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Let Sleeping Dogs Lie.

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Shhhhhhhhh I definitely didn’t finish these like two months ago and forget about them noooo.

These are from screen caps from the 2005 Justice League Unlimited show season 1 episode 2. I drew them to go along with this superbat fanfiction I wrote for @cricket-mound :)

Anyway here you are

There are more I’d like to draw but they will have to wait till after finals

Originals under the cut

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the midwest is so beautiful this time of year…….reblog 2 support our farmers

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*at the Wayne’s for a BBQ*

Jon, pointing at Jason’s chest as he gets out of the pool: woah, how did you get THAT one?

Jason, looking down at his autopsy scar:

Jason: *makes eye contact with Clark behind Jon*

Jason: uh.

Jason: that happened because when I was a kid I refused to go to bed when my dad told me to.

Jon: *gasp*

Jason: yeah… I should have listened. if you stay up too late the… I dunno. the bedtime monster. yeah. if you don’t listen then the bedtime monster attacks you for not sleeping and you get one of these.

Jon, whispering: I had no idea…

Jon, solemnly: thank you for warning me.

Jason: anytime.

Damian, watching Clark slip Jason ten dollars from the other side of the pool: by god, my friend is an idiot.

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Based on this: https://youtu.be/83UASUR5RWU?si=OTHaNcvwheHFDWIM

Bruce: Jason, who’s your favourite Justice League member?

Jason: Wonder Woman, easy

Bruce: Male league member?

Jason: Green Lantern

Dick, catching on: What about one with man in his name

Jason: Superman

Bruce: Doesn’t dress in blue

Jason: Aquaman

Dick: Not an Atlantean

Jason: Deadman

Bruce: No Justice League Dark members

Jason: Plastic Man

Dick: One that has an animal theme?

Jason: Hawkman

Bruce, exasperated: Wears black.

Jason: Nobody comes to mind. Then again, it’s been a while since I’ve seen the updated roster, yknow- with the whole busy crimelord and dying thing.

Bruce: Fine. Favourite Justice League member standing in this very room. Right now.

Jason: Oh! Nightwing.

Bruce: He doesn’t fit all the previous requirements-

Jason, shrugging: Well will you look at that, I guess you’re right. Whoops.

Tim, chiming in: Technically, he fits all of the previous criteria if we count only his Batman days.

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A Visual Bat Family Timeline

This is going off a post I made trying to figure out everyone's canon ages: here. The receipts are there and I included as many comic panels as I could.

I know time doesn't really make sense in this universe but I do like the idea that all of them still grow up, just like the rest of us. And that gives weight to legacy too.

Notes: This calendar doesn't use a "year zero". The storyline headers below "Post-Crisis" represent different eras, for the lack of a better word, not just the storylines themselves. The numbers are the age a character will turn in a given year. Year 18 and Year 21 are largely timeskip.

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I made these as a way to compile all the geographical vocabulary that I thought was useful and interesting for writers. Some descriptors share categories, and some are simplified, but for the most part everything is in its proper place. Not all the words are as useable as others, and some might take tricky wording to pull off, but I hope these prove useful to all you writers out there!

(save the images to zoom in on the pics)

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flea's cool links of stuff

updated 3/11/25

apps

flashpoint — archive of thousands of flash games, free to play

seal — youtube video/audio downloading app

readables

how to draw oji-san

morpho: fat and skin folds

morpho: face, neck and head

websites

yout — web-based youtube video/audio downloader

ytdlp – web-based version of a youtube video/audio downloader

x6ud – interactive skull references for animals, includes humans

earthsworld — plenty of unique, interesting faces for character design inspo

goblin-heart/sadgrl — lots of webmastery resources

apks

* decode from base64 to get the links!! all of these are ones i personally use

aHR0cHM6Ly9hcGttb2R5LmNvbS9hcHBzL3BvbGFyci9kb3dubG9hZC8w

YmVzdGZvcmFuZHJvaWQuY29tL2Fway9zcG90aWZ5LXByZW1pdW0tbW9kLWFway1mcmVl

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My #1 victims of futuristic dystopian capitalism, the crew of the Tulpar!! Whoop!

Bonus: close ups and their of pretty borders

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New obsession: Mouthwashing!

Gah this game man. It’s so good. I can’t stop thinking about it. So I drew it! Here’s Anya and Daisuke

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Everyone pick up your government-assigned fursona, grab your two colors then combine it with this random animal picker. Tell us what you get and no rerolls, I don't make the rules.

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Hmmmm hm. Okay. Worldbuilding/story idea.

One million years after humanity disappears, octopi and ravens have independently developed sapience. And one day an octopus child and an elder raven meet at the edge of the ocean.

Where is your mother and father? asks the raven. I have no mother or father, says the octopus, blushing pale. All octopi are children. Once we’re grown, we will mate and we will die. It is the first and the last thing our mothers tell us.

But that’s horrible, says the raven. It’s not all bad, says the octopus. We play, we hunt, we make games for ourselves in the deep. Yes, but who remembers your songs? the raven says. Who passes down your stories?

What is a story? the octopus asks.

And the raven thinks about this question. And finally it says: A story is how you remember things in the past. It is how you know where you come from, and what happened before you were born. A story can be a warning, or it can be advice, or it can be a silly joke told to make you feel good. Someone remembers the story and tells it to the next generation, who remember the story and tells it to the generation after them.

And the octopus thinks about this answer. And finally it says: Can you tell me a story?

And the raven tells the octopus a story. And it’s a good story. And the next day the octopus returns and asks for another. The next day it brings its octopus friends, and the raven brings its raven friends, and many stories are shared on the edge of the ocean.

Months later, the octopus returns to the raven. I am grown, it says. I am returning to the sea to find a mate and lay my brood. I will not be coming back. I’m sorry.

I will miss your company, says the raven.

I have one thing to ask you, says the octopus. In time my children will come to the edge of the ocean. I would like you to tell them a story I have made. And when they have stories of their own, I would like your children to remember them and pass them down to my children’s children.

Of course, says the raven. What is your story about?

And the octopus thinks, and says: It is about an octopus child and an elder raven who meet at the edge of the ocean.

And this story has been passed down to this day.

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assorted superman doodle practice

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Perhaps you’d be willing to dabble in writing for the Boondock Saints fandom again. Your Greenly and Smecker fanfic was superb. And if you don’t- that’s cool- you have a nice writing style!

Holy shit??? I wrote that as a joke for my friend who adores Willem Dafoe, but honestly shit was so fun. Anything in particular you’d like to see?

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Hellsing Anti-Whumptober Prompt 5

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Coyote takes the turn around the corner at near break-neck speed. She knows she shouldn’t, that the servant’s passages in the Hellsing Mansion are windy and confusing on the best of days, but frankly there’s too much panic coursing through her veins for her to care.

The kitchens are quiet this time of day. Lunch typically isn’t a large affair on Mondays, seeing as Mondays are the day that most of the operatives are expecting sandwiches and possibly some seasonal fruit, so it’s a peaceful quiet that Coyote resoundly breaks when she skids into the room. In her panic, the young girl manages to knock over a stack of empty crates gathered by the door to be taken out to the trash, and she goes flying, stopping at Laura’s feet.

Coyote looks up at the werewolf slowly, but the fear in her eyes isn’t because of Laura’s intimidating resting face. No, Coyote has much bigger things to worry about. 

From over by the sink, a slender siren takes their attention off washing dishes to look over at the commotion. “What’s got you in a twist?”

“It’s Sir Integra,” the light haired teen starts, “she’s…in a bad mood.”

Laura’s deep rolling laugh startles Coyote, and she jolts where she is on the floor. “Integra is never in a good mood! I hardly doubt that a Monday is what’s going to make her decide to kill us all.”

“No, you don’t understand! It’s not just me,” the younger maid explains, her tone growing increasingly frantic. “Everyone’s avoiding her, even Walter!”

Theron turns the faucet off so they can look at the young girl with a more critical eye. She hasn’t been here long, but one doesn’t have to be to know that Walter is rarely far from Integra’s side. So for her to say that even Walter is avoiding the Hellsing leader…

“What happened that made her so upset?”

“Sir Integra made a fatal error on an operation yesterday.” All three heads in the room snap to the eastern doorway, where the tall, lanky head of staff stands. To an outside observer he would look entirely presentable, but to the members of the Hellsing staff who have been on payroll for more than a month or so, he looks positively harrowed. “She forgot that—even with her complexion—sunscreen is essential when spending extended periods of time outdoors.” 

Immediately everyone remembers what happened the day before. Integra had been called to a meeting with one of the Circle of Twelve members sometime mid-morning. Thinking that the location would be easier to secure, the other member had planned for the meeting to take place on a boat. There had been a mishap at the dock and someone had untied the wrong rope. It was only after Integra realized that some important papers had been left in the car that either of the Knights had gone above deck, only to find that they’d drifted into the middle of the secluded lake! Since no one had been actually planning for the boat to leave the dock, no fuel had been pumped into the tank and, due to the nature of the discussion and some of the materials they were examining, neither party could just leave the boat. So they were stuck, floating, during the sunniest day they’d had in months, for nearly six hours.

“Ah,” Theron says, and the room silently agrees.

Two floors up, Seras tentatively knocks on the large mahogany door that stands between her and Integra’s office. She looks over her shoulder at the two maids hiding behind a corner, who nervously give her a thumbs up. “Master,” she calls, shifting the weight of the package in her arms, “I ‘ave your mail!”

“Enter,” comes the muffled voice from the other side of the door.

Pushing open the door with her hip, Seras finds herself face-to-face with Integra Hellsing, head of the monster hunting Hellsing Organization, looking like she’s been dumped in a vat of JELL-O.

“S-Sir?”

Integra’s glare is cold enough to give the undead vampire chills despite her face being slathered in aloe. “Not. A. Word,” she says, each word sharp and crisp, honed like the edge of a blade. A very dangerous blade.

Seras sets the package down and backs away in a way that reminds her distantly of her police training. A part of her wishes she was still with the police, that way she could at least call for back up. But she knows that no one else in this house would risk Integra’s wrath for a million pounds, much less her. She’s going to have to make her own escape.

“Is-Is there anythin’ else I can do for you, Sir?”

Seras doesn’t need to breathe but in that moment she doesn’t think that she would be doing so even if she had to. Behind her back her fingers cross, and in her head a mantra of please say no please say no please say no is set on loop. 

Maybe there is some vampiric power of manifestation that Alucard has neglected to tell her about or maybe she was particularly benevolent in a past life. Whatever it is, Seras’s luck is good this time and Integra simply gives her a curt dismissal. She’s out of that room faster than she has ever moved before.

Once back in the hall, Seras leans against the door and physically feels her boss’s black mood lift off her shoulders. The two maids who had caught her in the hall earlier and asked her to deliver the package for them run up to her, and in hushed voices, ask “Well?!”

One last shiver runs down Seras’s spine, and she stumbles away from the door, putting distance between herself and the malice soaking the office.

“You do not wanna go in there,” she says, like the final warning of a horror movie survivor. “It’s bad.”

“How bad?”

“Let’s just say…if you mention the word sunscreen round ’er, you’d best make sure yer will’s sorted.”

OCs in this one are Coyote, Laura, and Theron, who belong to @dogspleen, @cry-ptidd, and @coffin-of-dust respectively. Go check them out!

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Hellsing Anti-Whumptober Prompt 8

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The ballroom is loud, the conversations of nearly two hundred guests overlapping, each voice increasing in volume in an attempt to vie for attention, and it makes Integra’s head throb. She’d thought that this corner of the room, dark and cushioned by the thick velvet curtains as it is, might be quieter than the rest of the room when she decided on a place to retreat. She wasn’t wrong per se, the corner isn’t as loud as the center of the space, but there’s not enough of a difference to save her headache. 

The young girl rubs her eyes, sending up a prayer that she’ll be able to leave soon. After her father died Sir Penwood briefly took over some of the desk work that had consumed most of Arthur Hellsing’s days, but he has his own duties to attend to and besides, Integra is fourteen now. It’s about time she starts proving herself. Of course, Walter disagrees, saying that she’s still a child and should be allowed to have some semblance of a normal childhood. The thing is, Integra doesn’t want a normal childhood. She wants responsibility, she wants control, and she wants her birthright, goddamn it. 

It’s because of this that the young Hellsing has spent nearly every night this past week staying up and pouring over paperwork. She’s been doing it late at night to mitigate the chances of Walter catching her and forcing her to bed, but she hadn’t foreseen how the lack of sleep might affect her. So here she is, at some boring, unimportant gathering of London’s most important people, and she just wants to go home and sleep. 

Integra’s eyes—which she hadn’t noticed had begun to slide shut—snap open at the sound of someone flopping into the chair next to her. “Not a fan of parties?”

Integra can’t help it; she stares. The girl in the chair beside her is about her age, a bit shorter, and has hair that looks almost reddish purple, but maybe it’s just the light playing tricks on Integra’s tired mind. 

Remembering the question, Integra clears her throat. “Not particularly, no.”

“I don’t like them either,” the other girl says, looking out at the ballroom with a small frown. Her voice is honest—like she doesn’t second guess what she’s saying, and so she means every word—and it carries a vaguely American accent. “Too many old stuffy people and too many thick stuffy layers.”

Integra looks down at the girl’s dress and finds that it does, in fact, have a good deal of layers.

“Have you ever thought about wearing suits?” Integra asks without thinking. “They’re sometimes lighter. Plus you can take off the layers and still be presentable.”

“True, but they make it so much harder to move. And they don’t come in as many colors or fun designs.”

She’s got a point there, and Integra says as much. “However, you don’t have to worry about carrying a clutch or handbag.”

“Oh, you’ve got a point there. I hate it that girls’ clothes don’t have pockets. I mean, you can try to add them in later, but it’s not the same. But hey, if you like suits so much how come you’re not wearing one now?”

Integra looks down at herself, remembering that she is indeed wearing a dress. “Walter picked it out for me. He said that it made me look ‘regal,’ or something to that effect.”

“Does it have pockets?”

“I believe so?”

“You don’t know?” The red haired girl asks, her expression flabbergasted. “That’s like, the first thing I would check.”

“I didn’t think to when I put it on.”

The American girl laughs, but it doesn’t feel like she’s making fun of Integra. “Woah, you really are tired!”

“I suppose I am,” Integra mutters. 

“Here, I’ve got something that’ll wake you up.” The other girl turns around and digs into the small purse Integra hadn’t noticed she’d slung over the back of her chair, her black dress shimmering with the movement. She pulls a red packet of cigarettes and a gold lighter embossed with a pointed cross and thorns from the bag, then holds them out to Integra. “Only if you want though.”

Integra is reaching out before she even realizes it.

The party is noisy, the room crowded and stuffy, but out on the balcony, with smoke snaking from their mouths, Integra Hellsing soothes the bags beneath her eyes with the company of a new friend.

A big thank you to @nursekitties for letting me include their girl. Minerva is very fun to write, and I hope I did her justice!