#I casually go

[vivitalks]

nothing hits like that first ally beardsley season finale nat 20. that prompocalypse moment. way before anyone knew about ally's dice magic, just a casual "can i roll for a nat 20 and then be alive" and of course brennan says sure because what are the odds of that happening, and the look on everyone's face, the look on brennan's face, when they actually get the nat 20..........like every beardsley finale nat 20 rules but truly nothing will ever come close to the high of that very first one

[wickcipher]

You've Been Portal Jacked! Part 11

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Everyone you know, huh?

[dangeroustaintedflawed]

[starry-bi-sky]

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.

[forsooth-verily]

Shout out to Davis CA where there's a flock 30+ strong that live in a cemetery, commute through town to one of the elementary schools, threatening cars and stopping traffic like them boys from Greece Lightning.

[lamina-tsrif]

you’ve changed (for the better)

for @where-does-the-heart-lie ‘s fighting game au I love ur designs I love them dearly

[technically-human]

It's already requited, they're just stupid

[chloesimaginationthings]

Jeremy Fitzgerald bravery in FNAF 2 worries Michael..

[setaflow]

Gay pride happens in June and gay wrath happens whenever hbomberguy drops a 3+ hour video essay about a specific topic

[mishaesque]

my issue is that just rewatching Supernatural isn’t enough. It takes too long. I want it all at once. I need a room covered in 327 monitors that feed me every single episode at the same time. I need the DVDs melted down and put into an IV drip. I want every single minute of the show tattooed on the inside of my eyelids. I need to live inside its flesh.

[hinamie]

been thinking a normal amount about just how Strong yuuji is

[egophiliac]

finally got some time to finish these guys up! which is sort of ironic considering I started these because I wanted to draw Malleus with a Dragapult, and then I just didn't for a million years!

Malleus has the aforementioned Dragapult, except it's a super special non-canon color Dragapult (like an anime-only form that you could get in-game exclusively through some limited-time event where you have to show up in-person at a specific location in Japan) (it has some wacky overpowered exclusive move/form and the OT is listed as Malleus) (so like that kind of ridiculous specialness) (Leona is extremely salty about this). also hoards and hoards of Dreepy. Dreepy LOVE Malleus. they take naps on his horns inbetween begging him to throw them across the island at mach speeds.

Lilia has a Drampa and a bunch of Woobat that he hasn't actually caught, they just follow him around in swarms because they sense a kinship with him. (also breaking my own rule again to say that he had a Mawile in the past, because...I just really wanted to give him a Mawile...)

Sebek has Sandile for obvious reasons, and also a Pikachu that bullies him relentlessly. :(

Silver has a shiny Corvisquire; I really went back-and-forth on also giving him an Aegislash, but...hm. those pokedex entries though. he can stick with just one for now.

(I hadn't planned on the shiny for him, but after I'd decided on the Corvisquire line and was looking it up for reference, I realized that shiny Rookidee is gold and then turns silver when it evolves and I lost my entire goddamn mind)

[tobyfoxmademeascaly]

I adore y’shtola now because every single plan she comes up with is nigh-guaranteed to be the most unhinged idea ever thought up by cat or man. Being pursued by cops? COLLAPSE THE TUNNEL AND TELEPORT DIRECTLY INTO HEAVEN. Need to distract the Children of Everlasting Dark? THROW BEEHIVES INTO THEIR HOUSES. Need to perform a diving save into a bottomless pit? TELEPORT DIRECTLY INTO HEAVEN. AGAIN. Need to get on Mt. Gulg but air travel isn’t feasible? GIANT ROBOT. Need a portal to hell? MAKE A DEMON. That doesn’t work? SHOOT A LASER. AT THE MOON. Banger after banger.

[lockandkeyblade]

First Rule of Ghost Fight Club

Hey look ma, there's a multichapter now!

Several months ago the GiW, flush off the success of having the Anti-Ecto Acts passed– even if they had to hide it beneath several hundred adjustments to agricultural and infrastructure legislation– made a mistake.

Their little campaign of hatred was going well, maybe too well– so why not make it public? Why not grasp for a little more power, incite some torch and pitchforks? There were a dozen roads the stupid bastards could've taken, but they wanted the shortcut. The highway.

They decided that their next campaign against the ghosts would be to release several videos highlighting the utter destruction left in the wake of their fights. Show America there was something worth fighting on their hometurf. Make them angry. Make them vicious.

Jason figures they’d expected some backlash for it. There would've been a PR guy, or ten, or twenty, paid the big bucks just to sit around and consider it all. He'd interrupted enough board room meetings in his youth past life that he's got a pretty damn good idea of what to visualize; a bunch of white guys, forty plus, sitting around and deciding how people they did not know, understand, or give two fucks about were likely to receive this kind of news.

Ghosts were real, and terrible. The slogans were equally as bad, of course. And that wasn't on the PR team- that was on whatever dead-eyed millennial got paid way too little to give a fuck. Grandma can't cook you pies like she used to- she's too busy eating your soul. Little Timmy who fell down the well has taken one too many pointers from Samara Morgan. That kinda shit.

Someone was still gonna care about 'em. Someone was gonna call this inhumane. Someone would look into that Act and realize ghosts; talking, once-living people (some of 'em), had less rights than the average lab rat. Someone would start a protest.

The GiW would've thought about that and prepared for it. They must've felt invincible enough to chance it anyway, because they started uploading their 'documentaries' on the barbarity of ghosts online. Probably stroking their cliché ass moustaches and puffing cheap cigars all the while.

The fuckers would've expected all that. What they didn't expect, when blasting the world with their little softcore snuff vids, was how into it the world became.

Ghost fights? Were fucking badass.

And now the whole world knows it.

Gotham, especially, knows it. Gotham loves it. This was the kind of thing that was made to take over the nightlife of an already unhinged city; sports bars replacing football with the newest renditions of that one robot dude smacking down a couple of buildings, taking bets on what was gonna get him first– Danger Twink, Little Red Flying Hood, Morally Ambiguous Scientists, or The Man.

Proper names for each entity- and every other painfully stereotypical character involved- were hard to come by, initially. Most of those founding videos had the sound swapped out for the screams of children, flat voiceovers of scientists reminding the people that ghosts don't feel, so don't feel for them.

The bars played 'em on mute and blasted their own tunes over the top. Others had their own live MCs to commentate on the action. Robot dude got the name Gadget Goatee, the sweetass punk rock girl was On Fleek. The ghost seemingly addicted to boxes was Box Ghost. Names like that. When camera crews of reputable (and not so reputable) sports channels started sneaking into Amity Park, some names got adjusted. Some didn't.

The day pre-fight interviews began to happen was the day Jason seriously started considering why the Justice League hadn't gotten involved yet, enough to ease that question into conversation with Dickiebird. To sate his curiosity, no other reason. Turns out, Danger Twink had asked them not to. And the Justice League, full of some of the most anal and controlling people Jason has ever had the misfortune to meet, had listened to him. The petition signed by almost the entirety of Amity Park's population had probably helped.

Apparently, the city didn't want or need help. On the fighting front, at least. Nightwing is as in the dark for what, precisely, had been shared about why that was, but it was enough for Batman to raise the requirements for permission to be obtained by any hero wanting to go into Amity Park’s space– and for the rest of the founding members to approve them. 

JL's continued efforts to flatten the GiW and their miserable Anti-Ecto Acts had been cheerfully encouraged. Everything else, though? That was Danger Twink's problem. Or Phantom's joy, if you asked Jason's opinion on the matter. Not that anyone did.

The reality these days was that the government agency, high off their own fumes- as they often were- managed to fuck themselves right out of existence. And the ghosts? The ghost fights?

They were there to stay. Impressively contained within Amity Park with a startling level of confidence and control, all thanks to one girl on a hoverboard and a dead guy.

Place was even considered a chill place to visit, contrary to the continually televised property damage. The fights continued to maintain a level of popularity that was almost feverish, stealing their way into primetime television, spawning a couple dozen streaming services that would inevitably cannibalise themselves.

Oh, Jason could see the appeal of those fights. Hell, if he thought he could get away with it, he’d join ‘em. Sure, most of Gotham was into it for the more obvious reasons. Vicious mauling and extensive infrastructure repair that wasn't their problem, for once. Something new to bet on, some cool people (dead, alive, or never alive in the first place) to throw merchandise around for. The phenomenal amount of simping, the utterly batshit rule 34 that could be found online. A few ghost themed cocktails. All that good shit.

Jason just liked the sound.

He hadn't gotten into the videos until he could hear 'em, the ghosts themselves. It was something he kept to himself, seeing as- hey, no one else was mentioning it. His family was likely to think him insane again, so that was another deterrent. Nah, let folks think Red Hood enjoyed having that shit on in the background for...inspiration. Of the this might happen to the next person who crosses me variety.

But nah. He just, liked the sound.

It was like a secret concert, just for him. Some of those fights might as well be fucking operas. Full on musicals with a bit more green blood to 'em. Every ghost sang in a way Jason couldn't describe. There was a vibrato to it all, otherworldly and entrancing. A resonance that seemed to sink past his skin, right down to his soul.

They sing about obsession. They talk about what matters most to them, the parts of their unlife that are their beating hearts, their drive, their love. Every fight is an illicit fantasy, an almost embarrassing revelation of the people beneath the caricatures– Gotham sees neat fights, and Jason hears souls. 

It was simultaneously off-putting and addictive.

And fuck him sideways, but sometimes? The songs were kind of cute.

Especially the ones for Danger Twink. Most of the songs were for Danger Twink. Phantom, as he kept trying to tell the media, over and over again. The kid barely looked legal, though it was hard to tell when he was, y'know, six feet under. Brat could be 

Bruce's great grandpa several times over, for all he knew.

But he wasn't, if the songs were anything to go by. As far as the ghosts were concerned, this implied to be twenty year-old was, in ghost terms, baby. He was baby.

All the other ghosts knew it. All the other ghosts adored it. A solid fifty percent of the songs Jason could hear, day in, day out, were basically gooshy renditions of look at our small king. Our light. He has grown so much.

That Phantom’s response is usually the equivalent of mom please, you’re embarrassing me, as he makes a crater out of the earth with his opponent? Classic.

In a way, this whole shebang the world was addicted to was just a community trying to rear their child. Their potentially important child, or just important to them. Jason really didn’t know which way it was leaning, and it’s not like he could ask.

Really, he was just content to witness, maybe fantasize, a little, about what kind of songs they’d sing under his fists. What kind of song Phantom might sing, if Jason pinned him into the dirt.

One video changes that.

It’s a new one. Gotham is terribly excited by it; wherever Jason goes, he sees advertisements and hears people talking because– new ghost. New ghost. A new challenger approaches. The bars and the television companies keep any hints of who or what this late entry to the game might be, and it’s smart. Everybody’s talking about it. Fuck, even Tim is talking about it, and that little idiot hates the whole thing. Thinks it’s sickening that any being’s pain could be turned into sport.

Not that he’s wrong, just, y’know. No one’s really being hurt. 

Jason thinks he might also be… a little anticipatory. He’s gotten awfully familiar with the usual roster, their songs something that rattles off in his head throughout the day. He knows– heh. He knows what Phantom sings back to them. Intimately. Has that part memorized, and he’s not ashamed to admit it.

He wants to hear Phantom sing about something new. That’s what’s exciting.

It’s exciting right up until he’s slouched down at a bar, eyes fixed to the screen and the cheers of the crowd around him drowned out by a tune that turns his blood to ice, stirs up something that’s been quiet in him for years, until his eyes flash green.

Because the new ghost doesn’t want to play with Phantom. He wants to own him. Like a dog. With discordant notes that sound like laughter, high pitched and crazed, like a metal pipe slamming into his face, over and over again–

And Phantom is defiant, glorious, powerful.

Afraid.

Jason doesn’t remember getting onto his bike, but as he heads east, he knows exactly where he’s going. Fuck permission, fuck the Justice League, and fuck Phantom for trying to handle that sort of shit on his own.

He doesn’t know how he’s gonna do it, but this Plasmius guy? Is about to learn what it’s like to die. For the second time.

[teamfurtress]

BABY BUNNY SCOUT PLEASE!!! (like the toddler bunny where Spy holds him next to his chest) 😭😭😭💕💕

smoochies

[katebeckets]

how to say "I love you" in x-files [55/?] ⤷ 7.06 — “The Goldberg Variation”

Agent Scully is already in love.