#and isn't that what matters?

[ghostinthegallery]

Me @ she/her necrons

[galaxyseclipse]

saw this screenshot and thought it'd be funny with them

it's probably not, but I at least got a kick out of it lmao

[thedogwhoisachair]

Made Frankie some cords!

Even though I've been sewing for a year and a half now, this is actually my first ever completed sewing project. Hey, at least I got there! And I'm sure there's a lot more to come.

[kit-o-nine-tales]

Sunlight

Read on AO3

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Meg/Castiel

Rated M for canonical character death

Summary: They say that demons don't dream. Meg knows that's a lie. They say that demons can't change. Unfortunately for her, that turns out to be a lie too.

Aka: The demon known as Meg thinks about Castiel a lot over the years... and ultimately flies too close to the sun. A songfic using "Sunlight" by Hozier.

I would shun the light, share in evening's cool and quiet Who would trade that hum of night? For sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

She is a demon. She’s been a demon for longer than she can remember. She’s known all the different domains of hell intimately, been on both sides of the knife so many times that she imagines that nothing of who she’d been before remains. And she’s happy like this. She has a mission; something she believes in. Their father will walk the earth again, will rip the wings from all the angels and remake the earth so that his children can walk it without suffering under the cursed, purifying light of life and the sun. Angels and hunters would believe that demons can’t dream, but they do. And the one who calls herself “Meg” dreams of the day when she can leave hell behind forever, and stride across the earth in her true form without having to fear the light.

But whose heart would not take flight? Betray the moon as acolyte On first and fierce affirming sight Of sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

And then the Winchesters and their pet angel ruin everything, sealing her father back inside his cage, putting Armageddon on hold, maybe forever. Father’s trapped with one of his brothers, the one he’d meant to kill. Sometimes she sits outside of the cage, her head propped up in her hands as she listens to the sounds of them fighting. He’d been angry with her, before they put him there. She’d gone against the plan, wanting revenge on Sam and Dean. She failed, over and over. And she wonders if maybe this might be for the better. As much as she might wish otherwise, something changed within her during her encounter with Castiel, no matter how much she’d tried not to believe him, even if he did cast her into the flames and walk on her right afterwards.

She’s a demon, for fucks sake. What’s a little holy fire compared to countless centuries spent on the rack, having your own entrails fed to you, millimeter by millimeter?

Nothing, that’s what.

She sits outside her father’s cage, her chin in her hands, and she dreams. Meg, Queen of Hell has a nice ring to it —  if she can manage to get Crowley out of the way. And she knows just the people she can use to help her do that.

I had been lost to you, sunlight And flew like a moth to you, sunlight, oh, sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight But it is sunlight

When she next sees Castiel, she has her own goals now. Granted, they're fairly simple: kill Crowley and take over hell. She wants the Winchesters to owe her, she wants the Winchesters to help her. She wants — she wants to live. And she’s drawn to Castiel. She's not ashamed to admit it, because again, demon. What could be more demonic than potentially corrupting an angel, drawing it into the sin of lust?

She’s no stranger to using her attractiveness as a weapon, or corrupting the innocent (though the so-called "innocence" of angels is a crock; as far as she knows, a lot of them have just as much blood on their hands as the average demon, if not more, even if they do claim it's for righteous reasons.) But when she kisses Castiel to steal his angel blade, it proves itself more than just that. She actually enjoys it. And so, it seems, does he, if the way he presses her up against the wall and kisses her back is any indication. It’s at that moment Meg knows she’s completely fucked. The plan’s gone to shit, and she’s actually risking herself just to give the Winchesters and the angel a chance of winning. Clarence and the Winchesters leave her to the hounds and she chuckles at herself. That angel is a bad influence, and she’s hardly even spent any time around him. But he has her feeling. Wanting. Dreaming.

They say that demons don’t dream; but they only say that because demons shouldn’t dream. They’ll only start to get ideas. And that never ends well.

All the tales the same Told before and told again A soul that's born in cold and rain Knows sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

The Winchesters don’t trust her. Smart of them, really. She is what she is, they are what they are — tales as old as time and all that. But they have little other choice, with Clarence’s noggin scrambled by Sam’s hell memories. Part of her finds it funny; the angel can’t withstand even a small taste of what would just be another Tuesday to her — but at the same time, she knows what it is to suffer under the artistic hands of her father, and it is not something anyone can just shrug off. She honestly kind of respects Sam for managing to hold himself together as long as he did.

This altered Castiel is strange, which means something, coming from a demon. He’s got no filter, and has this… unsettling innocence. He looks at her and he sees her. The real her.

And he looks at all that pain, all the scars and artful carving that twisted up her soul, making it sharp, dark, and bloody — and he calls it beautiful. Looking back at him in these moments is like staring into the sun. Antithetical to the core of what she is, painful and altering, and yet... she can't tear herself away. Like something out of a dream... or a nightmare. She brushes it off with a dirty joke, but once again she finds herself being changed against her will by forces outside her control —  only this time, part of her... allows it. Part of her dreams of where this new path will lead.

And at last can grant a name To a buried and a burning flame As love and its decisive pain Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

He calls her his caretaker — and as much as she wants to reject it, the name has power over her. She kills for him, and she knows it’s not just out of pragmatism. Like this, he lacks the fire that drew her to him originally, but still she finds she can’t ignore him. Just as she can't ignore the twinges of pain as parts of her reshape themselves under the influence of their strange connection. It's nothing compared to being strung up and remade on the racks, of course. More like a sunburn, maybe.

She surprises herself with how well she’s come to know the habits of this altered Castiel. He comes when she calls, and she can’t deny that she gets a thrill out of holding that over the Winchesters’ heads. Whatever changes Castiel might be triggering in her, she is still a demon, after all.

She dreams, all the same. She’s always been quite the dreamer, for a demon. Azazel and Lucifer had said it was what made her special. Demons aren't supposed to dream, but they do. Still, her dreams have always been different than those of her of kind. And now she dreams of a recovered Castiel, of power and dominion and safety and a powerful angel at her side, sexy and dangerous and likely to be the death of her. She's a loyal creature, for better or worse. She is what she is, and he is what he is, even if it doesn't seem like it right now.  So after she saves him from Hester, she runs. She can only really rely on herself, despite everything. Still, she dreams, and avoids staring into the sun.

All that was shown to me, sunlight Was somethin' foreknown to me, sunlight, oh sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight But it is sunlight

Of course, it can't be that easy. She makes it half-way across the world, where the local supernatural denizens have no connection to Crowley (demons from other cultures and religions have fairly different power structures) and Castiel, he of the pleading eyes and deep, disjointed thoughts pops up in front of her, scaring away the Kitsune she'd been bargaining with for some fresh virgin's blood to power her cloaking sigil.

"You know, lamb's blood would work just as well," Castiel says conversationally, "though I'd prefer it if you didn't kill the lamb. I could keep it calm, make sure it doesn't feel the pain or get scared."

"Why are you here, Clarence?" Meg asks tiredly. So much for avoiding the sunlight.

"It's gone quiet," Castiel says sadly. "But my fighting days are over."

"So you need a big bad demon to do the fighting for you, huh?" She pulls out her angel blade.

She'll do it, of course. She is what she is; loyal, for better or worse. She can't say who is using who here, anymore. But she supposes it doesn't really make a difference.

"I don't like conflict," Castiel says once again.

"I know, Clarence," she says, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

He places one of his own hands on her shoulder, and suddenly she's standing outside that extremely cliche hunter's cabin again. The only thing it's missing is a plaid flannel of its own.

Meg sighs, and goes to knock on the door, while Castiel zaps himself into the Winchesters's car, hiding. She rolls her eyes. The things she does for her cloud hopper.

Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight But it is sunlight, sunlight

The Winchesters ask their questions, she redirects them to Clarence (she is still a demon, after all —  she's not going to fight all his battles for him. Especially not his ex-boyfriend drama.) Still, she keeps an ear out, telling herself she's not going soft. Though she can't lie to herself as well as she'd like.

Then it turns out Rocky and Bullwinkle were stupid enough to try and summon Crowley. She tries to run, calling for Cas, but it's too late. The Rat King of Hell arrives, and she can taste how badly he wants to kill her.

Her little problem only gets worse when Clarence steps in to protect her from Crowley. For all that he hates conflict, he's willing to step up for her. It... touches something in her. She can't remember anyone ever doing that for her, not since she became what she is.

And it's enough to scare away Crowley, at least for now. The Winchesters need Castiel, and Crowley wants the Winchesters to deal with Dick Roman for him... and as Crowley says, Castiel would be upset if something were to happen for her. When the King of Hell can see that there’s something there, she knows it must be real. Crowley can smell manipulable connections like a shark can scent a drop of blood in the water. For now, Castiel’s attachment to her keeps her safe. But there’s no guarantee it will stay that way.

There's proof enough of that in her dreams; more often then not, when her mind drifts, things take a darker turn. She sees herself, burning up in the light of Castiel. She sees herself dying for him, sometimes at the hands of other angels, sometimes demons — prophecy was never her gift, but she can feel which way the wind's blowing. Whatever this thing between them is, it will be the death of her. She knows it in her gut.

Oh, and these colors fade for you only Hold me, carry me slowly, my sunlight Oh, all these colors fade for you only Hold me, carry me slowly, my sunlight

It's only more true when she agrees to help the Winchesters in their shitty plan to take down Dick Roman. If the demon she was seven years ago could see her now, it would stab her with her own angel blade. Meg, child of Azazel, student of Alistair, devotee to Lucifer —  once again willingly serving as a distraction on the Winchesters' behalf.

This is all Castiel's fault. Being around him... she can feel the sharpness of her fading, her thorns rounding out, slowly.

It's made her stupid — but then, maybe she's always been like this. Loyalty is loyalty. A cause is a cause. She'd started down this path planning to use Clarence and the Winchesters to her own ends, but now she's driving Dean's stupid, over-compensating muscle car towards a building filled with the kind of creatures that  angels and the first demons had nightmares about. Armed with just a knife and a jug of Power Clean.

She and Castiel exchanged glances right before they went their separate ways. He seemed... sharper. Like he got a little bit of himself back. They said a lot without saying anything. It gave her something to dream of.

And she's going to need that, she thinks, as Crowley's goons take advantage of the damage the leviathans did to her to throw her up against a wall and capture her.

Each day, you'd rise with me Know that I would gladly be The Icarus to your certainty Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

Months pass. Meg endures. Meg dreams. Compared to Azazel, to Alistair, to Lucifer, Crowley and his goons' attempts at torture are nothing; drops of spit in the ocean. She lies, she acts, she lets them think they're getting information out of her, all the while she keeps them from finding what they're actually looking for.

She thinks about Castiel, lets herself dream through the torture. Sometimes she thinks of calling for him. He'd come, if she called. She still believes that.

She doesn't call.

Crowley comes to gloat a few times, tells her that her little angel is dead, along with Dean Winchester. She doesn't want to believe that. She doesn't want to prove him right. So she doesn't call. If she were to call, and he never showed, then it would mean that Crowley's right.

Even though part of her thinks that if he were alive, he would have come for her by now. Unless he doesn't know she's been taken. Maybe he's lying low, making plans, searching... if she called, it would put him at risk.

So she doesn't call. There's not much she can do to protect her cloud hopper where she is right now, but that much, she can manage.

She scoffs at herself —  when did she become such a damn softie? Nothing good ever comes from staring at the sun. Nothing good ever comes from dreaming. Not for a demon.

But she stared anyway. She dreamed anyway. And she just keeps dreaming.

Strap the wing to me Death trap clad happily With wax melted, I'd meet the sea Under sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

She knows the end is coming, one way or another, when Crowley starts complaining that some one is killing his minions. Maybe it's Sam, out for revenge. Maybe it's both of the Winchesters; Dean turning back up like the bad penny that he is. Or maybe it's her Clarence, finally coming to find her.

Yeah right.

Even when Dean, Sam, and Clarence do show up, she knows it's not for her. It's for the Angel Tablet, same as Crowley. Still, she's glad to see Castiel again. He seems different. More focused. Better, but still, not quite the Angel she remembers. She can tell Dean notices too. But she doesn't say anything. She knows what she is. Hell, if she said something, Dean probably wouldn't believe her. Better to just get out of here, save her own skin.

But then Castiel turns to her. "We need your help."

How can she say no? "Any of you dummies got a map?" She chuckles.

This will be the death of her. She knows it. But she just can't seem to stop looking at the sun. Reaching for it, dreaming of it. She lets them take her to their temporary base, wincing in the light of day.

Sam and Dean leave her and Clarence alone, and he looks at her like... like she matters. Like he cares. He takes care of her, cleaning her wounds even though eventually they'll close up on their own.

"These wounds have festered," he says worriedly.

"You really do know how to make a girl's nethers quiver, don't you?" She smiles at him and takes a swig of her booze. Trashy stuff, exactly what she'd expect from the Winchesters. Not that she really cares. She just likes to rag on them. Since, well... she's a demon. Funny how she has to keep reminding herself that, these days. Doesn't help that him taking care of her is actually really hot. Never thought she was one to get off on the touchy-feely crap. But here she is.

"I am aware of how to do that. Although it doesn't usually involve cleaning wounds," Castiel replies, far too seriously.

She raises an eyebrow. Damn Crowley for the shitty bleach-job. She's much better looking as a brunnette. Funny, how body just feels like hers now. The girl from Cheboygan's long gone. She almost feels... bad about that. Ew.

"Why are you so sweet on me, Clarence?" She asks. Even now, even when he clearly doesn't need her anymore, there's still something there.

"I don't know. And I still don't know who Clarence is."

She laughs. "Would it kill you to watch a movie, read a book?"

"A movie, no. But a book with the proper spells -- yeah, it could, theoretically, kill me."

He would give her a real answer for that. Funny though, she feels the need to tell him that he shouldn't be sharing that kind of information with a demon. She doesn't mention it. Instead, she keeps flirting, curious to see where it might lead. "You know, you're much cuter when you're shutting up. So, which Cas are you now? Original make and model or crazy town?"

"I'm just me."

A lie, but one she'll pretend she believes for now. Not like she knows anything about deprograming angels. Aside from maybe doing it the old fashioned way, original sin and all that. "So, your noodle's back in order?"

"Yeah, my... noodle remembers everything. I think it's a pretty good noodle."

Even though he's better, he's still... cute. She shouldn't even be capable of finding things cute. What is he doing to her? "Really? You remember everything?" But like Icarus, she just keeps reaching for the sun.

"If you're referring to the pizza man... Yes, I remember the pizza man. And it's a good memory."

They let that sit for a moment, staring at each other. She winces a little. "What are you doing to me, Clarence?" She finally asks.

He cocks his head to the side. "I believe it's called flirting."

"Not that," she sighs. "Look at my true form."

He blinks at her. "I don't think that was my doing."

She rolls her eyes. "Who else could it have been, Clarence?"

"You," he replies.

She sighs, raising the bottle to her lips again. "You ever miss the Apocalypse?"

"No. Why would I miss the end of times?"

He just doesn't get it. It makes sense, she guesses. Not like the sun cared that it melted Icarus's wings.

"I miss the simplicity. I was bad. You were good. Life was easier. Now it's all so messy. I'm kind of good, which sucks." An understatement. "And you're kind of bad -- which is actually all manner of hot. We survive this... I'm gonna order some pizza and we're gonna move some furniture around. You understand?" She might as well keep dreaming, though. She's come this far.

"No, I-I  — " He seems confused.

Meg gives him a sly smirk and waits, watching as understanding dawns on his stupidly kissable face.

"Wait —  actually... Yes, I — "

But before he can finish that thought, the cock-blocking Winchesters make their return. And joy of joys, they have another one of their shitty plans.

The dream was nice, while it lasted.

Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight But it is sunlight

They stand outside a warehouse after dark. She could run. She could tell them she's done, that she's given them what they want. Save herself before she gets too close to the sun.

But she won't. The light is inside her now. There's no running from that.

When Sam suggests that she watch their backs, she's ready to do it. They don't trust her, even after everything. Not that she blames them. Light or no, she is what she is. That's why it burns so much.

But Castiel trusts her. Castiel cares. "....You should stay here and protect Meg."

"Since when do I need protecting?" She wants, suddenly, to hear him say it. That she's worth protecting.

"Since you were held captive and tortured for over a year."

Not quite what she was hoping for, but she'll take it. "Touché."

For all that the Winchesters talk about not trusting her, Dean does still leave her with Sam, which says more than words ever could. Even with the torture, she's pretty sure she could take Sam out it she wanted to, given the state he's in.

They're lucky that she doesn't want to. She's... fond of Sam, weirdly enough.

Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight But it is sunlight

Not that he appreciates that.

"Wait -- so I took how many bullets for you guys, and you didn't even look for me?" She asks as they work together to ward the building. "Like, once?" She scoffs. Stupid of her to hope otherwise, really. Going soft sucks. "My hero. What's with all the "trial" and "being damaged" crap?" Even so, she's still concerned. Stupid sunlight, burning inside her, smoothing down her thorns.

"Look, no disrespect, but you haven't exactly been the most, uh, trustworthy person in our lives, Meg."

She can't deny that one, but still. "You're not gonna tell me? Seriously? How am I not team Sam?" She scoffs again. He doesn't get it. Or he doesn't want to. Fair enough.  "Fine. Whatever it is, you okay dying over it?"

He ignores her. Which, fair; but if she's going to die for these bozos — and she is, she can feel it, like a sudden free-fall in her belly — she's going to say her piece first. He's fighting for a cause —  she wants him to decide if he's really willing to commit to it.

"You don't want to say, fine. But remember, I spent time in that walking corpse of yours. I know your sad, little thoughts and feelings."

"That's creepy," he replies dryly.

It is. "You think I want to have little lingering bits of Winchester-thoughts bouncing around in my noggin? Honestly —  You should be paying for me to see a shrink." She shakes her head. Stay on topic. "Here's what I remember. Deep down, in parts you never let see the light of day, you want to live a long, normal life away from creepy old things like me."

Of course, that's an easy one. She doesn't even need the Winchester leftovers to know that.

"I do," Sam scoffs. Then he sighs. "You know, I spent last year with... someone, and, um... ...now I know that's actually possible." He looks like he doesn't even know why he's telling her this.

Frankly, she doesn't either. She's said what she wanted to, so maybe she should quiet while she's ahead. "Wait —  that's how you spent your last year? With a chick? Lame."

"You know, how about we just wait quietly?" He shakes his empty spray can.

She almost laughs. That's the Sammy she remembers having so much fun with. He's always at his best when he's being a little on the bitchy side. Whoever said blondes have more fun got it wrong; bitches have more fun.

"What was her name? You don't even trust me with a name? Cut me, do I not bleed, Sam?"

Surprisingly, she genuinely wants to know. Did this woman change him, like Clarence has changed her? Did he fly too close to the sun too? Or did he shed his wings and save himself?

"So, some chick actually got you off hunting, huh? That's one rare creature. Tell me —  how'd you meet this unicorn?"

Demons aren't supposed to dream, and neither, she thinks, are hunters. It never ends well.

Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight

Even more surprisingly, Sam tells her. Maybe part of him senses the light in her, burning away at what she ought to be. Or maybe he just wants to tell someone, and figures nobody cares what Meg has to say. Maybe he senses the end coming for her too —  prophecy was his thing, even if he doesn't do it anymore, now that Azazel's blood's gone dormant with the demon's death.

"You fell in love with a unicorn. It was beautiful, then sad, then sadder. I laughed, I cried, I puked in my mouth a little. And honestly, I kind of get it."

Her dreams never have a happy ending. Castiel is the sun, and it's going to destroy her in the end. It might be warm, it might make her feel nice in all the right places and the wrong ones, but that doesn't change what it is. What she is.

"Really?" Sam sounds like he might actually be willing to believe her. Like he might want to hear her story too.

But they're out of time. "We've got company."

Crowley's goons come out in force. And she's sure that the King of Hell himself won't be far behind.

But it is sunlight

And of course, she's right. Maybe she's got more prophecy in her than she thought. Bitching isn't as fun when Crowley does it. And she can tell that Sam doesn't have much more fight in him. She's gotta get him out of here. She sighs internally. Sunlight might be the biggest bitch of them all. Sure stings like one.

"You gonna talk us to death or get down to it already?" She taunts, drawing Crowley's attention away from Sam. She knows how this ends. But Sam doesn't have to die here too.

Crowley pulls out an angel blade, and Meg feels like she's seen this moment a thousand times since she let the sunlight in. Yeah, she knows how this ends. She's fucked. Damn that angel. Damn her. Damn everything.

Meg steps up to the plate, looking back over her shoulder at Sam. "Go. Save your brother... and my unicorn."

"Did Timon and Pumbaa..."  Crowley asks tauntingly. The door to the warehouse closes behind Sam. "...tell you their big plan? Did they share that little chestnut with you? They mean to close the Gates of Hell, sweetheart. They mean to kill me and all the demons -- you included."

She figured as much. One way another, her dreams were doomed from the start. It doesn't change a thing.

"You had me at "kill you," Crowley," she drawls with a smile.

He raises his fists. She braces for impact.

Oh, your love is sunlight

She does her best not to laugh at him as he lands another brutal hit on one of her kidneys.

"I could beat on you for eternity." He says. Dumbass.

Oh, your love is sunlight

"Take all the time you want, you pig." They hear the sound of car doors closing, and they both look up.

Meg finally lets herself laugh. "No Cas in the back seat. Your stone is long gone." She knows how this will end, but she's going to go down fighting. She stabs him in the shoulder.

But it is sunlight

Crowley gasps angrily, pulls out the blade, and drives it into her. Lightning sparks. Time slows.

Sunlight, sunlight,

She’s always wondered where demons go when they die. She knows it’s not purgatory, and even though it would make sense for them to just wind up back in hell, she knows that’s not how it works either. Maybe there’s just… nothing.

sunlight,

Can dead demons dream? She doesn’t know, but dying ones can — because even in the milliseconds she’s has left after Crowley stabs her, she’s still dreaming. She dreams of Castiel, finding her body and grieving. She dreams of Cas, showing up in the nick of time and healing her, rounding away even more of her thorns. It would hurt, but she’d live.

But she knows her dreams won’t come true. She’s a demon, and demons aren’t meant to dream.

sunlight,

Maybe dead demons don’t go anywhere. Maybe it’s just dark, quiet nothingness.

Once upon a time, she might have welcomed that. But not anymore.

Now… her last thought as the blade in her chest sparks its last, tearing all that she is to shreds, is that she’s going to miss the light of her unicorn.

sunlight

[citrusandbergamot]

What's the most niche fanfic idea you've ever had?

Cause my current one i think takes the cake

[dappy-dappernette]

I keep on hearing people go all "The voice of the Smitten is such a creep. All he wants in the princess is someone to control and keep as a pretty object. He'd drop the princess if she wasn't the perfect petite maiden like in the damsel route." and I will not stand for the Smitten slander.

Like- He's been in love with her as a burning corpse ghost lady:

A terrifying ghost woman who wants to bring fear and chaos to the world:

And even a murderous blade monster woman who would kill you and enjoy every second of it:

Like, he ALWAYS loves the princess no matter what she looks like or how she acts, he loves her for being herself no matter what or who she is. That's the point of his character and I'm tired of people slandering my boy.

[ochibrochi]

i'm surprised on how quickly i warmed up to damian's 2021 redesign, but i wish they kept his combat boots! i feel like they're just as iconic as his hood-cape when it comes to his signature look 💔

[redysetdare]

Soulmates are inherently amatonormative and it's so wild how many people refuse to acknowledge that and instead go around trying to "make it more inclusive" which mostly just leads to then forcing aspec characters into a amatonormative narrative.

[hunterofthehunters]

seeing people talk about the new animated superman show reminds me that the issue superman's had for the last few decades in mainstream media, which is that too many dudebros assume the point of his character is about his "power". like "oooh look how scary he could be, if superman were real he'd be soooo dangerous" and missing the real truth. the ultimate truth. the actual truth:

superman works because he is a fundamentally very similar character to spider-man.

[bigfatbreak]

If the Kwami remember the old timeline, then Wayzz, Tikki and Plagg must remember Adrien and Marinette, right? Wouldn't they lead Fu to them? Or is something preventing Fu from doing that/Fu thinks it's too risky to make a move with Hawkmoth/Gabriel watching??

well... hm, there's kind of a problem. The timeline was mostly reset, but there are lingering echoes that things aren't right. For one, the Kwami remember the last timeline - so do the Sentikids, and in fact, so do robots/AI's of any fashion. Not only that, but some mechanisms, nonorganics, exist as though the last timeline was still in place, like passwords and lingering, half-corrupted photographs in dead links and dead blogs.

...so,

uh. ehe. oops.

[uncanny-tranny]

Periodic reminder that unless a person specifically and clearly tells you it is okay to tell others they are trans or queer, you should err on the side of caution and assume they do not want you to tell people (especially random people!) about their transness or queerness.

You have no idea, generally, why somebody doesn't talk openly about their trans or queer status, and you have no idea, truly, how somebody might react to that information. The most progressive person out there is still capable of harbouring incredibly negative thoughts about somebody's queer status.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

He was just being a silly little guy!

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[allyriadayne]

Hook, line and sinker: Larys and Alicent // Larys and Aegon

[knifearo]

i hate the concept of platonic and romantic as a binary i hate the concept of platonic and romantic as a sliding scale of "less" to "more" i hate the concept of platonic and romantic as the only two options i hate the concept of platonic and romantic as significantly different things i hate the concept of platonic and romantic as all encompassing i hate the concept of platonic and romantic as the two halves of a shallow concept of love that doesn't actually encompass anything at all i think we need to overhaul every popular conception about "types" of love so we can talk about things that are real and true for once

[nelkcats]

False Identity

Danny knew that if he wanted to escape Amity and all the chaos that was his life he needed to get a fake identity, move and go as far away as possible. He could probably ask Tucker or Technus, but he felt it was something he had to do on his own.

He made arrangements, destroyed the portal, said goodbye and ended up moving to Gotham. However his hacking job wasn't so good and he was discovered in an instant by the bats.

They decided to investigate him instead of confronting him directly, following Jim's advice that not everyone was running because of something malicious, Danny didn't do anything out of the ordinary.

He seemed to be adjusting to Gotham which was weird on it's own but the strangest thing he did was get a job in Penguin's Iceberg Lounge but that was more because of his job search than anything else.

His past records also showed nothing more than a child with poor grades and troubling injuries, probably caused by neglectful parents.

Damian began to fear the worst and hid the adoption papers.

[lookninjas]

Pick a song from a bad description! You do not have to recognize any of the songs to vote (although tbh I feel like this is one of my most obvious ones -- there is an actual song title in one of the choices). Just go from the vibes. Pick whichever is funniest to you, or matches your current situation, or whatever makes a random bad song description appeal to you.

At the end of the week, I will take the poll results and use them to arrange the songs in a playlist, from the song with the lowest amount of votes to the song with the highest amount of votes. If you would like to hear the playlist, leave a comment or put it in the tags of your reblog, and I will tag you when the playlist goes up. And if you really can't wait to know what a song is, send me an ask and I will answer it.

And please reblog the poll! 'Cause this is as close as I can come to sending you guys a mixtape, so if you share it with your followers and they share it with their followers it's like we're all getting a mixtape, and that's fun. So let's keep the mixtapes moving.