

Mal's Avatar: The Last Airbender rewatch: The beach 3.05

[buwheal]

OH!!!!! HAVE YOU CHECKED THE CYBER CAFÉ DUMPSTER by any chance? there HAS to be some leftover cake there!!!! i heard there was an event recently!!