#⋮ ❛my edits › ooc.

[humans-are-tasty]

[royalarchivist]

Happy 1 Year Anniversary to the QSMP!

Unfortunately, I don't have any time to do a fun little video compilation of clips like I wanted to, so instead, here's a revamp of one of my favorite silly edits I've done for this series so far! :'D

[cathamburger]

missing the beach

[medusas-graveyard]

Comfort In A Knight

There was an uproar in the infinite realms after they found out about the GIW's imprisonment of the crowned prince, and as an attempt to damage control, he decides to hold a temporary martial law over the dimension. Some are upset, of course; but all of them ultimately acknowledges the young ruler's attempts on not starting an interdimensional war.

A few months go by, and while the inhabitants of the infinite realms all calmed down from the initial uproar, ironically, the crowned prince is the one getting agitated by the meddling of humans. All the pressure of his monarch lessons so he could take the king mantel, civil conflict between different parts of the realm, and some extremist rebellions are slowly making him more tired, anxious, and easily agitated. The once lawful neutral prince has turned into someone who would get rid of anyone he deemed as a bug, squashed by the heel of his boots.

Tl:Dr; He's tired of everyone's bullshit.

.

So really, it's not a surprise to see his eldritch self bounded inside a summoning circle, surrounded by Justice League members because of course he is.

"What do you want."

He's really contemplating on going 'fuck it' and destroy earth right now.

...that is, before a familiar gruffy voice called out to him.

"That's enough, Charon."

He whipped his head (if you can call it that) to the direction of the voice, finding batman's figure walking closer to him, ignoring the yelling from other Justice League members.

Eventually, he drops his act and turn into the teenager the Batman is all too familiar with. The boy drops his hand below the golden ribcage nestled on his chest, the familiar white hair peeking out of his hood slightly move around non-existent air, as his Lazarus green eyes stared at the dark knight, causing his Calavera–painted face to scrunch.

The man didn't stop for a second as he trudged closer, only stopping when he's directly Infront of the ghost, all within arms reach.

"I'm right here."

For the first time in several months, the prince finds himself breaking down into a sob. He easily destroyed the (poor attempt of a) binds caging him, throwing himself to the Knight's body.

The rest of the League stared at them dumbfoundedly, before Batman eventually sighed.

"Justice league; Phantom. Crowned prince of the infinite realms."

"...And my ward."

Notes:

Reference on Danny's clothing

Yep. Another adoptee au

[rsanchezslut]

I just have this crazy image of like. Being DISASTROUSLY tired for whatever reason, maybe work was shit or Rick put you up to something that ended up going badly, and you’re just dragging your tired, achey feet back to your house so you collapse into bed…

And when you finally make it home, pushing open the door expecting dead silence and darkness, Rick is there on your couch waiting for you, a plate of dinner Beth made wrapped in cellophane, a sweaty beer he’s been saving for you next to it on the coffee table, watching TV of sorts or fiddling with an invention and whatnot.

And it used to be you’d get home from days like this to nothing, nobody. And maybe you’d give Rick a call for sex or attention or even just to tell him you miss him… but suddenly he’s waiting up for you, looking at you standing in the doorway to the living room as if he doesn’t know, is ignoring why you’re shocked.

N you don’t want to scare him off, so you sorta just float down next to him, not saying anything, sitting down and waiting for him to acknowledge you except it’s just…

“Well?” Rick says, giving you somewhat of bland look from out of the corner of his eye, “gonna say hi or what, baby?”

You’re not sure if it’s shock or exhaustion causing your silence to fester, the surprise of his presence or the unexpected joy that’s starting to simmer at the realization he had the idea to come see you.

“Hi, Rick,” you coo softly, tiredly, nudging into him as you sink next to him on the couch, and then when he doesn’t respond immediately, “What are you doing here?”

He rolls his eyes. “If I knew you didn’t want me around, I wouldn’t have come. I’m happy to leave.”

There’s no malice in his voice, none of the usual heat and tease, so it’s obvious there’s no intention behind the threat. Still, you reach out for him anyway, grabbing the hand closest to you as if to stop him from pulling out his portal gun suddenly.

“No,” you say, almost too quickly, too needy, causing his pinched face to melt somewhat. “No. I mean… I just wasn’t expecting you, is all.”

You lean in hesitantly to press a kiss to his stubbly cheek, a kiss he tilts to return when you pull away slowly, as if in fear that he wouldn’t be receptive. His lips are surprisingly gentle against yours, it’s more of a peck than his usual excited kiss, wet with passion and ferocity at the thought of what will happen next, but the tenderness isn’t unwanted, and in fact, fills you with a sudden warmth that quickly seems to overpower your fatigue from the day.

(And you find that it’s not lust or longing but rather a feeling of affection which seems to buzz under your skin, as if aching to be let out.)

Reaching a hand up to his jaw, you pull back to stare into Rick’s own eyes, suddenly going shy as he gestures to the plate of food he brought you.

“Thanks for coming,” you peck him again, this time fully pulling him away from the TV, “I’m really happy to see you, you know?”

“Yeah,” he says, shutting his eyes as he leans in closer to you. “Me too.”

[kaiserouo]

Levitation with extra force.

[piningpercussionist]

Okay. Fellas. Real talk. I've seen some of you do it and I thank you profusely for doing so but can yall PLEASE credit the original artist of that piece yall kinda made into an a dtiys/art meme? That's not official art. I am point blank refusing to engage with any of these pieces that I see not doing such. (Even when it pains me to keep scrolling, because some of them are really good!! And I want them here!!! But I do have some rules for myself I try to stand firm by with this blog.)

Like you can literally see them say right there that it's fine IF YOU CREDIT. I'm fucking begging you.

I'm not mad at anyone who didn't know but I've seen SO MANY versions at this point, and I think I've seen maybe 3 or 4 of them RECENTLY include the credit. (And one with improper credit, I think?) Please. Please just. Tack it on.

[ruegarding]

we do not have five entire books full of percy's philosophical thoughts for rick to pull this shit. if annabeth was in character, she would be looking at this architecture and consider what she'd do different (and since she's redesigning olympus, she'd maybe also consider if she'd use any designs there). her fatal flaw is hubris and it should be a staple characteristic of hers.

[dawdlecentric]

Before pride month ends...

[gunstellations]

cuddle ball

[xanfeursel]

I'm going to be honest I think what frustrates me the most about there being so much content about notorious child hater astarion being a parent in a nuclear family unit as opposed to literally any other character is because like. wyll literally becomes a canon father in one of the epilogues. besides laezel he's the only one to do so. how much dad content have you seen for wyll compared to astarion or even laezel. I had some people I've talked to not even KNOW wyll becomes a parent like. come on. come on

[misteria247]

Concept randomness because this is my blog I can be insane if I want too-

So there's plenty of fics about Timmy losing his memory due to turning 18 and forgetting about Danny, SpongeBob and Jimmy. But like what if he lost his memory due to a magical accident.

Like Timmy is the magic user of their group. The muscle of their team and the heart of his and Jimmy's relationship. He's one of the things helping keep their strange little family together and he doesn't even realize it. And because he's got such a big heart and he's glued to the other three so closely, it wouldn't even be out of character if Timmy perhaps.....took a hit for a team mate.

Like picture it.

It's in the middle of a fight, there's chaos everywhere. Everyone's on their last legs, desperately trying to get away so they can regroup to figure out a new plan to stop the bad guys. Jimmy's shouting instructions, trying to herd SpongeBob, Danny and Timmy to safety. Not really paying attention to his own surroundings, instead deeming his friends more important. It's because of this that he doesn't see the magical threat coming up on him. But guess who's always looking out for the teen genius at all times? Especially in moments like these?

None other than Timmy fucking Turner.

And Timmy being Timmy sees the threat, and sees the stolen wand being raised up to shoot magic at Jimmy's back. It's not even a moment's hesitation before Timmy's rushing towards him, knowing damn well that he's powerless due to Cosmo and Wanda being drained from fighting. But he doesn't care. All he cares about is protecting Jimmy Neutron, the boy genius. His best friend in the whole world.

The boy who he loves.

It's this very thing that makes Timmy take the hit, letting out a breathless gasp of pain. It's that noise that makes Jimmy head snap around only to see Timmy go down, the magic having caused actual injuries to the pink coded boy. And Jimmy just sees red. It's after taking down the threat and grabbing Timmy that the group finally retreat. And it's back at base when Timmy's all bandaged up and the others are taken care of that he wakes up and Jimmy, Danny, SpongeBob and his parents are so relieved to see him awake and Jimmy's about to tear him a new one just as Danny's gearing up to do the same. That Timmy just shatters their relief with two questions.

"Who are you...? Where am I?"

Everything's a blur afterwards. SpongeBob's a mess and Danny's mentally preparing to tear apart their enemies the next time he sees them. Jimmy's just.....shut down. He can't process it. The way Timmy looks at them with unease and nervousness. The way Timmy looks at him as if Jimmy would hurt him. And Timmy's parents they're a mess. Cosmo and Wanda they're trying to remain strong as to not scare their son anymore than he already is, but it's so hard when Timmy looks at them with suspicion and distrust. When he flinches a bit from them when they slowly pull out their wands to do a check up on him.

They reveal that the magical blast had completely erased Timmy's memories of not just magic but of them as well. And due to how powerful the magic was and the intent behind it, it's not an easy fix. It's something that'll take time to try and make it better. If it's not too strong that it could damage Timmy's mind permanently.

Que a long journey of the group and Timmy having to get to know one another again. It's agonizing because it's like he's there but he's not. So jokes and other things that Timmy shared with them goes over his head or earns a confused head tilt or an uncomfortable laugh. And Jimmy, the guilt eats at him because if he had just been more vigilant, had paid more attention Timmy wouldn't be in the current situation he's in. And it's during a late night in his lab, as he's slaving away at trying to figure out how to fix it that he sees the picture of him and Timmy on his desk and he sees Timmy's buck tooth smile and his mischievous shining eyes that Jimmy realizes that he misses Timmy Turner dearly and then he figures it out.

He figures out that he's in love with his best friend.

It's a literal you don't realize what you have till it's gone kinda thing.

Just-

You get what I'm throwing down fam?? Do you see my insane vision???

[epiphainie]

i can't with all these "the show is highlighting tommy's jealousy, they're planting seeds that it will cause problems" takes like bffr. he mentioned being envious over the 118's dynamic twice, sure, but in what world (literally how?) would that cause a relationship problem? do yall expect him to be in cahoots with gerrard behind their back and murder buck to take over his life or something?? like even with the hyperbole aside, i genuinely cannot see how they can turn this into relationship drama without going against everything they showed us with tommy so far

[sangveram]

This side of Kaname 🖤

[petricorah]

How's about "love shown through weapon's maintenance" for a zukka prompt?

Ahh this was such a good prompt! I do wish i wasn't half asleep in a car to do it proper justice, but i hope you enjoy!

-------

Zuko woke in a cold sweat.

He panted, frantically attempting to catch his breath as the dregs of his nightmare melted off his body. His chest was tight, and he felt like his throat was closed off. He looked wildly around his room but was met with abrupt darkness. He flicked his hand to produce the flame, and only sparks erupted from his hand.

He grit his teeth. Of course. Of course this was still a problem.

He'd been stressed for months, between his new duties as firelord and assassination attempts, and more and more, and for some reason, his ability to bend had dwindled, which had done nothing but increase the stress.

No one knew, of course. He'd kept it close to him. He was vulnerable at this time, and he didn't know who to trust. And the idea of telling his friends...he was supposed to be stronger than this. After all he's been through, this is what was bested him? The stress of running a nation? He'd even gone to the dragons themselves and found a new way of bending, and now it was gone again? Did he have to go back?

Zuko felt the panic rise in his chest once more, that awful feeling that he hadn't been able to shake, and he groaned loudly, the sound echoing off the room. He shook his head and threw the covers off of him. They crumpled to a pile on the ground. In the dark, he reached for the spot on his wall where his swords were mounted and closed his hand around the joint hilts.

A smidgen of the panic clogging his throat dissipated, but not by much.

He took them off the wall and carefully crept out of the room.

Since the third assassination attempt, he hadn't slept in the firelord's chambers. That let him sleep a little better--mostly because he didn't like staying in what he still considered to be his father's room. In order to call attention to his new resting place, there were no guards stationed outside of his door. That was fine enough--the guards hadn't been able to stop the assassins the first few times, so it was better to not have any blood shed on his behalf, anyway.

And it made for an easier escape when he wanted to pace the grounds in the middle of the night.

He made his way through the palace. He had no idea where he was going. He had no idea what he was doing. Why he was going there. With his swords. He just--

The air on his sweat soaked skin made him shiver. He stood in front of the door, swords drawn, and didn't move.

This is stupid.

He grit his teeth and stepped away from the door, causing the wood under his feet to creak. He winced, and the door opened before he could decide on running or jumping behind it.

"...Zuko?" Sokka said sleepily, rubbing the back of his head. His hair was down, framing his face, and sticking up in every direction. He looked groggy and sleep logged. "What are you doing here?"

"That's how you open the door?" He snapped. "What if I was an assassin?"

Sokka squinted at him. "I could tell it was you," he said. "You always shift like that in front of my door."

What? "I do not!"

Sokka's eyes trailed down to his swords. "Were you coming to kill me?"

"No!" He snarled in a hushed voice. "How could you say that?"

Sokka laughed sleepily, a good sound that Zuko couldn't appreciate because he couldn't shove down the panic in his chest.

"Relax," he said. "Why are you here, then?"

Zuko grit his teeth and his eyes drifted away from Sokka's gaze.

"Ah."

"I thought we could spar."

Sokka chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Nah."

"What? You're awake now."

"You look pissed," he said jabbing a finger at him accusatorily. "And I'm still half asleep. That's a recipe for getting my head lopped out."

"I wouldn't do that to you," he said through his teeth. "How could you think that I would do something like that? Do you really think I've lost that much control--"

"Woah," Sokka said and put both of his hands on Zuko's shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. "Chill out."

Zuko could feel the warmth through the tips of his fingers, grounding him. His eyes had adjusted in the dark, and he could see Sokka's features. Soft and concerned.

"Stay here," Sokka said. He withdrew his hands and a rush of coldness fell over Zuko at their absence.

Sokka came back out a few minutes lter, holding something in his hand. He motioned for him to follow, and they made their way out to the moonlit courtyard.

"Give me your swords," Sokka said. He sat himself down on the grass, and Zuko followed suit, handing him the swords. The night breeze was cold, and sittinf in the damp grass was colder, but he did.

He watched as Sokka took the object in his hand and began to sharpen his sword.

"I can do that myself," he said.

"I know."

Zuko glared at him, but settled into his seat and watched as Sokka ran the stone across the blade.

"What were you told to do when you sharpen your blade?" Sokka said.

"It's a task," he said. "What do you mean?" It was simply something you did to take care of your weapons.

"My dad said that you should use the opportunity of sharpening your blade to sharpen your mind," Sokka said. His long hair fell forward as he leaned to see what he was doing. "When I was younger, I thought it meant to focus on the battle ahead. But now...I use it to clear my mind."

"Should your head be any emptier?"

Sokka rolled his eyes and jabbed him in the ribs. "The best sword works as an extension of your body," he said.

Zuko narrowed his eyes. Of course.

"So you have to take care of yourself like you would a prized weapon." He pressed the stone on the tip of the sword, and the metal bent downwards. "Just like stress can destroy a blade, it can destroy you, too." Sokka relaxed his shoulders and let out a long breath. "I think it's important to remember that."

Zuko was silent for a moment. Then--

"I can't avoid being stressed," he said, and he reached forward to take the swords back, pulling them from Sokka's grasp and putting them back together. "I wanted to spar and get rid of that stress. That's why I came to you. If you don't want to do that, then I'll leave--"

"Zuko," Sokka said. "Just sit down."

Zuko glared down.

"Please. To humor me. And then you can fight me and knock me out so I can go back to sleep."

Zuko's eyes narrowed to slits, but he slumped down.

Sokka sat with his legs crossed, looking like Aang when he meditated.

"You're kidding me, right? Are you an air nomad?"

"Remember when we went to the boiling rock?" he said. "And you used your breath to stay warm?"

"I've tried that," he said. "But every time I sit still, I just think about everything that I have to do, and everything that's happening and--"

Sokka reached over and took his hand, and Zuko immediately closed his mouth. "Just breathe with me for a bit."

Zuko kept his mouth in a firm line, but did. He expected Sokka to remove his hand, but he didn't.

Sokka took a big breath next to him, and Zuko hesitated, but did. He closed his eyes inhaled, filling his lungs, taking in so much that his chest ached and his back cracked.

And he breathed out.

And again.

And again.

"You know we have your back, right?" Sokka said softly from beside him. Zuko could feel the warmth from his palm over his, radiating throughout his body. "All of us. We're here for you."

Zuko could feel the tightness swirl inside his chest, panic flaring up, and a burning behind his glassy eyes. "I don't want you to have to be."

Sokka laughed. "Well, too bad. You have friends. I hated it when you made me do exercises for my leg and when you wouldn't let me train until it healed. I especially hated when it gave out and you had to carry me all the way back to the palace. But that's what friends do. And that's what I'm doing for you."

Zuko's opened one eye, looking at him. "By comparing me to a weapon?"

He laughed again, and this time, Zuko appreciated it. He appreciated how soft and carefree it was. How deep and grounded it sounded. How he could hear it at the middle of the night. How he was there to hear if.

"Yeah. By comparing you to a weapon."

Sokka took another deep breath, and Zuko did as well.

And, in one final exhale, he felt the flames curl out of his mouth, and warmth spread across his body once more.

[the-heros-sidekick]

❝ went looking for a creation myth, ended up with a pair of cracked lips. ❞

He feels it first at the back of his neck. A buzzing, like the crackling of electricity underneath his skin, reverberating against the hollow of his skull. Something is knocking, making its presence known: A particular kind of evil that had snuck into Stiles’ mind once already, stealing away control over his body. Condemning him to sit back, trapped in his own mind, rendering him powerless. Doomed to watch in horror as his  blood-stained hands wielded sharpened blades against those he loved. They’d gotten him out, though nearly at the cost of his own life—a sacrifice Stiles had been more than willing to make, so long as no one else would get hurt because of him. And yet something must have stayed behind, lodged into the membrane of his skull like a shard of glass. For the longest time he’d managed to keep the horrors contained to only haunt him in the dead of night, leaving him sleep deprived and wrung out, every nerve ending scraped thin. But now, even the light of day no longer offers refuge for Stiles to feel safe. Long gone is the once obnoxiously loud, carefree kid—left in its stead is a man carrying himself with caution, treading quietly across the space between other people’s reality and what lies beyond. He knows there are demons out there listening, waiting for an opportunity to exploit any sign of weakness—a door left slightly ajar, perhaps, much like the door to Stiles’ mind they’d never managed to close. The feeling of impending doom crescendos and Stiles, feeling sick to his stomach with fear, clings desperately to the words he repeats to himself like a mantra. "Nothing gets in unless you let it.” But the words turn to ash in his mouth, memories of past experiences proving him a liar. 

an exploration of Teen Wolf's 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐊𝐈 who, after leaving Beacon Hills behind, settled down in New York where he's now considered the FBIs golden boy ― crafted for @fakevz. following canon events of the show with additional headcanons. low activity & very crossover friendly. minors dni. this blog operates in english only. est. 2014 ♗ ©

𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘 𝐈𝐍: loss of innocence ⊹ comedic sidekick ⊹ overcoming demonic possession ⊹ a morally gray world ⊹ undying loyalty ⊹ survivor's guilt ⊹ agent of chaos ⊹ deflecting with humor

✧  𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 ✧ 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 ✧ 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒

I think I've loved you since I met you. I just mistook it for curiosity.

Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I felt this unquenchable need to know you.I blamed it on ulterior motives, justified it because I needed something from you, because you held the answers I was looking for, because no one else was able to help but you. Looking back on it now though, I'm starting to think that maybe some part of me knew right from the start, that first night I stumbled upon you in the woods, what took me years to see: Maybe my heart recognized that it was going to love you right away, and I spent the years to come catching up with what it knew right from the start. That it was always going to be you. How could it ever have been anyone else? Through mayhem and bloodshed, through fear and loss, through grief and sleepless nights, you were the one constant that remained. When I lost sight of everything--first myself, then reality, then hope--you were the one guiding my way like a beacon, or a north star. If I've ever known peace, it's in all the moments that your hand has touched mine and that your arms have held me tirelessly, putting your body like a shield between me and every inkling of danger. Of all the late-night wonderings of trying to make sense of the last decade (and failing), what remains is this singular thought: At least it was you. At least it was me. At least it was us, together. I'd bear it all a million times over if it meant I got to hold your hand at the end of it all. You are the moment of quiet at the end of a long day, you are breathless laughter, you're the patch of sunlight filtering in through the window that I stand in to warm myself. You are everything good in this world and living proof that there is hope despite it all, and I love you beyond measure.