#idk who is to blame

[thefangedstoryteller]

i've just done my first ever mock exam today... and i'm not feeling so good about it and it definitely didn't help that my stomach was making noises during the exam a couple of times when the whole room was silent.

[cryptocism]

"just as I did, in 1983."

you'd never know my favourite parts of the show are the fucked up insane bits when my first instinct is to draw the cheesiest thing imaginable

[gingerswagfreckles]

It's also a little bit funny that other people are calling the guy who shot a healthcare CEO with bullets that said "deny defend depose" and was carrying a manifesto about how corporate America is evil a "Nikki Haley Republican" or part of the "center right." I guess based on the fact that he went to an expensive private school was messing around in Hawaii pretending to develop a video game as work until recently? Like. This guy left a goodreads review about how the Unibomber was an "extreme political revolutionary." While also traveling around the world on the money his parents made off of real estate and owning a chain of senior rehabilitation facilities.

I think a lot of you are really uncomfortable with how common champagne socialism is and frankly I think a lot of this is projection. This guy is very obviously someone who considers themselves a leftist revolutionary, and yet everyone is kind of re-framing him as a "Nikki Haley Republican" because they're uncomfortable with acknowledging that far leftists are often very privileged and hypocritical people. I've been talking about this for a long time, but a lot of the left (at least on the internet) is quite in denial about the fact that a lot of their beliefs aren't widely shared by the working class. That often, the loudest voices in the movement are those belonging to the wealthy, who are at the end of the day cosplaying and are more interested in acting out heroic fantasies than improving life for the working class.

[kermdoeswriting]

Tell Him

"You'll have to tell him at some point, you know."

Danny watched as Alfred stirred his tea with his favorite spoon before neatly placing it onto the napkin beside him.

He didn't look up once to see if Danny was even paying attention. He just continued to speak, as if he already knew that Danny was.

"It'd be awfully unfair of you not to do so. Knowing how much he trusts you with his own secrets."

Danny hums before taking another sip of his own tea that Alfred had prepared for him earlier. It wasn't as if he had never thought of telling Tim what he was, but the idea of rejection made him awfully nervous.

Dealing with the supernatural was one thing.

Dealing with a manifestation of a concept placed into a human body is another.

It was a hard thing for humans to deal with. When they finally knew who or really what he was.

"I was hoping maybe he'd catch on with context clues." Danny replies eventually, sounding meek as he shrunk into himself.

Alfred chuckled as a response.

"I'm afraid context clues might not be enough for him, Lord Hades."

Danny shrugged off his title, refusing to meet Alfred's eyes as he stirred his tea over and over again. The sugar dissolved ages ago, but he can't stop stirring anyway.

The repetitive motion calmed him from thinking of the inevitable.

"I can still hope, Alfred." He pouted eventually, breaking their silence. Alfred laughed at him.

"Hoping is foolish, but your yearning is even worse for us both."

Danny looked over at the older man, wisdom leaking from his bones after all of his years untouched by his very presence. While Alfred had bristled with death in the past, he had never quite got that singular touched mark until Danny came along.

"How so?"

"You know how," Alfred tutted at him knowingly, eyes back on his tea before taking another sip.

"You are delaying the inevitable by keeping me here. All to keep seeing him."

Danny's silent, the words trapped in his throat for a moment before he speaks.

"Is that such a bad thing? To want to live longer?"

"It is when you've lived all the life you're supposed to live."

The two go silent again. Danny finishes his tea.

"Tonight... after the gala..." He hesitates when he sees Alfred's eyes on him again, looking away towards the Wayne Garden roses next to him. "After I tell him, we'll go."

Alfred hums, sounding unconvinced. He finishes his tea as well after a long moment.

"If you insist."

_ _ _

"You know Danny?"

Tim started off as he walked on top of the cement barrier, Danny walking beside him. The garden was cold tonight, making Tim have goosebumps.

Danny seemed unphased by the chill. Like he always was.

"You never really told us how you're related to Alfred."

Danny hummed in response, already knowing Tim was not done with his train of thought. His hands were shoved into his suit pants, and he was hunched as he walked.

In a way, Tim found it attractive.

"It's just odd. Alfred's never really told us much about his family, except for the occasional offhand thing. And then you're just here. No prior mention or anything!"

At that, Tim watched Danny smile at the floor as if expecting Tim to question such a thing before shaking his head in defeat.

"That's because we're not closely related at all." Danny confirms, finally taking a moment to look up at Tim.

Tim stops abrupt at the admission and stares at him as well. He can't stop the stray, sudden thought that Danny looked so pretty under the Gotham moon.

Danny just continues to stare at him with a small amount of light in his eyes, waiting for some kind of reaction from him but Tim doesn't give him one. "We're actually far from it."

"Who are you then?"

Tim could only really hear the crickets chirping the longer they stood there. Behind him gala guests were chattering away and glasses were clinking together.

Still, despite being so close, it all sounded so far away with the way his ears were drumming.

"I think you know who."

The two just continued to stare at each other, Tim unable to really look away.

"Death...?"

Danny looked even softer, all knowingly even, up at him and didn't answer.

But even then Tim knew he was right. And all he felt was his stomach aching with butterflies as shaking chills changed from the cold, into fear.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Or basically

Danny is Death / The Grim Reaper, and he's been sent to the Waynes to collect Alfreds soul. The only problem is that he fell in love with Alfreds grandson, Tim, at first sight, and has been delaying the inevitable because of it.

[tosya-quartz]

I came to the conclusion that everyone is just crazy about Redacted's little ponytail for bangs, so here, take a closer look :з

Art without letters and reference (it's just me)

looks a little disproportionate, but my goal was not to draw everything correctly, just to giggle hehe

[seasononesam]

Guess I might have to stick around to be a pain in the ass, then.

[achingly-shy]

kat's five-star agents of shield episodes (1/?) + @goosecoven’s may art event: get to know you night 🪿

"pasty? oh, really? well, when did you become so sun-kissed? because i'm pretty sure that every minute of every day, you've been stuck in a lab right beside me. at the academy, at sci-ops, this plane — you've been beside me the whole damn time!"

[linkbetweenlinksau]

End of chapter 1- The Mark

Part 1|| part 2|| Next

[beanghostprincess]

I understand Garp, I truly do. But personally if my grandson were about to be executed just for existing after years of asking himself if he deserves to live, idk, I think I would've gone on a fucking rampage and had killed everybody

[razables]

creation/destruction

echoes | corruption

[stellar-collective]

If you ever draw more Ángel/Beebo art I will eat it like a starving detective in a labyrinth 😉

I have so many ideas for a sequel I'm too much of a coward to write it's not even funny

still have no idea how colors or backgrounds work but i gave it a shot. obsessed with how this game so strongly romanticizes the mundane yes go slow dance badly in ur living room to the vinyls ur boyfriend bought you that’s what life is all about!!!!

[iwantmochisoup]

soukoku yokai AU - work in progress

(trying out this whole posting wip thing, lmk if you like it??? pls :3)

[spooky-activity]

Since there aren't complex backgrounds in this one, I can get back to my true passion: rendering Himeko's hair.

First

Previous

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[mythalism]

hmmm. thinking about how veilguard seems to subscribe more to the more traditional "video game as personal power fulfillment fantasy of heroism" than any other dragon age game, except perhaps origins, though origins does it more artfully.

[tashiduncandonaldson]

and if i say that tashi’s injury was truly a freak accident that would’ve happened regardless of the dorm room fight, and neither art nor patrick is to blame for it, what then?

[wren-kitchens]

i can’t find the words

1492 words

the infirmary is silent, save for the raspy breathing of its only inhabitant. it took a long while for him to ignore the pain enough to drift off, but I doubt his dreams are being particularly kind to him; getting tortured does that to a guy. apollo left after he was certain he had done all he could, and is currently resting. if you think harming a god like that takes a lot of power, healing a god tends to take twice that much —you can’t pour from an empty oinochoe, as they say, and if poseidon's sorry state is anything to go by, he'll be needed again pretty soon. 

okay this one is pretty much entirely based on @neal-illustrator's famtheon hkfdj this is also partly inspired by luke Sobbing in the live-streamed watchthrough of the ithica saga songs

have some zeus & poseidon hurt/comfort 👍 a part 2 to this!

cw: mentions of torture and injury!

the infirmary is silent, save for the raspy breathing of its only inhabitant. it took a long while for him to ignore the pain enough to drift off, but I doubt his dreams are being particularly kind to him; getting tortured does that to a guy. apollo left after he was certain he had done all he could, and is currently resting. if you think harming a god like that takes a lot of power, healing a god tends to take twice that much —you can’t pour from an empty oinochoe, as they say, and if poseidon's sorry state is anything to go by, he'll be needed again pretty soon. 

of course, all of olympus has heard the news—courtesy of hermes, to no one's surprise—and yet even the trickster god himself has not set foot in the healing chambers. if you ask me (and really, who else is there to ask?), they’re all rather frightened. not of poseidon himself, or the injuries, but of what the two combined represent: if the god of the ocean, all-powerful and second strongest deity in all the land, can be taken down by a mere mortal.. what does that say for the rest of them? 

no one other than I actually dare to voice this sentiment, but it hangs heavy in the air near the silent infirmary. the area is usually less bustling, due to its solemn nature, but athena's brief visit after her.. little spat with zeus brought flocks of siblings and uncles and cousins to simper and sympathise and bring flowers of every kind. after all, a god wounding another is hardly an uncommon sight—and not even remotely cause for concern. now, poseidon's chamber remains empty of any signs of life other than the god himself in the bed, and smears of golden ichor on the bedsheets from what his bandages could not contain. a grim sight indeed.

although- I tell a lie. for the first time since poseidon arrived, someone other than apollo enters the chamber—uncharacteristically hesitant, almost walking back out as they feel the crushing silence in the place. the god carries an almost amusingly small flower when compared to their size, but the expression on their face erases any hilarity the situation may have created. after all, it's one thing to hear the god of the ocean was struck down by a mortal—it's another matter entirely to see your elder brother near-lifeless after being tortured with his own weapon. 

the fact that his brother remains asleep is both a source of anxiety and relief for zeus. it's not news to anyone that the king of gods does not like to show weakness, let alone affection, and poseidon's lack of consciousness combined with the rest of the pantheon's aversion to the infirmary allows for him to act unobserved (of course, they are not entirely unobserved, but they are unaware of my existence, dear reader). on the other hand.. the empty look on the sleeping ocean god's face, accompanied by the ichor-stained bandages across his torso and eye brings a mortifying dread to zeus' heart that he would vehemently deny ever experiencing, even to himself.

poseidon stirs, muttering something inaudible, and zeus practically freezes in place. he makes to turn over, and immediately groans in pain, startling awake. it takes a second for him to regain his bearings, but when he does, he practically stares at zeus, visibly surprised. momentarily, the brothers gape at one another, both feeling somewhat caught out, before finally, zeus speaks. 

"I- brother!" he says, making an attempt at his usual bravado and falling ever so slightly short. "I see you are- making a speedy recovery?"

blinking back sleep and lasting confusion, poseidon clears his throat- and suppresses a wince as his wounds protest. "yes, I- apollo has been doing.. good work."

"I can see." zeus tries for a confident smile. it doesn't quite reach his eyes as it typically does. "that- the colour of your skin is.. coming back, I believe."  

"oh." poseidon raises a hand, glancing at the back of it. "I suppose- yes, it is." he looks back at zeus. "brother.. what are you doing here?"

zeus scoffs. "what- I cannot visit you when you are ill?" he says, hoping he sounds more flippant than he suspects he does. "am I not typically kind?"

poseidon decides not to answer the second question. "it's simply out of the ordinary for you." he says cautiously, on instinct. "besides, do you see another soul here?"

"you need rest!" zeus says, as if it was meant to be obvious. "it would be rude to interrupt-"

"zeus," poseidon says, and zeus stops in his tracks. "why are you here?" 

zeus opens his mouth to say something along the lines of 'it's my duty', or 'do you think me so heartless?', but nothing of the sort comes out. in fact- nothing comes out at all, to both his and poseidon's surprise, other than a painfully quiet exhale, containing far more emotion than he ever wants to express in his life again. something shifts in poseidon's expression, as if he understood what that meant, and zeus is about to blast them both into ash when poseidon reaches a hand out. 

"brother, I will be fine." he says, and it suddenly occurs to zeus that he's offering to hold his hand. without his say, zeus' eyes dart to poseidon's amputated arm, something seizing in his chest in a way that has not occurred in centuries. "if kro-"

"I know." zeus says before poseidon can continue, like he can dispel the realisations from the two of them if he just talks loud enough. "you shall make a full recovery. apollo is an excellent healer- he is my son, of course." 

"yes." poseidon says, dropping his hand. zeus can’t help but feel as if he’s lost something. "but I will not let that mortal wipe me off this earth." he says, with a bite of malice in his words that suggest he’s being a little more truthful than he probably should be. "I will not give him the satisfaction." he looks at zeus. "just as I did not give our grandfather the satisfaction. I have dealt with worse."

"must you-" zeus starts with the intention of criticising his brother, when his voice fails him as it has never done before. "must you say that?"

poseidon gives a little smile. "brother, it has been millennia. you cannot fault me-"

"you did not have to watch." zeus hates this—the way his voice betrays him, the sympathy in poseidon's eyes, the memories his injuries bring to the surface of his mind. hating it does not make it disappear, no matter how much he wished it would. "both times- I had to watch. I cannot- I will not let you leave once again."

poseidon raises his hand, and this time zeus does not hesitate in taking it, desperately trying to convince himself it is for poseidon's comfort, rather than his own. "I have no intentions of leaving. you are king of the gods."

"in which case, I order you to remain." zeus says, and he feels just as he did all those years ago—playing make believe with his brother, imagining what life would be like if they were on top. "you cannot disobey a royal order."

"I would not dare." poseidon says in that mock solemn voice zeus remembers all too well. he finds that his throat is suddenly tight at the memory. "the all-powerful zeus could strike me down if he so wish-"

zeus decides not to remember what he does next. he does not recall how he ended up with his arms around his brother, nor does he recall blaming the dampness on his face on poseidon's hair. he most certainly has no memory of the way poseidon's embrace felt so painfully similar to how it used to, and it'd be impossible to say if his brother muttered comforting words into zeus' hair as he once did. 

poseidon remembers, though. the gentleness that was so clearly out of zeus' nature as he did his best to avoid upsetting his tender wounds, the familiarity of his brother in arms mixed with how bizarre it felt to be equal in size after centuries of memories of his baby brother. he remembers feeling silently grateful for zeus' sobs masking his own, for odysseus—somehow—landing them both in this situation, and he certainly will not forget the whispered 'I think I missed this,' for a thousand lifetimes.