#and the title of mantle

[oops-prow-did-it-again]

so in the vein of innistrad cards that make me go feral

THE IMPLICATIONS OF THIS ONE.

this is like if the pope had hired mercenaries that personally gifted him the severed wings of an actual breathing angel

[bongo-clash]

Peacock Au Part 1

Okay so Big Huge credit to @stealingyourbones for letting me do my own take on their amazing eldritch Danny idea!!!! This started out as me just doing a drawing but then I ended up with a whole DPxDC fic that I'll be posting the part two for at some point!!! Anyway, here's the vague designs:

And here's the part one of the fic under the cut!!! :D (Edit: Part 2 is Here!!)

There’s a Lazarus Pit forming underneath Gotham. Normally, this would not concern John Constantine at all, because it’s Gotham, therefore Bat territory therefore not his problem, and honestly he has his own things to worry about. Unfortunately for him, however, the infamous Dark Knight has somehow gotten it into his head that he can do something about it and, Hell, he’d said it would be a ‘big favour’, which meant the man really must be desperate; had to have been in the first place, he supposed, to have even bothered with John in the first place. 

Still, he’d almost kind of forgotten what a huge mess any kind of favour for Batman could be, and thus, he now holds possession of a book that is probably going to get him killed. 

Whether the actual book itself wants to kill him is up for debate, but Constantine has read the contents of this particular Book of Summonings and nothing in here seems remotely safe. He’s absolutely going to be hiding this away somewhere deep in the archives of the archives of the Justice League watchtower with an incredibly pointed ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ on it once he’s done with this, but for now, it’s the only thing he’s got in the way of sorting out this Pit problem. 

There’s an entity that exists, this book claims, that keeps the balance between realms. ‘Closes doors’, apparently, and the doors the pages depict certainly look like a Lazarus Pit. This is brilliant news, obviously, but the book doesn’t describe the entity itself at all beyond that; barely any of the other entries are as vague as this, and that plus some of the frankly bizarre sigils he’s having to draw to summon the damn thing are giving him no comfort. The only remotely comforting thing about it is that the ritual doesn’t require any blood- which either means the entity is benign, or it wants something more valuable than blood. 

…Okay, maybe not that comforting, actually. 

But, before he can consider that maybe this wasn’t his best idea and backing out would be for the best, the sigils flare with light, and Constantine squints to keep track of the way they activate, desperate for any indication of what he’s managed to summon with that stupid book. 

His feet feel feathery against the ground, like they’re barely tethered by gravity and just waiting to float away, and perhaps the seeming lack of atmosphere is fitting with how dust like stars lift from the summoning circle, bringing with them intercepting layers of purple-blue-pink-white, galaxies and nebulae being peeled off the floor. It comes with a sound- something whistling, almost. Seeming hollow, between a shriek and a bell ringing, or maybe more musical than that. It seems to change every moment he tries to focus on it, as if it’s something his ears can’t really hear but his brain is desperate to process, painful to try. 

And then, the entity begins to form. 

Unnoticeably at first, a white glow drifts forming in the centre. It congeals as Constantine’s gaze finally fixates on it, layers forming like jellyfish trails, or flowers, or peacock feathers with runic circles at the tips, fading smaller and smaller as they reach the centre, and a thing akin to a body unfolds into view at the front, a centrepiece. A child’s image of a shadow in opalescence, a strange curving feature where a neck might be, and searing-green spots of varying sizes scattered along the space where cheeks and eyes could’ve been, fading up and down across the lower-half of the ‘face’ and into the ‘hair’. He barely understands what he’s looking at, but maybe that’s the point. 

The sound of a thunderstorm rings across the room, and the curve of the neck unfolds, and it’s an eye, and the tips of a thousand twisted, cosmic peacock feathers become eyes as well, if they weren’t always. They move, wavering, either lashing or flickering from visibility. 

“And what is this?” The voice is a kaleidoscope, echoing off and from every corner of the room, and when they speak, infinite eyes become infinite mouths, too many teeth barely contained by the edges of what seem vaguely like frostbitten lips. To have something even remotely human suddenly etch itself onto the entity is somehow worse than the parts he can’t comprehend. “Who are you, to have summoned me, and seem so afraid?”

Constantine wishes, maybe for the first time, that it hadn’t been an obligation to do this alone; he’s never wanted Batman or one of the Light members with him more than now. It’s a difficult thing, almost impossible, to shake off the speechlessness. It’s a wonder that it’s possible at all, with how the room seems to have been twisted into a vacuum. “I was told you could- you could help with the pits?”

“The pits. There are many pits.”

God, this is creepy. “The Lazarus pits to, uh, to be specific. There’s a huge one cropping up under Gotham that’s not supposed to be there, and the local- I mean, the locals are getting antsy about it. …I heard you can take care of them.”

“I can smell its blood between the gaps of atmosphere, encircling. You, whose soul is bound in so many directions, who may be pulled apart like meat in time- can you sense it? Does it draw you?” John doesn’t know how this- this thing knows that, but he’s scared asking will invoke some kind of consequence, and more and more he’s wondering why the Hell he decided to do Batman this favour. He feels exposed. 

“Uh… no, I don’t think so. But can you fix it?”

“Yes.”

“…Will you fix it?”

The chill is getting to him. Goosebumps are running across his arms like a livewire, and he’s never doing anyone a favour ever again. The entity makes an approximation of a hum, his ears shriek with whale song and stars, and after a pause, everything switching up and down on itself, the peacock eyes form into huge, reaching hands. For a second, Constantine’s whole body freezes with terror, because he’s petrified the thing’s going to grab him, but then the arms tumble phasing into the ground, and the green spots on their ‘face’ flare with a supernova glow and they make another piercing noise, chiming or trilling. 

A long moment later, the hands slowly return to the entity’s back, and fade into the peacock feathers or jellyfish bells or whatever they were before, blinking at him. “It is gone.”

“Uh… cheers?”

“It will not return, but this place shall see its dead for some time. Try not to look.”

This is maybe the worst day of Constantine’s life. “Can I- uh, yeah, great advice. ‘Appreciate it. But, can I ask just, y’know, what you are? Or not.”

“That is up to you.” They say, and though the eyes that appear briefly between sentences bely or reveal no expression, it feels scrutinising. “What is it that closes doors? Is it alive?”

He hates riddles. He hates riddles and he hates cosmic horrors and he hates eldritch entities and he hates Batman for getting him to agree to this horrible favour. He wants to go back to the House of Mystery and pass out for long enough that this whole thing becomes a dream. “Fair enough! Forget I asked- cheers for sorting out that pit, though. Uh, don’t suppose you’ll just let me go on my way or anything now.”

“I know of your Bat.” 

Oh dear. Constantine’s stomach sinks like a shipwreck into the Mariana Trench, but the entity moves on like they’d never even said it. “I will recede, and find you in time, perhaps both. You will know when I am coming, and I will find my recompense.”

And just like that, their whole form shimmers into clouds and pearls and smoke and mirrors, and they fade back into the runes that summoned them like tap water down the drain. The galaxies they’d formulated within the confines of the room fold back in on themselves and turn to whispers and then nothing, but the feeling persists on his skin long after weight has settled back onto his bones. He hadn’t known a thing like that existed until now. He doesn’t know what it can do, doesn’t know how all-encompassing it truly is. 

And he owes it a favour. 

Crap. 

[wheretheresawyll]

Character parallels - Tabris Origin | Loghain Mac Tir

"I see that the path that led you here was not easy. There is suffering in your past: your suffering, and the suffering of others. By the time you reached Shianni, she was broken, brutalized – you were too late. Tell me, pilgrim, did you fail Shianni?" "Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, the brilliant commander. Pity the one time you tried to rule, you failed so miserably. You had to be beaten, humiliated, lest you destroy your own country. You even doomed the Wardens by bringing the Inquisitor down on them. You destroy everything you touch."

[theshadowrealmitself]

Something something something angst about the mantle of hero identities getting passed around to new people, the duty of other heroes to accept this because it’s important that civilians keep feeling safe, villains being the only ones to truly get to mourn the original heroes and choosing to step out of their villain identities because they liked fighting the person not the hero, etc etc etc

[age-of-moonknight]

“Khonshu: Strikefile,” Moon Knight: Fist of Khonshu (Vol. 1/2024), #0.

Writer: Jed MacKay; Penciler and Inker: Alessandro Cappuccio; Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg; Letterer: Cory Petit

[jhsharman]

out of gas

Dilton Doily had an 'e' added to the last name somewhere 70s. In reprinting, they drop the last name -- too much trouble redrawing the title.

Interesting Joan no longer is shown with white roots, and then not. No, they probably aren't even thinking on this -- just, a white gleam for the sake of it not transferable to the digest.

Moving off from Joan and Betty, no one else is into it. Come the contingencies. Jughead lugged a five gallon has can into the car he is borrowing from Archie for his date with Ethel?

The half page Sabrina lay in a strange place -- at this point, the mortals she dates are aware that they interact with supernatural beings.

[baconcolacan]

How does Tord feel about Ak wanting to be RL? Is he worried for his safety with how dangerous the job is?

AK actually didn’t take much interest in RA when he was a kid, but as a teenager, certain…traumatic memories started resurfacing and fueled his drive to want to have the kind of power his dad does, and the kind of thing RA is striving for at the moment (which I will explain whenever I start the Stay AU series on Ao3 lmao)

Tord at first really did not want AK to become the next Red Leader, besides RA works on meritocracy, and at the time, the closest person to take the RL handle was Patryck.

Tord and AK actually got into a lot of fights because of this topic, whenever AK brings it up, Tord tries to shut him down immediately. Lots of slammed doors and loud rock music/drumming in the cabin at that time lmao.

Tom had to have a talk with Tord about what AK wants in the future, and if it HAD to be becoming RL, the best they could do now is to prepare him for it, because lord knows their son will find a way to rival Tord’s military power one day if he keeps denying him.

Tord doesn’t like it, he really really doesn’t, but he relented eventually. (But he still doesn’t like it)

[ultramantr1gger]

i think thjey should use and address trauma more in ultraman liike. leo and astras planet was destroyed yes and then. astra was captured and tortured for a while he lost his horn things and also has to live with the chain still on his leg for the rest of his life. and then they dont do anything with him at all he got a passing mention in regulos

[kideternity]

Most important thing in the world to me is that IMO in order to be ant man you gotta be fucked up in the head*

[alackofghosts]

the jumpscare this email gave me

[papaiyatree]

you ever think about the fact steph was going to take on the nightwing mantle if it weren't for the n52??? like jfc this girl is just, going around and getting mantles LMAO

[transcreamo]

watching a youtuber interview hot mulligan i think i have discovered what might be the successor to nardwuar

[lettalady]

Made up title: Mirror on the mantle

Well.... First thoughts send me to a WIP I've been messing with for far too long, though it's already got the working title: In Darkness I Dwell. Care for a little bit of a Daniel Brühl AU?

 “Let me know when you remember my name, Danny.” 

No use trying to deny it. “What,” he holds his hand out in her direction, “no hints for an old friend?” 

“We’re not that old.” 

We. He’ll take that hint, and spend the night digging. 

Tomorrow. He’ll return tomorrow with a name on his lips. 

“Bye, Danny.” 

Now she’s doing it to tease him. 

He smiles the rest of the walk, thinking of her lips and the sway of her hips. He doesn’t even mind exchanging - it’s been too long - greetings with the others he meets along the way. Walking through town to his assigned residence was a stroke of genius on his part. Announcing his arrival -- because tongues wag in quaint little towns -- without needing to wait until Sunday, and he found himself a treat along the way. 

He opens a few windows to air the place out as he unpacks. He didn’t travel with much. A few changes of clothes. Some toiletries, and a smallish round mirror carefully folded in with his shirts. He places it on the mantel and leans in, folding his forearms to balance his weight against the ledge. It wins him a picturesque portrait-view of the reflection staring back. 

He flicks his attention down to the square of white at his neck and tips a finger up to remove it, smiling wide as he lifts his focus again. “We have had the most interesting day.” He pauses, looking beyond his reflection to drift his focus around the limited view of the master bedroom of the parsonage. “It suits for home, for a little while. Does it not, Danny?” He swivels his gaze back to the man in the mirror, “Now. Let us review old friends.” 

If looks could kill….

[hearth4days]

Hey 🧍‍♂️

[quietwingsinthesky]

thinking about a version of spn where billie taking on the role of Death functioned on elder scrolls rules, where through performing the role, she Became Death to the point where her selfhood was subsumed into the concept. Instead of idk she was the last reaper that died so she gets the job.

[jhsharman]

Give a Yell!

On the evolution of cheerleading, here not particularly interested in the gender dynamics in a world before pom poms as the fact that the word was once hyphenated.