#Perhaps it is time to sleep then

[lotus-pear]

HIII SORRY FOR NO NEW ART have some concept sketches for the fic i'm working on instead

[satoumafuyuss]

Still getting used to drawing them but I'm happy with how this turned out so I will post it :)

[readerconfused]

The Hermes cabin looks so cozy, if it weren't for the overcrowding i wouldn't mind staying there

(photo of Rick Riordan via Threads)

To be honest, i never understood why they didn't make it bigger

P.S. someone told me why they didn't reform. Zeus when i catch you, when i catch you

[kakapim]

Shinichi angst is so damn good. He's in his own body but it doesn't feel like himself. His life is "dead" even though he's alive. When he comes back he will never go back to his old self. He can go back to his body but his life will never be quite the same (for better or worse)

He was just a 17 kid who had dreams ambitions friends he had to "abandon". Imagine putting up an act 24/7 and not being truly able to say the things you actually want to. And yet- this false identity of his started to blend in with his "authentic" self.

He will have to "kill" Conan like he did with himself eventually. Like I know this this is the whole point of his character but I feel like it's easy to forget due to everything going on, and every so often I'm reminded of this and go bonkers over it. Does anyone get me 😭

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

i dig his earnest soul & neglected middle child vibes. he's so Charming and for what reason!

[bacchuschucklefuck]

Riz has counted four casseroles this week alone. Five, if one goes by the method of cooking, but Yelen's scary when she's crossed, and calling her burek by its proper name is important to her, so Riz does her the courtesy and doesn't include it in his mental tally.

He holds the tupperware over his head to keep it out if the way as he takes careful steps over the piles of notes in his path. The dockman case just closed, relevant documentations handed over to relevant personnels, evidences dealt with as needed; all he has lying around now is just record of the process and traces of himself thinking through it. Unsurprisingly they still haven't invented a surface more convenient for people under five feet who like to pace to put pieces of paper on than the ground.

Actual records go into the case folder with the other documents. Anything else with at least one side still blank is going to the school kids in the block - they chew through an astounding amount of paper just learning arithmetic. The rest is for the recycling basket.

Later. It's his mandated lunch break right now.

Riz sits down in front of the corner file cabinet. In an office often overrun with papers and strings and sometimes even thumbtacks, he's never really managed to clutter up this exact square of surface like every other ones. Ever since the bottom drawer rattled for no discernible reason a day long past, his eyes have always just kinda decided to slide across the space without acknowledging it.

It's years out, now. Riz doesn't know why he thought it such a big deal anymore, back then. He wasn't scared, he doesn't think. Not anymore. Maybe just uncomfortable with the idea that certain things persist despite all efforts to change.

He opens the tupperware. Dame Carabelle's experiment greets him with enough spice in the aroma alone to knock out a small mammal. When he chopped the vegetables for this casserole he couldn't really imagine the eventual heft of it, evident even through just these few ladles' worth, maybe weighing heavier for being still warm. His folk eat more through the smell and the textures and the aftertastes than the taste itself. His folk's meal is really the cooking rather than the eating. The eating is the meal's end.

"Hey," he tells the file cabinet's bottom drawer. "Um."

It's the anniversary. Riz doesn't know the exact date of his dad's death; nobody currently alive does. He and Mom both use the date of the funeral, though as he moved out to Bastion and then got more directly involved with Interplanar he hasn't really been going to Dad's grave as much. Doesn't seem like very efficient use of his time, catching a train or borrowing a car or spending a whole spell slot on going somewhere he knows Dad isn't at. They're sorta coworkers now. They talk on and off every other week between missions. When he goes now, it's just to clean up the place, keeping the landmark tidy and respectable.

Without that work to mark the date he doesn't really know what it serves anymore. But he still remembers it. Still takes note, absently or not, when it comes around.

There's not really a good way to tell the drawer that. Riz looks for another way to start the... conversation, hopefully. The question at play, he'd guess, is why he's doing this. He's been pretty content ignoring all the rattlings and the knocks from inside and the times it sits slightly ajar without him ever opening it himself; hell, he still uses the three drawers on top of it. Space is fucking precious in Bastion.

Precious enough to finally fix this damn drawer so he gets his turn to use it? Riz asks himself. Is that what we're getting to? Then he dismisses the thought - he didn't manage to fix it the times he actually tried, let alone-- now. When he doesn't really care that much to.

That's probably a good place to start. "'s fine if you keep being in there, turns out," Riz says.

The lunch hours are quiet in the block, sleepy and bright with the brief window of sunlight that manages to break through roof overhangs and extended balconies and laundry lines and climbing vines. Riz's work isn't loud here (the loud parts happen away from his office, if everything goes right), but the fragment of early summer heat reflected in the steady warmth his meal still carries compels him to lower his voice even more. It makes the words feel intimate, in a way he's never been familiar with - if he says something he just says it. He doesn't whisper. If he gives his friends something, he gives it open-palm. He's found out, along the way, that people usually don't think of rituals and courtesies the way he does.

Small voice for a diminished monster. "You know why I think so?" Riz asks. "Because almost two decades ago you kidnapped me and almost killed me, and now you rattle a drawer in my office."

It doesn't sound as much like a taunt as Riz wanted it to; the drawer has made a lot of noises again this morning when he checked the calendar, and he was definitely annoyed at it. Now, though, facing it like this after cooking the whole morning with more grandparents and peers from the block than he can count on both hands to cater for a tenant union meeting, he thinks the annoyance has morphed. Changed shape.

It has the shades of something like pity. Riz is not prone to pity, and especially not at these kinda matters. It's slightly maddening that he coheres perfectly outside of this one spot. That he commands his spaces, except for a drawer.

He puts the tupperware onto the floor between himself and the cabinet. "I know we're aware it's the anniversary," he says at the drawer. "You do this every year. You make a ruckus every time I decide to go do my job instead of mooching off my friends' aircon, and every time I get an invitation to some stupid social thing I want to turn down, and every time one of the old people tries to introduce me to a child or a nibling, because being a bachelor over thirty is weird," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I have three fucking jobs. I love doing my fucking jobs. I'm forcing funds into infrastructures. You're never leaving, are you."

The drawer vibrates lightly. It's a very, very mild acknowledgement, considering the history of reactions Riz has gotten from this thing. Riz thinks it's emanating joyous agreement, or satisfaction.

It only sharpens the pity. Riz doesn't like that, but it's how it is. That's, ultimately, the lesson he's been taught over and over and over again, just by existing as himself, turned every which way by space after space that don't see him eye-to-eye: it's not like he'd quit living over any of it. It's not like any of it can sand off these fundamental pieces of him.

He's outgrown a lot of things, he's found out. Again, and again, and again. A childhood home, a yearly trip, a monster.

"'s probably scary for you, huh?" He asks. "Because I left."

He thinks he hears joints creak that sound like you did. Probably the way a scorned lover would say it, in a movie or a yellowback. He has no more connection to the idea than he did as a kid. Less, because it doesn't even scare him.

"That's what it is, right? That it's the anniversary, and I'll never be like Dad." He raises a knee from the floor, pulls it back closer to him. Slings an arm over it. "You love to remind me. The thing is, Dad also left. He loved Mom and he loved me, and none of us wanted it to happen, but it still did. Because love does fuckall to make anyone stay on its own."

He's long past being bitter about it. It's just the facts. Once upon a time he looked into the future and the specter of his friends' happily-ever-after casted lightless, fathomless shadow over him. Love, marriage, that kind of devotion, to a fifteen-year-old with more solved cases than friends seemed so eternal. Final.

But you can only watch your friends build up apps' worth of jilted lovers for so long before getting over it.

"You know what I learned?" Riz tells the drawer. "Love doesn't make anyone stay. Project management does."

He stands up, and picks up the tupperware of Dame Carabelle's casserole, that he helped make, that he helped share with a block's worth of neighbors and members of a community he's at home with, and goes sit at his desk to eat. "Last chance to get any," he drops an offer over his shoulder as he walks away.

He doesn't eat all of his share in one go. What he's spared he leaves on the desk when going outside for a smoke break. Baron looks the exact same as when he saw them last, when he catches a glimpse; they haven't grown at all. They aren't there when he comes back inside, but the leftover has gone days-old cold, like someone's sucked the future out of it.

[nelkcats]

Creator (and half of an existential crisis)

After watching Barbie, Danny ended up with a question, if Barbie was an idea that lived in his own world created through imagination, was it possible that he was also an idea imagined by someone else?

At first the idea seemed absurd, and he even laughed at the comparison, would he be in a comic book? A toy? Or maybe his life was a cartoon; each option sounded illogical, but there was always a part of his brain that told him, is it possible?

So he did the same thing he does with all his existential doubts: complain to Clockwork. And Clockwork as usual was no help at all, he answered him in the most cryptic way possible.

"We are all someone's idea, even if it is not the reason for our existence."

Danny took that as a yes, and after giving Frostbite an excuse (although it felt wrong to lie to the Yeti), he lent the Infi-map and asked him to meet the first one who "imagined Phantom."

And he ended up in Tim Drake's room, with a British butler looking at him with a raised eyebrow and a guy who seemed to have very little sleep in his system.

[scruncheduppaper]

do you guys ever think abt v1 getting stained more and more with blood as they go thru hell and ending up looking like v2. like ik that not how it work but man even in death theyre still there yknow. like how v1 keeps v2 alive technically thru their arms.

[nattikay]

a random curiosity I had while trying to fall asleep last night:

[please note that “multiple types” options mean more than one of the TYPES of pets listed here (such as a cat and a dog or two significantly-differently-sized dogs), not multiple individuals the same type (such as two cats or two dogs within the same size category)]

(if you have a different type of pet or multiple types, feel free to elaborate in the tags!)

I’ll leave the exact parameters for what counts as a small vs mid-size vs large dog up to voter discretion

edit: for extra clarification, the “depends on the pet” button means stuff like I have both a cat and a dog but the cat is allowed on the bed and the dog isn’t, etc. (again feel free to elaborate in the tags)

[nebulaedaniel]

"#are they sleeping in separate rooms still or is phils closet just in another room for no reason" I mean if they both have a lot of clothes it kinda makes sense to use a closet in another room rather than trying to cram it all into one no? My own personal theory is the green room is "Phil's room" as in the room where he keeps his clothes and maybe other stuff but it's not necessarily his bedroom

but it’s the fact they they designed the house that makes me so curious!! i can understand if they just moved into a house that they’d just put things where they can fit, but having built and designed a home, IF they’re sharing a room why not have both closets in the same room? bc based off the pictures we’ve seen from this bedroom, the shelves by the desk has trinkets from the both of them

it just seems like such a hassle to design a whole house to let yourself be doomed to go to a whole other bedroom just to get changed

it’s just so interesting and they’re never gonna tell us and that drives me a little insane i fear

[nanaminokanojo]

True form Sukuna in just a goddamn fundoshi, emerging from a hot spring like a Heian era Calvin Klein model, arms raised as he cards his fingers through his wet hair, mist and steam under the moonlight and all that shebang.

[doctorcanon]

A little obsessed with the potential brotherly dynamic between The Captain and Mask. I know there are lots of other characters from the series in HW but hear me out okay?

Imagine being The Captain:

You take the strangest kid under your wing during the war. He's mostly unobtrusive. Mature for his age, quiet, but generally churlish. Can barely read (ill explain this HC one day) but fights like a demon and is clearly immensely troubled but doesn't know how to express himself.

You eventually connect over a shared burden and become rather attached to the kid. You're the only one he actually speaks to. Moreover, people have started calling you "the twins" even though he much younger than you. You teach him practical things like improving his reading, clothes mending and social graces. He teaches you about the natural world, herbalism and orienteering. You even give him a nickname "Mask" that he reluctantly answers to. But as the war wears on and the battles get harder, the boy has to rely on his masks more and more. Save for the one he calls Oni. He says its his failsafe and mentions nothing else.

Until one day, during the penultimate battle, you and your battalion are overwhelmed. Grievously injured, you call for Mask to get to safety. The next thing you remember is hearing "dont worry, captain, I'll protect you, i promise." Then flashes of a hulking demon laying waste to the battlefield with a helix shaped sword. You also remember a great and terrible silence and the sensation of being carried.

When you wake, Zelda informs you that the battle has been won but Mask along with several others, are missing. Even when the war is won and over, you search that battlefield, all surrounding areas and lists of the dead for any sign of Mask. You find nothing and eventually your duties as Captain must be seen to.

Three years later, you follow up on reports of an aberration found around the area Mask disappeared. The portal drops you unceremoniously into a Hyrule you don't recognize. You meet 8 others just like you, all named Link, each bearing the Mark of Destiny and honestly kinda sick of all this shit. The Oldest One - face heavily scarred and blind in one eye - holds your gaze for a little too long. When you ask him about it, he only apologizes awkwardly.

Needing some space during a particularly raucous night, you decide to check up on your party's resident Old Man who just so happens to be reorganizing his things. And you see it: Oni, the Fierce Deity; the War God that nearly won them the war but not the little boy who carried it.

"Where did you get this? Who gave it to you?" You ask. When he doesn't give you an answer, you insist. "That mask is one of a kind, and only one person I know had it, what happened to him."

The silence that follows is so thick, not even the Master Sword could cut it. The Old Man - Time, they call him - is taller than the rest of them, but his stature is bent by bone deep weariness. The scars on his face pull his features in different directions, the bridge of his nose is split, the remains of his empty eye socket droop painfully without his eye patch, the left corner of his mouth peel back to show more of his teeth - two of which are missing. But his remaining eye - bright, alert and unnervingly blue - pleads with him and the realization dawns on him before Time turns away, almost timid but mostly ashamed.

"He kept fighting, Captain. He kept fighting until he couldn't anymore and kept going. Until..."

You embrace him before you can stop yourself. He's just as surprised as you are. But he doesn't throw you off or scold you. Instead, he sinks into the hug with a long, shuddering sigh of relief. He's so tall now, he nearly bowls you over. Then quietly, through tears Captain can't see, he says

"I'm sorry...I thought you be disappointed." Your heart that was frantically picking up the piece just a moment ago breaks all over again. You can still hear that little boy buried in somewhere the gruff baritone you've grown accustomed to. Something bittersweet festers inside you, a melange of emotions you can't possibly unpack in this moment. But not one of them is disappointment. You pull away, taking him by the shoulders and giving him a little shake.

"You are so much more than I could've ever imagined. Whatever you've done, you survived and I couldn't be more proud."

[tugboat--captain]

can u please draw sniper and spy smooching kissing making out

[sar3nka]

Wait I saw a post and am curious now

In context of "words often said in sexual context". Like which one would make you cringe if your partner called you that/requested you call them that.

[longlostlorian]

reflexively said "hey don't hit me I'm just a little birthday boy" over chat with my friend while playing the elden ring dlc and then remembered with glee that, for a limited time only, I AM in fact a little birthday boy. And this fire knight should really respect that

[s1x-foot-deep]

maybe more gay wizards?

wasn't sure which wizards so simons here too