#So have this instead!

[theballadofmars]

Lbh sees himself represented by the bpd icon that is Rebecca Bunch.

Sqq is a bit confused but he loves his husband. Maybe binghe has some underlying issues to address, however he IS certifiably cute and adorably obsessed.

[manchesterau]

31 festive days of dnp [25/31]

❄︎ Dan vs. Phil - FESTIVE FLASH FIGHT! ❄︎

[radiance1]

A Dp x Dc idea that isn't Danny-centric!? Say it ain't so!

So I think that this'll be a relatively short one but anywho.

Pariah Dark forcing the entirety of Amity Park into the ghost zone did not come without consequences, even with the ghost shield the Fenton's put over the town.

Said consequences come in the form of the entire basically becoming a ghost portal in and of itself. It mostly happened slowly over time, with the town experiencing quakes that spread quakes that lead to the Ghost Zone.

Everyone had to evacuate when it got really bad, well, mostly everyone. You see, Sam didn't want to leave Amity Park at all so he tried to find ways to convince her parents to let her stay even if said city was basically crumbling.

Then she had an idea.

What if she became one of Undergrowths allogenes? (taken from genshin impact)

So she persuaded (read: bullied) Danny into taking her to him so they could make a deal and let her stay in Amity. Undergrowth was surprisingly accommodating to the both of them, what with Danny becoming the new Ghost Prince and Sam already leaving a good impression on him.

He gave her a task, take this seed and place it within the middle of Amity Park and watch over it until it fully grows, then, and only then, will he accept her as one of his allogenes.

So Sam very obviously took said seed, said yes, and went to plant it.

The center of Amity Park was basically a giant ghost portal, it was small, at first. But with each and every quake it expanded and expanded until it couldn't be ignored anymore, so after Danny and Sam got back and went to it, Sam just dropped the seed in the middle of it and watched it sink.

Luckily Overgrowth gave her a proper method she should follow to ensure its growth, at the very least.

It took 4 years for the seed to grow, 4 years of relative isolation for Sam. Danny was usually busy with High Prince duties, what with being summoned and the likes, while Tucker was busy with taking over the outside world.

They still made time for her however.

When it grew Undergrowth gave her praise, not many would willingly keep themselves in isolation to grow an interdimensional seed from the other world. Such, he made do on his promise and gave Sam a portion of his powers, turning her into one of his allogenes.

He did however tell her that she was only Allogene he's ever had in multiple eons. Some of them chose to reenter the reincarnation cycle, while others sacrificed themselves for the greater good and such, some of them among the living are still alive, however, so they should be at least, vaguely aware of her existence.

Sam trained her new powers, familiarizing herself with them until it was as easy as breathing, which took a few months of non-stop training. Thankfully her new stamina is leaps beyond that of her previous human self. Eventually, she was even able to create a few lotus' that acted mostly as transport around the giant ghost portal.

Oh yea, did I mention that the Ghost Portal expanded enough to take over all of Amity Park? Well, a few buildings here and there stilled survived, mostly like small islands but still.

So Sam was living a pretty fine life, all things considered. Her days were very peaceful, tending to a few plants here and there, taking care of the giant tree that sprouted from the seed she grew, training her powers and talking to Danny and Tucker whenever they dropped by.

It was repetitive, but a nice one.

Then her daily cycle was interrupted by people claiming to be the Justice League, and she honestly did not have a clue as to who they are. She didn't really keep up with the news after planting the seed, or the outside world at all for that matter, the only one she regularly kept in contact with was Tucker.

She thought back on, and Tucker did mention them once or twice. Mostly painting them as irritating individuals yet worthy of respect, not that she knew why but she wasn't going to just let them step in here regardless. It's pretty rude to just step into someone's home without permission, no?

[froizetta]

WIP Wednesday (depending on timezone)

It's long past midnight for me but, in the spirit of the late great Jimmy Buffett, it's WIP Wednesday somewhere! Specifically, west of the Atlantic. So, you know. Still counts.

Here's the start of another superbat WIP, in which Bruce and Clark have an ill-advised and messy girls' night out together as 30-something year old men. It's like the Hangover, except with fewer and very different hijinks and considerably more angst and also gay pining. (It's nothing like the Hangover.)

When Clark walked into Bruce’s study on a Thursday evening, Bruce could tell immediately that something was off. It wasn’t that he looked sad or anxious, exactly, just…bland. Clark went through life with a near-permanent expression of mild amusement, like he was in on a private joke no-one else knew – which was, incidentally, not uncommonly true. On anyone else it would feel condescending or smug, but on Clark it made people feel like he was letting them in on the secret in some small way. Even if they still didn’t know what it was.

Clark didn’t look that way now. His smile was as bright as ever, but there was something lifeless to it. Like for once he was the one out of the loop. With how well Bruce knew him by now, its absence was almost disconcerting, an uncanny valley of his usual exuberance.

And then, of course, there was also:

“Hey, Bruce! Wanna grab a drink?”

Bruce leaned back in his chair and regarded him coolly. Indeed, the evidence was all but overwhelming.

“You don’t drink,” he replied.

“Do too,” Clark protested.

“Since when?”

“Since, you know. The normal time people start drinking,” Clark said, which was almost impressively unconvincing. “College, I think.”

“You drank in college,” Bruce said. It was more a statement of disbelief than a question.

Clark averted his eyes before replying, “A little.”

He didn’t look like he was even convincing himself now.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Why bother? You can’t even get drunk.”

Clark huffed. “Well, Bruce, it might surprise you to know that most of my friends in college didn’t actually know I was a superpowered alien. Someone would hand me a beer, and I’d sort of…nurse it, to blend in. It’s what people do in college.”

“I’m not sure pretending to drink a single lukewarm Budweiser in a frat house counts as ‘drinking’.”

Clark bristled, eyes darkening with irritation. “Well, maybe I wanted to branch out a little! I don’t see why this has to be a damn interrogation,” he snapped, which was definitely a harsher response than Bruce would normally expected. Bruce regarded him mutely, watched as he sagged against the doorframe and let out a sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face.

There was no sign of that false-bright smile any longer. The veneer was well and truly cracked now.

“Sorry,” Clark said, genuine regret in his voice. “I overreacted. I’m a little…on edge right now.”

“I can see that,” Bruce said, carefully placid. He considered the hunched shoulders, the dullness in his eyes. This was something, alright.

He tried to keep his tone gentle as he probed, “Did something happen?”

Clark’s lips quirked, wry. “You mean you don’t already know?”

“I might,” Bruce admitted. “But for the sake of the conversation, why don’t we assume I have better things to do than stalk you and go from there?”

“Don’t try to kid, B. I know how much you love stalking people,” Clark said lightly. But the teasing edge to his voice was a blunted imitation of his usual. Bruce held his tongue and, after a long pause, Clark’s lips thinned.

“Lois broke up with me,” he said eventually, quietly.

Ah. So it was that.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Bruce said. Clark’s mouth flickered into a weak smile. Clearly, Bruce wasn’t fooling either of them. “Did she give a reason?”

He let out a tired sigh. “Yup. She said I wasn’t putting her first.”

“Hm. Kind of inevitable when you’re dating a superhero.”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“And did you tell her that?”

Clark’s mouth twisted. “I did,” he said, eyes boring a hole into the floor near his feet. If he stared any harder, Bruce would start worrying about scorch marks in his rug.

Bruce waited again. Clark’s mouth worked as if he had something to say, but after a few long seconds he stayed stubbornly silent. Reluctant to talk, then. And, as was evident from the rest of his demeanor, tired, restless and maybe a little bitter. Nothing unexpected within the context of a recent break-up.

Bruce steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “I see. And you think alcohol will be the solution. So, you want...what? Oblivion? Liquid courage, so you can win her back?”

Clark sighed tiredly. Finally stepping fully over the threshold, he walked towards the desk then slumped against the edge with his arms folded and shoulders hunched. “Neither? ‘Oblivion’ sounds a little dramatic. I mean geez, I’m not that far gone.”

Bruce tipped his head towards the glass-fronted cabinet near his desk and lightly observed, “That’s just as well. I’m not sure my collection of scotch will give a man of your constitution much of either.”

“Believe it or not, I had thought of that,” Clark said dryly. “I just wanted...” He trailed off with a frown, then waved a hand in the air with a soft grunt of frustration. “I don't know how to put it, exactly. Just, you know. The atmosphere.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows. “The atmosphere,” he repeated.

“Yeah. I can’t do the being drunk part, but isn’t there a kind of…atmosphere with it all?” Clark said with a helpless little shrug. “Like, you know, on TV when a guy gets dumped, his buddy comes ‘round, slaps him on the back and takes him out for a beer. And then the buddy says, ‘Women, huh?’ or something like that, and then they laugh, and then everyone feels magically better. Like that.”

Bruce suppressed a private smile. “Oh, right. That atmosphere.”

“I mean, isn’t that what people do?”

“Some people,” Bruce said with a shrug. “But unfortunately for you, I think the whole ‘getting drunk’ part is pretty integral to creating said atmosphere.”

“Oh,” Clark said, disappointed. “Really?”

“Insofar as it can make one’s problems feel more distant for a while, yes,” Bruce explained neutrally. “There’s a reason the writers put them in a bar and not a coffee shop. And that reason is mostly chemical.”

“Ah. That…makes sense. Then, so much for that plan, I guess.” He was chuckling a little as he said it, but there was a weary edge to it. His hands, which had been gripping the edge of the desk, went slack as the nervous energy he’d had when he arrived had drained away. What was left was a subtle exhaustion, a gentle furrow in his brow marring the usually noble lines of his profile.

“Not a drink, then,” he said wearily. “Something else? I don’t really care, just…something.”

Bruce felt his chest tighten slightly. He always hated seeing Clark like this. It felt viscerally wrong for a man as unaccountably good as Clark to look anything less than perfectly content.

Maybe he should have said something sooner. And he would have, if he trusted himself with this. But Bruce’s real skill, the skill that allowed him to fight alongside aliens and metahumans and demigods as their equal, was this: while he knew his strengths, he also knew, exhaustively and completely, what made him weak.

Clark made him weak. He’d already decided, days ago now, that a half-hearted attempt at comfort in the wake of all this would only make matters worse. That the best thing would be to leave well enough alone. After all, there was a non-zero chance that Clark, who was practically a walking, talking lie detector, would notice that Bruce wasn’t being entirely honest when he told him he was sorry that he and Lois had broken up. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen if Clark figured out why that was.

Clark had other friends. He had his family. Someone— Anyone else would be a better shoulder to cry on.

But Clark had come to him. This wasn’t the time for weakness.

[sunshowersanddandelionwine]

some random road to hell au worldbuilding that i dont know how to seamlessly integrate into the actual fics themselves so have this Lore Dump instead:

magic is a force of nature in the world of road to hell. everything is affected by it, and everything either creates or consumes it. most typical humans are unable to tangibly affect or channel magic, but they generate enough to sustain themselves. there are a few very rare individuals who can completely nullify magic in the space around them and are unable to be harmed or helped by it (called voids, nulls, or suppressors interchangeably)

magical creatures can use magic in specific, very limited ways. for example: werewolves use it to shift between their human and wolf forms. vampires can no longer make enough magic on their own to sustain themselves, and therefore have to consume blood from others to supply it. fae have a more broad range of magical skills, but most lesser fae are confined to things like glamours, mild enchantments, etc. a limited amount of magic remains in their corpses after death, which means that there is unfortunately a lot of black market trade around things like werewolf claws, vampire fangs, fae bones, etc.

"mythicals" aka dragons, phoenixes, court fae, etc, generate enough magical energy that they can do incredible feats. its how soap was able to hide himself from typical military magical checks, and how farah can heal herself and others. its a double edged sword, though. this means that even after death, mythical creatures' bodies still contain a MASSIVE amount of magical power, and that magical power can be used and abused in very creative ways.

there are also three main schools of magical humans (they're not quite human, but not quite creature so they dont really apply to either category but no one knows where to put them: witches, sorcerers, and wizards

witches can only use magic through living things. they dont have to be living anymore, mind you, but they use things like blood, bone, plants, etc for their magic. sorcerers, on the other hand, channel their magic through inanimate objects. often they have a specialization - stone, metal, or wood are the most common - but anything inanimate is fair game. some skilled sorcerers can even use electronics as a channeling device. the last type, wizards, are the most rare. they pull magic straight from the source without any need for a third party conduit. as such, they are incredibly powerful but highly volatile and were often either hunted or contained

[bitchfitch]

writing advice for characters with a missing eye: dear God does losing an eyes function fuck up your neck. Ever since mine crapped out I've been slowly and unconsciously shifting towards holding my head at an angle to put the good eye closer to the center. and human necks. are not meant to accommodate that sorta thing.

[tio-trile]

Something something vampires have no reflection so he can't even try to see his brother's face anymore when he looks into the mirror

[cafeyote]

me and gang at the haunted house

[stealingpotatoes]

tried to tell my faithful eunuch Tucker that he was basically tumblr famous, but he was too focused on defending the homestead to care

[inkskinned]

the tradwife movement is the same as it has always been - back in the kitchen, back to breeding - it just has better branding.

when i was younger, i hated pink. i was not like other girls. this is now something i'm embarrassed of - this was not me being a "girl's girl."

but it was expressing something many of us felt at the time: i literally wasn't what girlhood was supposed to be. this is a hard thing to explain, but you know when you're not performing girlhood correctly. it isn't as easy as "i liked x when girls liked y" - because there were other girls that liked x, too - but i never figured out exactly the correct way to like x, or to be interested in y.

now there is the divine feminine. this is the same rhetoric it has always been: women are biologically driven to like pink and ribbons and submitting to our husbands.

the problem is that the patriarchy found a better PR team. because yes, actually, i want every woman to have the choice to be a homemaker. i also want her taken seriously for her legitimate home-making labor. i want her to be recognized as also having a job, just unpaid. i want men to have this opportunity, too.

but it is no longer "i made this choice and I love it." instead it is a sixteen-paragraph rant about how selfish it is that my generation isn't having kids. instead it's long videos about how if you feed your children processed foods, you're going to kill them. instead it is "this is what womanhood is supposed to be. i feel bad for any other choices you're making."

the shame spiral is just prettier. it is large houses devoid of personality. it is the implication: if you don't have this, you aren't happy. the solid, everlasting assurance: women are actually supposed to be submitting. this is the default. this is the natural state of things. all other attempts inflict suffering.

but you can no longer say i'm not like other girls. you can no longer reject this image completely. you cannot find it revolting, even if you know that the underbelly is toxic and festering. sure, it is the same repackaged patriarchy. but the internet does not have shades of grey. you should support and reward other women! your disgust is actually internalized misogyny. not because you are seeing a vision of yourself the way they're trying to train you to be. not because you feel her ghost pass within an inch of your earlobe. not because your father will eventually ask you - why can't you be like her?

because they figured out how to make it beautiful: women will sell other women on this idea, and we will find the singular loophole in feminism. sure, she's shaming you in most of her videos. sure, she implies that a different life is obscene. but she just wants you to be happy! you'd be happier if you were listening!

and the whole time you're sitting there thinking: i'd actually just be happier if i had that kind of money.

[blaithnne]

Live Mel reaction

[t8oo]

[jordanswitches]

one of the hottest things ever is forced orgasms. someone fighting their body for me. getting them really really close and telling them not to cum and they're like straining and clenching their muslces trying to hold it back, even though they know i'm not gonna stop in time and their orgasm is inevitable. but they'll try anyway because they want to be good for me so bad. "stopstopstop, please, i'm gonna cum" awww you can't hold it for me? just a little longer? i know you can do it baby. i know you wanna cum so bad and it feels so good and you just wanna give into the feeling, but hold it. you know i'll ruin it if you don't.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Must be a Sugondese joke.

[aerequets]

cost and benefit

[muffinlance]

Consider: Post-canon Zuko wakes up in the body of his childhood self, the morning of That War Meeting. Would he still speak against the plans, knowing his fate? What do you think he would do differently the second time around?

"Turned away at the doors, Zuzu?"

"Shut up, Azula," her brother sulked. But sulked weirdly, after staring at her too long and too wide-eyed, not like she'd surprised him but--

But like he hadn't expected her to be there. At all.

He turned away. ...He turned back. "Hey, Lala? Do you think you could help me practice that one set?"

He didn't meet her eyes.

She narrowed hers. "Which set?"

"The one I'm bad at."

She scoffed. Pushed away from the wall she'd been leaning against. "That's all of them, Dum-Dum."

He didn't shout or stomp or yell about the nickname. His lips twitched.

"It's okay," he said. "If you're afraid you won't be a better teacher that my instructor..."

It was the most obvious manipulation ever.

Perhaps if he proved an adequate firebending student, she'd work on his courtly survival skills next. Honestly, it was good that not even Uncle Gets-Cousins-Killed had been fool enough to take Zuko into that war meeting. She could only imagine how terribly that could have gone.

"Keep up," she said, and turned her steps towards the training grounds.

He did. There, and during the katas she ran him through.

Azula kept her eyes narrowed.

"Hey," he asked, "do you know how to bend lightning yet?"

As if he could have missed it, if she'd been able to get more than sparks. "I will soon," she said.

"You will," he agreed, and flowed through his next set. The one she'd only just mastered.

Father didn't notice how weird Zuzu was being. Uncle never noticed anything. Zuko ate dinner and asked a servant for seconds and didn't stutter or flinch or lose his appetite when father asked, coolly, what he'd done with his day. Azula's shoulders tensed, because one mention of how she'd squandered her own training time teaching him--

"Azula hogged the training grounds. For hours," Zuzu scowled, exactly like a petulant thirteen year old.

Exactly like he hadn't been acting all day.

By the time Father was looking her way, Azula had her usual smirk in place. "I'm sure there would be room for both of us," she said, "you're not afraid of a little friendly fire, are you, brother?"

Zuko sulked. And ate his seconds, like he was enjoying each bite. There was something in his eyes, like a joke no one else was getting.

---

Father died that night. A heart attack. There were the faintest of burns to either side of the treacherous organ; the royal physician hypothesized that he'd grabbed at his chest, fingers burning hot in his final moments; so hot they'd only exacerbated the problem.

The royal physician would never have been brought any victims of lighting strikes. Those that occurred in the capital did not generally require a doctor in the aftermath.

Zuzu ate a hearty breakfast.

He didn't order seconds. Azula gave him points, at least, for not being tacky.

---

The sages named Iroh as regent.

They named Zuko as Fire Lord.

"No," the tiny Fire Lord in his perfectly miniaturized Fire Lord robes said, sitting at the head of his war council. "We're not doing that. And I'll be reviewing all recent battle plans, as well. What's this I hear about a division of new recruits being deployed to the front?"

He did not mention how he'd heard of the 41st Division. No one asked.

"Prince Iroh, surely--" one of the generals tried to appeal.

The young Fire Lord's regent was looking as startled as the rest of them, for a moment. Then he sipped his tea, and smiled.

"Your Fire Lord is correct, of course. A change in our leadership--a change the other nations may mistakenly view as weakness--will necessitate a change in our strategy."

"Now," said their lord, "what, exactly, is our overall objective in this war?"

War, the new Fire Lord decreed, was not an end unto itself.

---

The new Fire Lord continued to have time, to pretend to be trained by her. Azula watched him. Adjusted her footwork. Did not tolerate, and was not offered, any commentary on who was teaching who.

"What did you do with my brother?" she asked, as they flowed from one set to the next. As her hands, poised to throw fire, just so happened to be pointed his way.

He missed a step. It didn't look like an act.

"I'm, uh. Right here?"

She didn't bother to dignify that.

He didn't bother to look worried about her hands, one movement off from a true attack.

He looked around, then grabbed her sleeve, and tugged her further from any walls that may hide ears. The royal family's private training grounds were wonderfully large, and wonderfully open.

"It's me," he said. "It's still me. Just. More of me? Longer of me?"

She narrowed her eyes. A familiar expression, by this point. "Explain."

"...I found the Avatar," he said. "And this is definitely his fault, but--but I guess it started at a war meeting, when I was thirteen."

Azula listened. It was a very Dum-Dum story.