#I'm gonna fight Tumblr

[spider-dre]

[salamispots]

hELP

[incorrect-dnd-classes]

Rogue: I just wanna fight people. Paladin: At least aim it at bad people. violence hurts both parties after all Rogue: No I'm going to aim it solely at good people [later] Rogue: I'm getting a lot of backlash for saying that I only want to fight good people, but please hear me out, it's simply because they wouldn't fight back and it'd be easier, stop trying to villainize me.

[alackofghosts]

squeaky clean jocks

[keeps-ache]

blood of the covenant

[tio-trile]

Did you hate the season 2 finale? Are you still looking forward for season 3 because of it or are you turned off of looking forward for any tv show good omens from now on?

What season 2 finale? Good Omens has never been adapted into a TV show. I love the book tho!

[kangaracha]

daffodil + chan

a song

the prompt: daffodil (a god bows before a mortal)

read it on ao3

---

"You have no power over me."

running through his hands like water, and suddenly the earth is not his to control. The skies do not turn with the twist of his head, lightning does not fork in the air when his eyes, dark as night and yet still lit by some unearthly light, fall upon you, his mouth wide as if to gasp for a breath he cannot take-

And yet, still, it shivers down your spine; the magic that draws you here even as you rip it apart, the prize of your conquest to rip the world into two.

"Take it back," he hisses through his teeth, the ground trembling with every syllable that slides down his tongue. You watch his mouth as it forms the words, the flash of teeth behind thin lips reminding you of the way that the swordsman you'd fought through to get here had smiled at you - the last of his seven challenges, the last of his demons, or angels, or citizens of the sprawling, damned city he claimed as his kingdom.

And here you stood, at the pinnacle of the eighth, and stared him in the eye without cringing away because now you knew the truth. Now you knew that what he whispered in the dark was a lie and what you saw with your eyes wasn't always true, and though he may be a god and a king amongst beings that you could never hope to rival, a god can only hold as much power as you give him. A god can only claim dominion over a beast that bowed to his dogma. 

You see now that you are no beast. You are no believer in any lie he utters to the darkness.

"Take it back," he says again, the note of his voice changing. He pleads, his brow furrowing and his shoulders curling in as if waiting for the final blow. "Take it back now, before it's too late."

"I can't," you tell him, and you watch him fall to his knees, and you know that it's wrong and your heart pounds in your chest and it

like the ground does at the impact of his knees, crumbling into the pieces it was in when you first took his hand, alone on the side of the road with only one thing to call your own. And what was that thing, the little warmth you'd held to your chest in the dark and the cold? What had you traded away for the comfort of the house that crumbled around you now? Why had you destroyed him to get it back, where was it now, why did it not appear within his hands at this, the hour of his reckoning?

"Please," he spits into the cold ground, the dirt and the leaves and the curl of ivy that grows up the walls around you, old and ancient and not yet sprouted from its roots all at the same time. His hands curl in the dirt like he can reach down and pull the earth to him, like he can stop the wane of his power if he just tries to hold on a little bit tighter. "I know what you want, and I don't have it. I can't lose-"

Broken, fragile thing. Small god of limited earth, crouched at your feet like he might worship you instead. You'd thought him all-powerful once, and then you'd thought him severe and his servants and beasts and playthings petty, and then you'd thought him

because he'd smiled at you in the garden that bloomed from his own hands when you expressed your desire for a flower to tuck in the braid of your dark hair, and his hand had been soft in yours, and when he looked out across his kingdom and the clamouring faces of the people he'd brought to live there, he'd looked at them the same way that he'd looked at you.

Beneath your foot, the ground cracks, fracturing outwards like a spiderweb. It's your heart, you realise morosely, sinking from your chest and into the depths of the earth, disappearing with whatever he'd taken from you; and it was a wretched thing and it had betrayed you a hundred times over, but you still mourn at the loss of it and all the dreams it had carried with it. It blooms in your flowers in the corners of the room, embeds itself into the land and sings along with the song of his power, a thing you can hear but cannot touch, a beast once born that now does not belong to you.

"I'm sorry," he says, his breath like mist in the cold air, and even without your heart, you can't bear to see him so cold.

Your hands reach for him without permission, your body kneeling in the dirt before you can stand your feet firm upon the earth and refuse to move. He flinches away, but your fingers are soft upon his chin and the curve of his jaw, gentle when they brush the soft dip of his neck. "I only wanted to know what it was," you tell him with a voice that cannot hold itself steady. "I thought if you loved me, you would give it back." It's the only voice you have - you are not like him, or like Felix, speaking with many tongues. You don't have any power of your own.

"It's because I love you that I can't give it back." His voice is hoarse, every word a knife that he swallows without ever once flinching. "It's because I love you that I couldn't tell you what it was."

"But didn't I deserve to know?" you question. "Doesn't my life belong to me?"

Finally, his eyes rise, looking up at you with a fire that belies the cold of his skin. "Of course it does," he gasps, and his hand reaches up, dirt-stained fingers dragging at your cheek. "That's why I gave it to you, and I never asked for anything else."

"But you wouldn't give back what you took in the first place."

The sudden violence of his voice crumbles the walls and fractures the sky, the clouds blooming te dark colours of a bruise. The absence of his hand on your cheek stings in the cold; his face turns away, screwed up in regret and a pain he won't allow you to feel. You lurch forward before he can disappear, drawing him into your arms; stiff shoulders, spine of beaten steel, slow beat of a heart you once held in your hands. 

He'd stood so tall and unmoving in the morning light, when you'd first walked down this path, and now in the dark of the setting sun and the ending of the earth, his weight slumps into your grasp, his resolve melting into the warmth of your body. "I didn't want you to suffer again," he says to the soft cotton of your shirt and the curve of your collarbone, his breath a whisper against your skin. "I couldn't watch that, when you asked me to make sure it would never happen again."

Surprise comes in the pause of your breath and the still of your arms, the jump of a heart you're not sure you still possess. "I asked you to make me forget?" you question the world behind his back, and into your neck, he sighs.

"You couldn't forget," he murmurs. "She was dead before I found you, and when I took her from your arms - you couldn't forget. There was nothing I could do to fix what had been broken. And then you begged me to let you forget, so I remembered her for you." He pauses, his throat hitching like he's swallowing something down. A sob maybe, or the tears he will never let fall. "I can't give her back though. She's not here anymore."

You push him upright, your hands on his shoulders, his neck, his face. Brushing away the hair that falls in his eyes, wiping at the blood that drips from the cut on his cheek. "Why didn't you tell me?" you ask, because the answer is incomprehensible. "Why did you let me go this far?"

"Because I was scared," he admits, and his teeth clench and his spine stiffens against the urge to hide away from you again. "Because I'm a wretched, evil, stupid thing who thinks they can-"

His words die in your throat; vile, wretched things that you store away to spit out later, into the ground where they belong. He is none of that; he is soft, and hesitant, until your fingers find the sharp curve of his hip and the lines of his back, dragging him closer and his lips open like there is nothing in the world to devour but you and

[welcometogrouchland]

IMPORTANT UPDATE FOR BATMAN AND ROBIN (2023) FANS!!!...he eat a burger [ID in alt]

(taken from Nicola Cizmesija's insta, who's on art for B&R issues #5 and #6)

[soaked-ghost]

has this ever happened to u where u went back to ur weird rival friend for a rematch but halfway through their speech u both realize just how many times u've done this already (in this timeline and others before) and it's so funny and absurd to u that u both just start laughing ur asses off? no?

[nero-neptune]

made up a group of edwardian-era hockey girls, Heavily inspired by the many wintery late 19th/early 20th century photos i processed in an archive over the summer. at some point, i decided their team would be called "the hail raisers".

[just-slightly-chayotic]

Jeff walking around to give everyone a hug at the BOC New Year countdown party.

[glysaturn]

it's so fucking evil by the way how when you make art with the idea of sharing it online in mind you can't simply make art you gotta fucking.. take into consideration the dimensions so that the quality won't get eaten and the crop won't be awkward cuz for example if you make a full body drawing of a person standing then the image is too long, the head and the feet would get cropped out and your post will just look like a torso of a character and that's weird and no one will share it cuz it's weird so you have to think of a workaround for that, and if you're making a comic or like a multi part drawing then you have to think about how the images will be positioned in the post bc again if it looks awkward then no one will share it and might even overlook it entirely, you have to be thinking ahead in fucking thumbnails to make your art ~*presentable*~ and if you happen to post on multiple platforms with different posting rules and methods then you have to consider ALL of your options and might need to make adjustments according to every platform and it takes time out of your life, and also twatter hates colour red so if you're drawing something with red you just gotta accept that your drawing will look like a fucking mess on there regardless, and sometimes the final post just doesn't look good no matter what you try so you gotta accept that it will be a flop because it doesn't look pretty to the casual internet scrollers and swipers and it's all evil evil EVIL

[campbenji]

@yasammyweek hey...

I intended to participate way more on Yasammy week, but it happened to line up with my final week of school, and I couldn't finish my entries on time. But I did finish this! It was meant for day 1: Post-Nublar 🌸🏅

hope you guys still like it even though it's so late <3

[aweirdbugcreature]

Dude who saw the fight club seeing a wet sad patethic man with an office job: Getting lot of Fight Club vibes in here

[loverofpiggies]

What’s this?? Complete art by me??

I’m trying to get out of my uhhh year long slump so I’m gonna go out of my way to try and complete pieces. But this? I’m so proud of this girl, I think she turned out so good and I think I finally figured out some basic grass! I have a second piece I’m working on right now too.

Check out my etsy: https://www.etsy.com/shop/CrayonQueenCreations

[salamispots]

gross sobbing also how long do you hold off of posting potential spoiler art for video games