#@scooby-doo-exploration

[beyourselfchulanmaria]

As THE LIFE & SOMETIMES LOVE SHORT . . .

「逝川與流光，飄忽不相待。」

-唐．李白〈古風〉詩-

(The flowing river and the passing time are fleeting and never wait for you.)

【HD】周深 -流光 [Official Music Video] 官方完整版MV

《流光》 作詞：良朋 作曲：岑思源 演唱：周深

點一盞上元燈 將緣分照亮 可還記得 初見你時的模樣 淋一場清明雨 打濕了過往 村口牧笛聲 伴悠悠杏花香

捧一把艾草青 讀離騷朗朗 路漫漫兮 直掛雲帆濟滄浪 畫一輪中秋月 窗前誰在眺望 千里共嬋娟 心安處是吾鄉

春花秋月 誰與我共賞 每逢佳節 思念又盛放 執子之手 共飲這流光 萬家燈火 照山河無恙

溫一壺重陽酒 醉遊子夢鄉 遍插茱萸 鄉愁落在了何方 貼一幅新楹聯 滿目皆是春光 爆竹聲聲 祈願��運萬年長

春花秋月 誰與我共賞 每逢佳節 思念又盛放 執子之手 共飲這流光 萬家燈火 照山河無恙

春花秋月 誰與我共賞 每逢佳節 思念又盛放 執子之手 共飲這流光 萬家燈火 照山河無恙

FROM :  mysterypersonality

[the-ghost-rat]

Ppl whom redesign operetta to be just like her dad eric are weak and very clearly did not pay attention to her character

“She needs to be human cus-“ its monster high not everyone high if they didnt make jekylls or the invisible mans sons a human why would they make erics daughter a human??

“Why is she southern and has a gothabilly fashion style erics french-“ bcus the whole point is she D O E S N T want to be like her dad, she wants to be her own person

[here-for-the-vibe]

Shoutout to ALL of my childhood shows actually. Half of them I thought were hallucinations for a hot minute

(I fear these may give away the fact that I am very much not someone who can legally drink in the US)

[the-simple-creature]

"Would you fight or hurt someone to help your friend?"

There are a couple characters missing due to lack of knowledge or a bad picture.

[elijones94]

Susie Smythe from the “It’s All Greek to Scooby” episode of “What’s New, Scooby-Doo?”

[eritvita]

“We almost died back there. Maybe we should introduce ourselves.” [hi and hello from Vayu. @halfdeadsacrifice]

@halfdeadsacrifice

And Roland, bruised and water-logged and scraped from loose floorboards and the snatching fingers of unfriendly branches, doth borne onto a relieved cackling.

“A measured amount of untidy feelings ‘twards trespassing dost this spirit so quake,” says he, his back resting against the outside of this haunted house, his legs splayed out a’fore him. His hair is tousled, snagged, and his leather satchel, which is always upon his person, remains beautifully latched and resting within Roland's lap. He beams. “I am Roland. Faire tidings and sprinting idles come I, onto thee. Whom art thou?” asks he.

terrible first meetings .

[moofmoo]

hopefully the poll works this time.

for some reason i thought both of these were the same post and i sat for awhile trying to figure out which ice cream face was the weak bitch

[maxwellpaws]

[aro-tarot]

Why is it when I spend time on drawing to draw Clover in a cartoon style, they just look meh, but I do a quick doodle of Emmrich and he looks so much better? 😂

[grapesofa]

And then the guy is like "man, I really wish there was a marvel movie that's not about superheroes and instead focuses on a group of guys who hunt ghosts together. It should be a comedy and there needs to be at least one scene where a guy gets sucked off by a ghost." And then you tell him that he should check out Ghostbusters and he tells you to go fuck yourself.

People keep trying to construct analogies for the cultural dominance of Dungeons & Dragons in tabletop roleplaying spaces like "imagine you met a guy who considers himself a cinema buff but exclusively watches Marvel Cinematic Universe films released within the past 12 months, explaining that he doesn't branch out because he just doesn't have the time to learn the lore of a second cinematic universe; when you suggest avoiding that problem by watching a standalone film that isn't part of any cinematic universe, he reacts like you're a huge weirdo, and after a bit of questioning it turns out he genuinely believes that films which are part of massive cinematic universes and black and white Eastern European art films about depression are the only kinds of movies which exist", and I know this is intended as hyperbole to illustrate the absurdity of the situation at hand, but, like, I have literally met the guy they are describing.

[long-song]

that place looks like it has bodies in the basement: from amelia pond, @inventrules

“isn't that the point? has there ever been anything worth seeing in a place that looks like the von trapp manor? besides the lovely singing children, obviously.” [oh no, now he's going to have 'how do you solve a problem like maria?' looping in his head the rest of the night.] spoken with a swift eye roll directed towards amelia, like he'd expected her thrill to match his, despite the TARDIS landing a few hundred yards outside what appeared to be an old, run down gothic abode of sorts. perhaps not everyone could envision the beauty, the immediate glamour when spider-webs and gruesome gargoyles were involved. listen closely, strain hard enough and you might catch the whiff of an old ghost's moan. brilliant. perfect destination for a break, he'd rather proudly thought. something different was good, keep her on her toes; himself, too! the instinct to turn heel and depart never once claimed residence. “first sign of a dead body, we'll vamoose right outa' there, okay? and we'll go anywhere you want, instead. beach planet, ice-cream planet— they do exist, y'know! but i want to explore the spooky mansion. and exploring a spooky mansion is no fun all by yourself.” brow cocked, starshine caught within his contagious smile, an attempt to guilt trip: flash those big eyes, the inevitable stench of loneliness, and she'll accompany you, like she always does. like you know she will.

chin raised pointedly, prepared to part the heavy doors up ahead, seek the wonder in the most macabre places. perhaps a way to dazzle her, [he fancied that notion at the best of times] show off the light in the darkest spots. the doctor held out his eager hand, fingers itching for her own, twiddling them outwards to entice hers inwards. “come along, miss pond. big old house now, beach planet... er, maybe later. if i'm wrong, that is, which i'm probably not. but hey, there's a first for everything. just... indulge me for the moment, aye?”

[medufasa]

Did I mention that I'm obsessed with GoAnimate again

[death-by-dumpling]

[aziraphale-is-a-cat]

DCxDP Danny Jones

(inspired by this particular image)

The depths of Gotham harbor were, historically, not the kind sort of waters. Many lives had been hidden in their depths, taken by nature or by the nature of man. The coast itself was mostly silt deposits while the water was dark and cold. Many sailors had lost their lives to the unpredictable waters and only rumors told of the number who had been laid to rest beside them. Any day on the beach overlooking the Delaware Bay it could be assumed more people lay beneath the waves than were sunning themselves within their reach.

Danny had grown up landlocked in the great state of Illinois. He had never seen the ocean in his lifetime and generally considered his first experience with it to be the sensation of his death. The portal to the Realms was suffocating, and to his senses, endless. Crashing waves of energy had overtaken him as he felt warmth seep from him for the last time.

A new start in Gotham City was meant to help him escape that emptiness, but standing at the railing over rocky and turbulent waters dissuaded him of the plan's effectiveness. The currents were strangely alluring to Danny, and for yet another night in a row he watched the stars reflect off the water and wondered how they would look from beneath.

He knew it was a strange compulsion, given the reputation of the harbor, but it was one he felt the need to see through. Sighing, Danny made the descent down the generally unwelcoming beach. The rocky dropoff from the wall was easy enough to make his way down, but looking behind him he couldn't help but feel as though it wasn't there to keep people out of the ocean, but in. A wave rolled in lapping at his feet, an invitation.

The water was cold, a welcome temperature as he waded to waist deep, then further. As the water reached his chest he felt a cold hand wrap around his leg. And another. And more.

Being dragged through the ocean, Danny thought, was much less stressful when you didn't need to breathe.

-0-

Red Robin sat idly in the Bat-Swivel, wondering if the new case he'd picked up was a new rogue with a bit, or bonafide supernatural phenomena. One would think that after reaching a certain point in scientifically backed investigation that it would gradually be discovered that all presumed ghost sightings and alien abductions could be disrobed as pseudoscientific Scooby Doo style nonsense, but one would be dismayed to discover otherwise.

A new problem had erupted in fall, as what reports describe to be a drowned soul attacking and disfiguring prominent and low level gang members alike to be later found on the shores of Gotham Harbor. The attacks were committed in ways that at first seemed random, but many could be matched to the details of autopsy reports dating back decades with one thing in common, location of the cadaver.

Each body which could be matched to an attack had been discovered within or on the shores of Gotham Harbor. None of the attacks were fatal nor immobilizing, simply visible, as if the goal of these attacks was to display a level of brutality the victims may have taken with their own victims. The more gruesome of the attacks seemed to be the combination of multiple autopsy reports, which painted a brutal picture.

Tim ran his hand over his face, still covered by the cowl, and exited out from all applications on the Bat Computer. He paused slightly at the file explorer tab. He stopped to take a minute to rename the drive "Davy Jones" before ejecting the external hard drive the case file was stored on and packing up for the night.

[batsybat91]

You don't know how you ended up here. You try to run through the events in your head, but the math doesn't add up. You moved in with Johnny MacTavish and Simon Riley. Johnny was always chatty, but he's been away from home for a couple of days. That leaves you with Simon. Now, you're sitting at the kitchen table - coloring with Crayola, no less - and filling in a Scooby Doo coloring book with Ghost.

It strikes you just how strange this is. Men are scared of Simon. He's a practical Grim Reaper, and you know he's a living legend. That big boy in the skull face mask? You can't escape him if you see him because you're dead already. What would those same men, who are so afraid of him, think if they saw him coloring Daphne right now?

When did you start thinking of him as Simon instead of Ghost?

"You said you wanted to talk." You clear your throat after an awkward silence. The pencil in his hand stops working on the orange of Daphne's hair. "What did you want to talk about?"

"You," he says simply.

"Well, there's lots of things about me to know," you murmur, your own pencil stopping on Shaggy's shirt.

"Why did you tell me those... those dad jokes that night?" he whispers. Simon's accent wraps around each word like a warm blanket, comforting like it has never been before. You wonder if he made his voice softer on purpose, or if it was just your imagination.

"I was just trying to break the ice," you admit with a shrug.

"Why? You could've just stayed in your room." His gaze meets yours, eyes impossibly brown. Simon doesn't have his mask on today, which is a miracle by your standards. It reveals his shaggy blonde hair, his strong Roman nose, his stubbled jaw, and all the other traits of a handsome man.

"I don't like being alone." You force yourself to keep your eyes on his. "And you are kind to me when it matters."

"Are people often unkind, love?" The way he says "love" - like a word meant for you and you only - makes your heart stumble. You don't think he's ever called you that before.

"No." You shake your head. "But they are louder about it. Kind because it gets them affection or attention. You are kind because it is what's right."

Simon leans forward in his seat, his nose mere centimeters from yours. You can feel his breath fan across your lips, uneven yet quiet. You close the distance, resting your forehead against his own. One of his hands comes up to cup your face, surprisingly gentle for a man who has used those same hands to crack skulls and break knees. You lean into his touch instinctually, allowing his warmth to comfort you.

"I am also kind to you," he begins, swallowing hard. You see his Adam's apple bob with the force of it. "Because I think you're... gorgeous. Ravishing, really."

Your jaw drops straight to the floor. He, Ghost the big, bad sniper, finds you, the roommate, attractive? That can't be right. Your first instinct is that this is a prank, but Simon wouldn't prank you. Maybe Johnny, but certainly not Simon.

"You're not so bad yourself," you whisper finally.

"May I kiss you, darlin'?" he asks, his voice so quiet that you think he's nervous. Nervous to even say the words aloud.

"Yes, Simon," you breathe.

Simon wastes no time pressing his lips against yours. His lips aren't chapped, like you thought they might be. They're surprisingly soft against your own. You slide your hands into his short blonde hair, tugging just enough to elicit a quiet groan from him.

His kiss isn't hungry or fervent. He takes his time kissing you, ensuring you can feel everything he's feeling. You are hesitant to call it love, but he certainly kisses you like he's in love. When his tongue runs across the seam of your lips, you obediently open your mouth and allow him to explore.

He is deft with his tongue, tangling it with yours and finding spots that make your heart race. His hands move from your face to your waist, pulling you ever closer to him. The world narrows to just you and him. Nothing else matters to you, save for this brilliant, steamy kiss.

You think that's the moment you realized... you're in big trouble.

Part I

Part II