#but i dont know the prompting question

[starry-bi-sky]

don't you want to be a cult leader? - danyal al ghul au

this is mostly a joke post but i thought it was funny and had to share so--

his first mistake was, obviously, inheriting his father's inability to see an injustice and stand still. -- actually, danyal's first mistake was his lair being so big. a mountainous island with a large temple in the center resembling his old home in Nanda Parbat? With sprawling foliage and rivers and streams and waterfalls galore? What was he going to do with all that space? Let it go to waste? He had plants there! Native trees of the ghost zone growing from the soil! He couldn't let it all be left unchecked!

So naturally after helping a fellow teenage assassin ghost -- who he later learns is named Akihiko, -- from Walker of all people, he sent them over to hang low at his lair until it was safe enough for them to wander around the Zone. Walker couldn't get through Danyal's astrofield if his life depended on it, and trust him -- he's tried. Danny was clearing out debris from his stupid transport vans for weeks.

Honestly it wasn't so bad, he and Aki really quickly became fast friends and Danny loves having a sparring partner close to his level again -- he hasn't had this much fun fighting since he left the League. Aki was very dedicated and levelheaded, the both of them clicked really well because of it.

Nonono, the real trouble began after Danyal met some long-passed League members and allowed them to come join his island as well. Apparently they had made a few enemies of the zone, and maybe Danyal still felt some loyalty to the League. He couldn't just let them be left to rot. Their zealotry could be overlooked so long as they kept it contained and helped him take care of his island.

And it.. snowballs from there? He meets a teen squire aptly calling himself Ambroise -- whether that was his living name or not is yet to be seen -- who died during feudal france, who is just about as dramatic and passionate as every french stereotype makes them out to be. He calls Danyal "my moon and great muse" -- which is both flattering and little uncomfortable, but Danyal's grown up in the League as the Grandson of the Demon Head, he is used to mild worship. he passes it off as nothing more, nothing less. -- and while his energy is overwhelming on the worst of days, he helps Danny draw out of his shell more in ways that Sam and Tucker still struggle with.

Him and Aki butt heads a lot, but the two seem to hold the other in at least some positive regard, so Danny doesn't worry too much about them fighting while he's gone. It only becomes a mild issue when Aki also begins calling Danny "my moon". It's a little sweet, so Danyal brushes it off.

Then he takes in a troupe of ghosts some time after he defeats Pariah Dark and they begin calling him "great one" just as the yetis do in the far frozen. This is where he meets the twins -- a pair of sibling ghosts who call themselves Trixie and Missy (short for Trick and Mislead) -- who aren't quite as passionate as Ambroise but more energetic than Aki. Eventually they also start calling Danyal "my moon" and attach themselves to his hip, even within the living. They like to hide in his shadow and cause trouble for the rest of the students. He makes sure they don't hurt anyone.

He's pretty sure Aki is jealous, same with Ambroise, but he can't be too certain other than the fact that they become much more lingering (re: clingy) whenever he visits the island.. Something he's trying to do much more often these days due to the increasing amount of people living there now. Since when did he become so popular?

Then there's Pēnelópeia from the Greater Athens, who ran away from home and joined his Island after he ran into her while she was being chased by Skulker -- and he's pretty sure the reason was because of her chimeric appearance. Her strange eyes and mismatched wings and lion's tail and talons. She assimilates into his friend group very easily, she gets along well with Ambroise and Trixie and Danny usually finds the three of them climbing the trees to pluck the most fruit from the top. They can fly and he knows it, but they prefer to climb.

Then finally there's silent poet Akkara who comes from ancient mesopotamia, who gets along most with Aki -- which is no surprise there considering their similar personality dispositions. he watches Aki and Danyal fight each other and leaves comments on this or that that he notices. He writes Danyal poems on clay tablets and leaves them by his room.

They're one big mismatched group of outcasts, and Danny's got the other ghosts on his island to tend to, because they're living on his island and he wants to be hospitable even if he struggles with that. But he spends the most of his time with them.

Sam and Tucker are making fun of him. Tucker jokingly tells him 'careful Danny, at this rate you're gonna start a cult'. Danny really wishes he had taken that joke more seriously.

He just. keeps. collecting people. Wayward souls lost in the zone, looking for shelter or refuge from something or other -- whether that be another hostile ghost, or a past afterlife, or just a purpose. Danyal finds them, he takes them in, offers them a place on his island until they are ready to leave. Many seldom do. He's not complaining -- he has the space, and it feels like it's only ever growing.

His close friends, his "inner circle" as he's heard the others call them, keep insistently calling him "my moon". He starts calling them his stars, because then it only feels fair. They're his stars, this is his constellation. It becomes a thing; little star halos begin forming behind their heads, picking them out from the rest. He loves them so much, it's hard to place. Sam and Tucker are also his stars, but they reside in the living realm, they're his tie to Life. Meanwhile, his friends here know what it's like to be dead, and sometimes its nice to relate.

Those living on his island keep calling him "Great One" and he's beginning to notice zealotry in their care for his island. He really, deeply appreciates it. His close friends gain nicknames -- as his stars, it's only natural for him to pick them out from the cluster in the skies. Akihiko, his Sirius and bright star. Trix and Missy, Castor and Pollux, the twins and troublemakers. Ambroise, his zealous Antares and close friend. Penelopeia, chimeric and loyal Vega. And Akkara, his Arcturus and strength.

It's ridiculous how long it takes for him to notice; he is, of course, a deadly trained assassin. He is meant to be observant -- and normally he is! But somehow this becomes a blind spot. One that becomes too big to be dealt with by the time he realizes it.

He should've noticed when Aki, his Sirius, stood beside him one day while Danyal looked over his island and saw the sprawling spirits carrying on about their afterlife and bowing to him as they saw him, and said: "I looked down into the depths when I met you; I couldn't measure it." They aren't one for flowing prose, it took him so off guard he was silent for over a minute before he finally spoke.

Danyal should've recognized devotion for what it is, and yet he didn't. He should've recognized it when Antares began spouting praises about him, crowing about his radiance and resplendence to the heavens. He just brushed it off as Ambroise being Ambroise. He should've recognized it when Trix and Missy nearly broke Dash's leg after he knocked Danyal's books out of his hands, he excused it as them being protective. Of them coming from times where such violence may have been customary -- after all, that's what he used to be like. What he was still like, sometimes, when his emotions nearly got the better of him.

He should've noticed it when the people living on his island followed his word like gospel, looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky. When his friends gifted him a shawl with the moon phases delicately embroidered into it, with silver, shimmering thread and moving stars lovingly stitched into it. Their constellations seen clear as day in the dark fabric. When he found small shrines dedicated to him -- but they lacked any image of him beyond stones carved to look like moons, so he ignored it. When the religious imagery began popping up.

He really, really should've noticed it when a bunch of cultists accidentally summoned Antares, and Antares had turned to him when he arrived and called them heretics. But he was so centered on the fact that they had kidnapped one of his stars, that he hadn't paid much attention to what Ambroise had said.

Sages say that faith is blind, they should also say faith in you is even blinder.

It really only hits him one afternoon while he's sitting in Sam's room studying with Tucker, Missy and Trixie lounging at his feet, Aki sat on his right, Penelopeia braiding his hair, Ambroise draped against him, and Akkara lurking over him. Its one of the rare few times they're all in one room together.

It hits him like a bolt of lightning. He looks up from his textbook. "Oh Ancients," he says in no amounting shock. Everyone looks up to him.

"I've become my grandfather."

[luxaofhesperides]

Soulmark AU + Sleeping Beauty ; requested by @candeartist422!

For the last few years, Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die.

It sounds cruel to say it that way. But the waiting is more painful, he thinks, than just mourning a lost love. It’s not like most people ever meet their soulmates anyways; his parents weren’t meant to be, but they still loved each other and had a life together. He wishes he could turn his focus away from his soulmate, but Duke is a romantic at heart and has always wanted to find the other half of his soul.

But since he was fourteen, his soulmark has dulled, fading in and out of color. What was once a vibrant blue crystal star, with eight points and a swirl of watercolor hues around it, dimmed more and more until Duke was sure he was watching his soulmate die slowly. 

His soulmate didn’t die then. Whoever they are got better, his soulmark gaining color, but it never went back to the way it was. For years after, Duke would check at the beginning and end of each day, keeping track of when it faded and when it regained its color. 

He thought his soulmate was sick. In and out of hospitals, fighting to stay alive.

And then it went nearly colorless. 

Duke doesn’t remember much about that day. He knows he woke up, brushed his teeth, the lifted up his shirt to check his soulmark in the mirror. The blue was almost completely gone, the star on his left hipbone nearly gray with how colorless it was. He started at it for a moment, shocked, and reality slid away from him as he retreated into the safety of his mind, fully dissociating. 

Bruce had found him when Duke didn’t show up for breakfast. He held him and offered quiet words of comfort that Duke couldn’t understand, but just having someone with him lessened the hurt of losing his soulmate. 

Seeing the color come back the next day, faint as it was, hurt even more.

A year later, Duke still can’t break the habit of checking his soulmark twice a day. It hasn’t changed at all, still faint and dim, but carrying just enough color to show that his soulmate was still alive. At the very least, they were still breathing, but his chance of ever meeting them is basically zero. Still, he can’t help but hope, wishing that he could meet them even once before they die and leave him forever. 

“Same as ever,” he murmurs to himself as he brushes his thumb against his soulmark. He’s terrified that he’s forgotten how beautiful the blue of it was when his soulmate was healthy. 

Duke doesn’t let himself think on it too much anymore. Though his thoughts often turn to his soulmate during quiet moments like these, the busy nature of Gotham is usually more than enough to pull his attention back to the here and now. There’s no use in obsessing over his soulmate anyways; they’re just going to die, sooner or later, and Duke knows he’ll never get to meet them. They’ll just be another empty space in his life, right next to his parents. 

“Come on, Thomas, focus,” he tells himself firmly, then gets dressed and heads down to the kitchen for breakfast.

The manor is quiet. It usually is in the mornings, with everyone from the night shift dead asleep and trying to get as much rest as they can before they have to start their day. Not that many of them stay in the manor these days; Duke and Damian are the only permanent residents at the moment, but Steph usually stays half with her mom and half in the manor during the summers when she’s home from college, and the others drop in whenever they feel like it. 

Bruce lives more in the Batcave than the manor, so he doesn’t really count. It’s also why Duke is surprised to see Bruce awake and dressed like a normal person, drinking coffee in the kitchen as if this is a normal occurrence. 

“Morning,” Duke offers.

“Good morning, Duke,” Bruce replies. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough. Alfred out or something?”

“He may have kicked me out of the Batcave to clean it up a bit,” Bruce answers tiredly. “Want me to make breakfast?”

Duke has heard the horror stories of Bruce’s attempts to make edible food in a kitchen. In the interest of not dealing with food poisoning, Duke shakes his head quickly and says, “Nah, it’s fine. I was kinda wanting to eat out for breakfast. Get out there as me, and not a mask, you know?”

“Mind if I join you? Alfred may forgive me for not sleeping if I willingly go outside.”

Duke laughs. “Sure man, as long as you pay.”

“I’ll drive, too.”

“What, don’t trust me behind a wheel?”

Bruce gives him a tired look, eyes dead and dull. “I have taught all my children how to drive. The day I willingly let them take the wheel when I am not actively dying is the day I’ve been replaced by a robot clone of myself who doesn’t know better yet.”

“That is… very specific. Is that a thing you usually worry about?”

“I’m Batman. I have to worry about everything.”

Yeah, that tracks. Duke wouldn’t be surprised if he has at least five contingency plans for that scenario, should it ever happen. “Well,” he says, “Right now, all you need to worry about is having your wallet and driving us down to The Foodie Nook. I’ve been craving their breakfast plates for ages.”

Bruce doesn’t object to his choice of restaurant and follows Duke down to the garage, grabbing a random set of keys and pointing it out to the many cars he owns. One near the front blinks its lights as it unlocks and Duke cheerfully tosses himself into the passenger seat as Bruce opens the garage door. 

The drive into Gotham is smooth. They don’t hit traffic until they reach the bridge that leads into the city proper, taking them away from the quiet of Bristol. The morning is busy, but not enough that Duke worries about being out as the Signal to help keep the peace. It’s a normal type of busy, one borne from people going about their lives, feeling safe enough to go out. 

The Foodie Nook is entirely local and very popular, so the parking lot is nearly full. But they expanded their space last year, which means he and Bruce don’t have to sit outside while they wait to grab a table. Bruce keeps conversation light and casual, well aware of the many listening ears around them, and it’s nice, feeling normal for once. 

Well, as normal as life can be with Bruce Wayne™. The server who comes to lead them to a table realizes who she’s talking to after she gets a proper look at them while holding open the door and promptly stutters over her words. 

“No need for any special treatment,” Bruce laughs lightly, “We’re just here for breakfast. Nothing special.”

“Of course,” she replies, cheeks red. “Um, right this way! We’ve got a table by the windows for you. Just two, yeah?”

“Yup! Just two. Thought this was a good day to spend some time with Duke. He’s a great kid, you know, I’m glad I was given the opportunity to foster him.”

The sunny, cheerful Bruce Wayne persona is so different from the usual Bruce he works with that it feels like he’s standing next to a stranger. But his words are sincere and warm his heart, filling up the gaps that his soulmate has left. 

“Here you are!” their server announces, showing them to their table. “I’ll be right back with some menus.” She’s gone in a rush, and other customers glance over before quickly averting their gaze. 

It’s one of the unspoken rules of Gotham: give the Waynes their privacy while they’re out in public. Questions and conversation are for public events only, but if they see a Wayne out and about during a normal day, everyone leaves them be unless spoken to first. Duke used to follow those rules as well when he was just another Gothamite. It’s strange being on the other side of that now that he’s in with the Waynes.

Duke barely has to look through the menu when it’s handed to him. The breakfast plates are his favorites and he gets one every single time he comes to The Foodie Nook; stacked full with breakfast foods from around the world. As a kid, he loved the Mexico Plate, but these days he’s craving either the Brazilian Plate or the Vietnamese Plate.  

He can’t decide on which one and thinks about tossing a coin to decide, but seeing how that’s Two Face’s whole thing, he decides to hold off and settle the matter with eenie-meenie-minnie-mo. 

He gets the Vietnamese Plate.

Bruce, on the other hand, reads through the entire menu like it’s a novel, then leans over and says rather loudly, “Duke, what’s a tort-illa.” 

The pain he feels hearing that is only worsened by the amusement in Bruce’s eyes. He’s doing it on purpose, playing up the Brucie act for the public so he can psychologically torment Duke. A few nearby customers choke back laughter, turning away to hide their smiles. 

Duke shakes his head and says, “Don’t worry about it. It’s just food. Don’t ask any more questions, I just want a peaceful breakfast.”

“Well then,” Bruce replies, “I suppose I know what to order now.”

As if she was summoned, their server reappears before them, cheeks still looking a little flushed. “Hi! Ready to order?”

She writes down their orders quickly, valiantly keeping a straight face at Bruce’s mispronunciation of tortilla, then heads off to deliver their orders to the kitchen. 

Rather than draw out a conversation with Brucie Wayne, Duke settles for playing a few idle games on his phone; his current favorite is one quiet cat cafe game where he directs cats into fulfilling cafe orders. 

Bruce, despite being out in his civilian identity, is working. He’s on his Batman phone, which looks the same as his other cell phones except this one has a bat symbol sticker just barely hiding a Superman sticker on the phone case. His brow is slightly furrowed as he reads whatever file he’s accessing from the Batcomputer. It’s a little worrying but it could be anything. Bruce makes the same expression when he reads one of Tim’s snarky comments getting quoted in the news.

But that’s not Duke’s problem! He’s here to enjoy his breakfast and it will take the end of the world itself to remove him from his seat before he’s done eating.

The game takes most of his attention until their food comes out, and by then Bruce has tucked away the smallest of his Batman mannerisms. They enjoy a normal, peaceful breakfast. Bruce ends it by asking their server if she has any debt that’s weighing her down, then giving her a tip that’s at least five thousand dollars above that. 

She does cry and Bruce hugs her. It’s very sweet. 

As soon as they get back into the car, his easy going smile drops and Duke knows some superhero nonsense is about to take over his day. 

“Duke,” Bruce starts, seriously, “I received a message from Zatanna.”

“Don’t drag this out,” Duke says, “Just give it to me straight. What terrible thing is about to happen to us?”

“It’s nothing too big. They just recently defeated a magical being who had been tearing apart secret government facilities in Illinois. He had both magic and a high tech weapon, which they confiscated and are delivering to me. The government agency he was fighting was suspiciously interested in the weapon, and based on their behaviors and newly revealed work, Zatanna made the decision to turn the weapon over to us so it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

Bruce smoothly merges into traffic as he speaks, getting them onto the road back to the manor. There’s a look in his eyes that means he’s keeping a lot unsaid, and Duke knows without a doubt that whatever this government agency was doing is bad if Zatanna needs Batman to act as extra security. 

He’s not sure about her decision to trust the weapon to be safe in Gotham, either. Sure, Batman will keep it as safe as he can, but with their luck, it’ll end up in the hands of a Rogue and lead to a lot of death and destruction. 

As soon as they cross the bridge and return to Bristol, Bruce steps on the gas and the car tears down the road. Without any other cars to worry about (or traffic laws), it takes barely two minutes to reach the manor, when the gates open for them and let them into the garage. 

Alfred waits for them by the door, looking them over with a critical eye. “I see you have managed to go outside, Master Bruce. What’s the special occasion?”

“Just breakfast,” Bruce answers. “I’m heading back down to the Batcave. Zatanna will be here soon to deliver a weapon.” He’s gone before Alfred can say anything more, hurrying down the hall and turning the corner, disappearing from sight as he heads towards his office. 

“I see we have yet to break that bad habit of his. Did you enjoy your morning out, Master Duke?”

“Sure did, Alfred. I’m, uh, also going down to the Batcave. He’s definitely not telling me a lot about what’s going on, so I’m just going to read about it over his shoulder. I’ll be back up for lunch, though!”

“And perhaps you’ll be able to drag Master Bruce away from that cave of his,” Alfred comments wryly as he walks with Duke towards the office. He gives Duke a nod, then splits away from him, returning to the kitchen where Duke can hear Damian speaking to someone, probably Tim by the annoyed tone of his voice, and mentally wishes Alfred luck in handling them.

Duke sets the correct time on the clock in Bruce’s office and heads down to the Batcave, taking the steps two at a time. 

Bruce is already at the Batcomputer, shoulders tensed, when he arrives. 

“More bad news?” he asks as he makes his way over.

Bruce doesn’t bother looking away from the screen as he says, “More details about the fight. It seems the magical being called himself a ghost and was going on a rampage due to a betrayal. He says they nearly killed his son.”

“Oh, yikes.”

“And two of the scientists working with the government agency said that he stole their son and is keeping them from saving him.”

“Yikes,” Duke says with more feeling.

He doesn’t get to hear anymore details about JLD’s fight with this ghost when he catches a flicker in the corner of his eye. Duke turns and stares at the empty space in the Batcave near the medbay and watches as colorful magic gathers and swirls in dizzing circles. The portal opens a moment later and Zatanna steps out, looking exhausted and lightly singed. 

“Batman,” she greets, holding a white gun that looks like it belongs in an early sci-fi movie from the 60s. “The GIW is trying to arrest us. Constantine keeps burning their badges and documents so it shouldn’t be a problem, but they are determined to get this back. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came after you next. They’ve got some way of tracking things, but I didn’t have time to get any details before I had to leave.”

Bruce takes the gun from her hands carefully, looking it over with a sharp gaze. “Why would a ghost want to use a gun?”

“I don’t know. He had a variety of powers, too.”

“What does this do?”

“Shoots ice. He never let it go and nearly burned me alive for taking it before we subdued him.”

“We’ll keep it locked up,” Bruce promises. 

Zatanna sighs. It looks as though a physical weight fell off her shoulders. “Thanks. I’m going to head back to stop Constantine from getting into a fistfight with the GIW agents.”

She opens another portal with a waved hand and a muttered spell. Bruce is already walking away to set the gun down on a work station, so Duke is the one to wave Zatanna goodbye. 

By the time he reaches Bruce’s side, the gun is already dismantled, all pieces neatly set aside. Sticky notes denote which pieces go together and in what order. It looks the same as most guns, save for the aesthetic, but the heart of it is a glowing blue orb, large enough to cover the entirety of Bruce’s palm, and it brings a chill to the air.

Duke stares at it and feels his soulmark burn ice cold.

“Duke?”

It’s in his hands. He doesn’t remember reaching out to take it, but it’s in his hands. He can’t take his eyes off of it, cradling it gently and bringing it closer to his chest. 

It’s the same blue his soulmark once was. Before his soulmate began to fade, before every day became a waiting game to see how long his soulmate will last before they die. 

This has something to do with his soulmate. He’s sure of it. 

He won’t let anyone take it from him. 

“Duke. Give that to me.”

He doesn’t feel like he’s in his body. He’s detached, floating somewhere outside his body, puppeteering his limbs, making them move without feeling the motion. Shadows condense around his feet and Bruce takes a step back, wary. 

“Duke,” he says again, but Duke can’t find any words, can’t draw on his voice, can’t even look away from the bright, bright blue of the orb. It pulses lightly in his hand like a heartbeat. 

Bruce reaches a hand out. 

He’s pulled back by shadows before he can get close, and Duke holds the orb against his chest, right against his heart, and feels the cold seep into him. 

“Duke. I need you to look at me.” This time, Bruce’s voice has Batman’s growl in it, a heavy command that he can’t help but instinctively follow. He looks up and meets Bruce’s eyes, but he can’t focus. All his awareness is in his hands and the heartbeat of the glowing orb.

“I have to protect this,” Duke manages to whisper. “I… I think it’s alive.”

“Okay. Let’s get you to the medbay so you can sit down. We’ll figure this out, Duke.”

Bruce slowly, carefully, sets his hand on Duke’s shoulder. He keeps his attention away from the orb, so Duke allows it and lets Bruce guide him to the medbay and onto one of the medical cots. Bruce leaves him after a minute of quiet fussing, muttering about calling Zatanna.

Whatever. None of that matters when the heartbeat of the orb grows stronger, steadier, and Duke feels it match the beat of his own heart.

Time slips away from him. Distantly, he hears people move around the cave, speaking in low tones. A hand presses against his shoulder, warm, then moves away. 

The orb in his hand moves. 

Duke blinks slowly, then claws his way back to awareness, pushing past the haze that’s fallen over his mind. The orb turns over in his hand, then cracks right down the middle. The glow grows stronger, washing the medbay in blue light and a symbol appears on the orb.

It’s his soulmark. 

Later, he won’t be able to say why he did it. There were no thoughts, no reasonings, no explanations. Duke simply moved on instinct and lifted the orb up to his face and pressed a soft kiss against it. 

One moment, the orb was still.

The next, it had burst in a flash of light that blinded everyone in the Batcave, and then a thin, injured teenager had fallen into Duke’s lap. 

Hands immediately grab him, pulling him away from Duke. The teenager puts up no fight, eyes barely open, but he reaches for Duke weakly. On his wrist is the bright blue snowflake, the color strong and vivid. 

“That’s me soulmate,” Duke whispers as he watches Bruce and Tim set the boy down on another medical cot. 

“What?” Tim says, turning to face Duke, concern clear on his face. 

“That’s my soulmate,” he repeats, louder. Then, panicked, he pulls up his shirt enough to see his own soulmark; the color is still dull, weak, barely there, but it’s more blue that it has been in a while. He doesn’t need to say anything. Tim sees the dullness of his soulmark, looks at the boy, and puts the pieces together on his own.

“I’ll call Doc Thompkins,” he says, already moving to fix everything. Bruce remains where he is, making sure the boy is tucked in and breathing steadily before he returns to Duke. 

“Are you alright?”

Duke swallows roughly, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy. He’s pale and thin, as if he’d been starved, and there’s frost beginning to spread on the bedsheet from his fingers. “He’s my soulmate,” Duke manages to say. “He’s been dying for two years.”

Bruce’s eyes a hard, a determined light in them. “We’ll save him,” he promises. 

If anyone can, it’s Batman. 

If anyone can, it’s them, Batman and the Signal, and their entire network of family and friends. 

Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die all this time. Now, he’s going to save him.

[screechingfromthevoid]

@disastertourwaterdeepedition

Sorry for the weird fucking post but like tumblr straight up ate your ask?? I had to search and screenshot from my email??

Its like super fine I love big rants and big feelings (especially about the blorbo of the month).

Whoa buddy if you wanna talk about a rant. This got so long I'm putting it under a read more.

I'm not sure any of this is above board conscious thought process. When he looks to Orym, when he thinks about how he feels about Orym, I think Dorian, king of compartmentalizing, gets a rush of all three of the things in the post. He gets a little too lost in thought looking at the way Orym's hair now tries to curl against his ear or how well tailored the armor is to his body, he first gets hit with the Will guilt. Then he thinks about "ohmygodtheresawaron" and he'd shovel all of that down. Because its not time to think about Orym and him. But he knows by the way Orym watches him "sleep". He knows by the way Orym refused to be princess carried in Aeror. (Seriously dude Dorian princess carries everyone. It would have been less suspicious if you let it happen). He knows because Orym didn't see his husband when they were in Zephrah. But when he dares himself to actually think about a possible future together, he uses the big three to shove it down. And no, he has no clue that Orym thinks he doesn't return his feelings. (Wow you're right. Pronouns are hard)

Lol to finally answer your question: I'm not sure! Because the thing is! Orym has gone down twice in a battle with Dorian there! And honestly if Orym being on death's door doesn't make either of them confess, i'm not sure what will! (thats a lie I do have an idea). But like Orym went to the moon and back and almost died on the moon and all the count communicate to Dorian was "I miss you"!! Orym nearly died twice in one battle and he didn't think to give Dorian a sloppy, "If I die again I want to have kissed you once" kiss before going in for another round of getting hacked on. Dorian watched him go down and had to bring him back from death's door (one failed save scared the shit out of me) and he didn't think to give Orym a "We need you, I need you" kiss.

My unfortunate thought process, which I can't decide if I want it to come true or not, is that Dorian has to get hurt. Like when I say hurt I fucking mean it. Taken down in a round or two, two failed death saves, hurt. Because then Orym will have to face losing Dorian again. Face losing the man he loves, again. He pours a healing potion into Dorian's mouth because warlocks don't have a single healing spell. (Just checked). Orym feels so helpless in saving Dorian, because a healing potion isn't nearly enough to keep him up. He starts to cry over Dorian's (now conscious) body. He whispers between sobs "Not again, not again. Dorian you can't leave me. I love you, please, I never got to tell you, please stay alive." and Dorian, having heard all of that, reaches up to cup Orym's cheek and says. "Alright, just for you though."

Or something like that.

As much as I would love for them to be adults and just talk to each other. I know thats not going to happen. (Please, Robbie, Liam, prove me wrong.) So I think major tragedy will be the reason they confess to each other. Because they're idiots in love with a lot of weight on their shoulders.

[deus-ex-mona]

i miss her…

[jrueships]

guess whos not going in at all this week, actually

[skunkes]

I heard that tech + engineering is a really good field to get into!!! If yr lookin to go back to college…. But I hope you find success nonetheless…. I can picture you as a sleepy art teacher at a college he he

Yaaa ive heard things ab tech for sure...i wish there were more careers for pea brained ppl...

in another universe i would be a printmaking professor because nothing was more fulfilling than 1. The printmaking itself 2. the community of being in a printmaking class

[incrediblysincere]

Having a job where i have to interact with coworkers all day has really made me notice how bad my social skills are

[stormesandshowersparttwo]

✏️ - Do you want more tattoos?

💬 - I wish...

💃 - Can you dance?

🔮 - Do you believe in luck?

I hope you feel better!

✏️: YES but money

💭: for ability to teleport

💃: I'd say pretty good but nothing spectacular. Can't drop it low like I used to 😭 these damn knees

🔮: I would say so. I don't know where it comes from, a higher power or just a random force, but I've def had things happen that could have gone much differently if just one little random thing that happened hadn't

Example: a couple years ago I was pulling out of a parking spot and my car didn't move as I hit the gas. I then looked up and saw someone walk right behind my car, coming from around a bush, I couldn't have seen them till the last moment. I then looked at my gear stick and it was in neutral. I never and haven't since accidentally put my car in neutral when backing out. I totally would have hit them. Just luck that I happened to make that mistake that moment.

[sarioh]

i left for a week and i come back and your a nebris fanpage. have you been rewatching mindcrack by any chance?

honest to god don't know if people are doing it on purpose to fuck with me or if it's sincere but i've gotten like 4 asks in the last week out of nowhere asking what nebtho is and now it's become a bit here or something. i wish it wasn't so but i'm just owning it at this point because i simply can't fight it anymore. #1 nebtho blogger on the platform or something. Sure I guess.

[allylikethecat]

Matty and George number 14!! This is such a cool idea

Yay! Thank you so much for the prompt! I hope this is what you were looking for, and if it isn't that you still enjoy it! I had a lot of fun writing it- it was a nice break from working on my many WIPs. Let me know what you think!

❤️Ally

Kiss ... casually

Matty looked down at his notes app, frowning when he realized the only thing written was “cheese.” He knew, rationally, that he needed more groceries than just cheese. He had been on tour for the last six months and even before that his pantry had been embarrassingly sparse. He hadn’t even specified what kind of cheese. Was he looking for a block of cheese? Grated cheese? Those cheese sticks he had discovered in America and become absolutely obsessed with? Matty at two am when he decided he was going to be an adult and make a shopping list had not specified. The Matty of today knew that if it had been important enough for him, stoned and jet lagged, so tired he couldn’t even dream of falling asleep, to write down, the sole item on his shopping list, it was clearly important that he got the right kind. He didn’t want to light up tonight and then be hit with a wave of crushing devastation about not having the right kind of cheese. 

He sighed. He would revisit the cheese. He tried to remember if he had toilet paper. He knew he at least had the one roll. It had been extremely comforting to take a shit in his own bathroom before he attempted to go to sleep the night before, he had missed his two ply after months on the road, staying in hotels and shitting in concert venues. It was so nice to be surrounded by his soothing, gray, stone walls, and the eucalyptus plant in the shower that he paid a woman to come water twice a week while he was gone. 

She was also supposed to feed his fish. The fish that were mysteriously missing from their tank when he returned, but Sheila had been putting up with him for years and he wasn’t about to ruin that relationship when he suddenly couldn’t even remember if he had actually bought fish for the tank in the entryway or just thought about it. He was pretty sure other than the guys, Sheila might be one of the few people in London that didn’t hate him. Unless she stole his fish.  Regardless, he needed to go buy more fish, or maybe the first batch of fish. He couldn’t remember, but his fish tank was empty and he needed to do something about it. If he remembered. If Sheila had stolen his fish he wondered why she didn’t just take the entire tank. He looked down at his notes app and added “Fish” to his list. 

He went to run his fingers through his curls, before remembering he was wearing a baseball hat. Fuck. He was still so tired, a bone deep weariness that would take days to overcome as he readjusted to his civilian life. It was probably for the best, they were greasy and in desperate need of a wash. He had been too exhausted, and too high, to do more than stand under the spray and admire his eucalyptus plant when he got home. His plant was thriving, no thanks to him, and the light aroma of the leaves made his chest feel nice as he breathed in the steam. He wondered if Sheila would know if he needed to buy toilet paper. He wondered if it was pathetic to text her. He should probably buy more just in case. He would use it eventually. He wished they hadn’t rearranged everything in the store while he was gone. He didn’t even know where to look for toilet paper anymore. 

“Well you look like you’re having a productive trip,” George said, glancing down at Matty’s empty basket when he slid up beside him and leaned down to press a casual kiss to the corner of his mouth. Matty let out a whine of frustration. They had decided to divide and conquer, and so far, Matty had not conquered anything. George’s basket was full though, overflowing with fresh produce, meat and even a bottle of Coca Cola that Matty wanted but was refusing to buy for himself since he was trying to drink less soda. It didn’t count when George brought it for him though. 

“I don’t know what kind of cheese I want,” he said, pathetically, glaring at the shelves as if they had personally offended him. 

George laughed, “well, considering you’re standing in the cereal aisle, I’m not sure how to help you.” 

“I was looking for toilet paper,” Matty said, he knew he was whining slightly, but George just chuckled. He could tell Matty was exhausted, his eyes red and swollen, his eye lids drifting shut then snapping open as if he was going to fall asleep on his feet in the cereal aisle in Tesco. 

“We actually used up everything you panic bought during the pandemic?” George asked, not addressing the fact that he was still in the wrong aisle. Matty groaned again, slamming his face into George’s chest in frustration. He had an entire, what was supposed to be a linen cabinet, closet full of toilet paper. His mother had sent him into a tizzy when the pandemic started, and he had panic bought more toilet paper than a single man could ever hope to go through on his own. Even when he and George got back together, they were on tour most of the year, and had barely made a dent in Matty’s stash.   

“I forgot about that,” he grumbled, his voice muffled by the fabric of George’s tee shirt. George smirked and kissed the top of Matty’s head, sending a little shiver down Matty’s spine.

He loved how casual George was with his affection, how nonchalant he was, dropping little kisses to Matty’s body, little touches, fingers dragged lightly across his back or to brush his curls out of his eyes, reminding Matty that he was loved even when he was filled with self doubt and didn’t love himself. George was so confident, so casual with his affection, as if it was just something so normal to be sharing, to be sharing with Matty that he couldn’t help but think that maybe he wasn’t the worst.

“Why don’t we pay and head home,” George said, running a hand down Matty’s back. Matty wished he could feel the warmth of his hand through his blue Nike hoodie, but the fabric was too thick. “I think there’s a nap in our future.” 

“But the cheese,” Matty whined, mentally cursing two am Matty for not being more specific with his list. 

“I’ll go grab a few different options,” George said, “and will meet you by the check out.” 

“Fine,” Matty grumbled, stepping back so that George could press one last peck to his lips before turning down the aisle, off to the refrigeration section to get Matty cheese.

Matty grabbed a box of Frosties and added it to his empty basket, at least he was contributing something to the household, he thought with a yawn, dragging his feet down the aisle towards the self checkout. He was so tired his ankles hurt. He wondered if George would be up for stopping at Caffe Nero on the way home. He was in desperate need of a coffee. He glanced down at his phone, making sure there wasn’t anything else he was forgetting. He froze, blinking at the screen in confusion. What the fuck did he mean by Fish?

[philtstone]

Aragorn/Arwen, 33

#33 -- your laugh is the best sound I have ever heard meleth = love/my love. a missing scene from fellowship of the ring bc i had to write some arthurian level yearning or whatever

They cross paths in one of Imladris's many halls, as she is exiting a room. Not the room, wherein the small Halfling is fluttering back from the edge of doom under her father's careful ministrations. But a room. Arwen was folding clean bandages, for something to do.

There has always been some quietly striking thing about Estel, the way he is at all times, even covered in grime and with an expression that does not well hide his fear. He looks as if he ran the entire remaining distance to Rivendell on foot, with three panicky Hobbits in tow besides. Which, in part, she is sure he must have.

"Arwen," he begins, not quite on a pant, but startled by her appearance and desperate enough for her to inhale and step forward, reaching for him.

"Unharmed," she says, of herself, and then, "healing, under my father's hand. We made it across the river in safety."

He makes to grasp the hand she offers him but Arwen reaches for his cheek instead. She watches his eyes close and feels the tacky, bristly jaw beneath her fingers. Here in the gentle, clean glow of her father's house he stands out in a way he had not in the wild, yet unwashed and so very obviously a man. Very warm, as he always is, but the damp heat under his skin confirms his carefully-hidden distress further. His cloak is hanging lopsided from familiar broad shoulders and his hair is a nest. She wishes to tease him again, as she did in the woods, but finds in this moment she cannot; she's missed him dearly.

They inhale, together, her hand upon him. Arwen is no fool; his trust in her did not discount the real danger and magnitude of their last several hours.

"You're injured," he says, even through his closed eyes. "And you've been weeping."

Arwen touches her free hand to the mostly-faded cut on her cheek. An injury it is not. She allows his lover's perspective nonetheless.

"You know that I weep often," she chooses to say.

"Do you?" Rhetorically, in a restrained murmur.

"Yes; I am quite as tender-hearted as you are, my love."

Estel opens his eyes, startled into a sudden laugh, which stretches crooked and a little pained across his face. It is then that they both relax. They are alone in the corridor; dear Frodo is alright; she wishes very much to kiss him.

"Unharmed," Aragorn repeats, on an exhale this time, one further bout of confirmation. Arwen has come to learn this about men -- this man -- the small stretch of time required to come to terms with a simple truth. There is something soothing about its necessity. But her peace is disrupted almost immediately; quite suddenly she is feeling the strain of want in her throat as he smooths rough fingers over her wrist, then her palm, lifting her hand away just so from his face.

"Arwen," he says a second time, very differently. "Meleth ..."

Oh, to fall into his arms ...

"You are very filthy, Estel," she says instead, allowing a touch of that teasing to return.

He turns his head and kisses the inside of her wrist in response, long and lingering and silent and warm, and holds her gaze all the while.

Her name is called, once, twice, from the room she only just exited.

"My lady Arwen!"

She sighs and he releases her, offers her the smallest of bows and another tired smile, and goes, presumable to check on his charges. But she is smiling in return. Time is not something she had great consideration for until she met Estel. She thinks of it now -- its brevity, its urgency. For now, Arwen hopes, they have escaped the danger, and may see each other happy for a short while longer.

[happyk44]

I love reading creators giving such lovely poignant answers to questions about the themes and meanings behind their work but at the same time it does annoy me a little because I feel like if I were ever in the same position, my brain would short circuit so bad, which is so funny because when I was much younger and just starting out on my creative writing journey I used to give so many pretend interviews about my stories when I was bored and now if I try to do the same, my brain blue screens and the only answer I can give myself is "idk, I was running on vibes"

[mudstoneabyss]

neurodivergent but in the opposite way from what I see a lot. "neurotypicals are always using unspoken social rules and cues instead of just stating things clearly and actually saying what they mean like neurodivergent-" brother I am playing 5 dimensional chess with multiverse time travel

[on-the-edge-of-dune]

《ancient modern au idea》

kid Gaara lives with Yashamaru, has never even seen his siblings, and only vaguely remembers his fathers frowning face when he dropped him off at his uncles place before he could even walk

everything is cool and all, Yash is hanging out with him, they watch TV together, study, assemble this huge puzzle the man won in a raffle some years ago at forced team-building at former workplace

"you are sick, Gaara" his uncles says, "you don't want to infect the other kids now, do you?" and so he never approaches any of the children he sees when playing in the garden

all he does is observe the kids playing, and then tries to imitate it with his stuffed toys, which isn't the same, but he fights through the disappointment

he never leaves the property, at least not alone, and not during the day

Yashamaru sometimes drives him around town when he comes from work, which is usually past normal bedtime, since the guy works 12 hour shifts

one night, Yashamaru finds Gaara sitting in the living room (possible ISD, chemical/hormonal imbalance, no one really knows why he doesn't sleep much because he saw a pediatrician only once), reading, and asks him if he would like to go for a ride

excited, Gaara agrees

as always, belt is forgotten since he loves to lean from the window, watch the stars and feel the wind caress his face

this time tho, Yashamaru acts weird

he talks about their distant family, and how difficult it is sometimes to look at Gaara and not feel resentment, which is a word the kid doesn't really understand, and so he doesn't expect the sudden burst of tears, whining, mentions of his deceased mother

and he surely does not expect the sorrowful "please die" uttered by his uncle, the collision, the fall, the pain of being forcefully bashed against the dashboard before he by some miracle manages to put the belt on

that was the last restful "sleep" Gaara had

(and here is where i fucked up and somehow began writing amateur story)

heat lickes his cheek, but it doesn't burn as much as his forehead, leaking something warm down his face, getting into the corner of his eye, successfully flooding it and making it very difficult to see

so he closes that eye, squishing the warm liquid inside, and watches the flames eating what used to be pretty orange front hood with the other

reality doesn't hit as much as it slowly creeps in

his left eye is drowning, so to see he has to turn his head, which hurts, but little neck pain is nothing compared to the terror he feels when Yashamaru not only doesn't seem to be moving, but is getting eaten by the same flames he's seen earlier

the belt clicks, faux leather creakes, an orchestra of sizzling fire and panicked breathing

Gaara grabs his uncle's shirt and pulls, trying to get him away from the flames, begging him to wake up and move

emulsion of blood and tears stream down Gaara's pale face as his little fists uselessly tug at Yashamaru's sand coloured button up

maybe it's the adrenaline finally kicking in, or something gave, but suddenly Gaara finds himself pinned to the seat by Yashamaru's head, facing up, and Gaara wishes the warm liquid to blind both of his eyes

for what he sees will haunt him for the rest of his life

(please... do not read ahead if you're squeamish.. i didn't have to be so thorough with my descriptions, but i was, and therefore what follows is probably a bit disturbing)

half of what used to be his uncle's kind beautiful face is mangled and charred

it reminds Gaara of that one time he rummaged through "these are not for children" DVD's and watched The Mummy for the first time

part of him wishes in that moment his uncle won't wake up like the mummy did and try to kill him, only to feel guilty about it

until he recalls what happened before the crash, and how the only person he ever loved cursed him with death, so technically, he already did try to kill him

still, staring down at the brutally mutilated head resting in his lap, Gaara can't help but feel sympathy, and while he sits there, paralysed with terror, Yashamaru's last words overshadow every possible escape plan his 6 year old mind could have come up with at the moment

so he keeps staring, hypnotised by the still sizzling skin, whatever remained of the left eyeball sitting unnaturally deep in its socket, the pretty blonde hair he loved to touch whenever he had the chance, suddenly curling close to his uncles head, black and short

every single detail is burned into Gaara's retina, and it really does burn, because he didn't blink once since he got trapped in the car, and also....you know, the fire

it occurs to him how strange it is that skin dissolves like heated up plastic, stretching, splitting and creating holes

he contemplates the imperfection and weakness of human body, as he looks at the light yellow pools spreading across umber land, and as he keeps staring, he feels more and more disconnected from the whole thing

smell of gasoline and smoke don't bother him, as long as they cover up the smell of burnt meat.. that's what humans are, really.. just meat

Gaaras universe expands and shrinks, trying to find a place for his quickly deteriorating sanity, but a 6 year old mind can only take so much, and so it gets misplaced, forgotten about, and the kid leaves whatever is left of his humanity in the lifeless eyes of his uncle which never stopped staring right back at him

it seems like a lifetime until he hears distant shouting from outside his hell

and then someone pulls the door open, grabs his small frail body, and drags him out

but the Hell never left, instead Gaara took it with him

(im gonna keep it short again, okay? okay.. i just needed to get THAT out of my system, since it has been playing on repeat inside my head for years now)

since then, the insomnia gets worse now that he sees Yashamaru every single time he closes him damn eyes

unfortunately not sleeping doesn't solve the problem, because even when Gaara somehow doesn't believe himself to be human, he needs rest, and when the brain doesn't get it, it starts to compensate by projecting dreams into reality, and there is only one thing Gaara can dream of...

he doesn't consider it to be a hallucination, but a spirit reminding him of surviving the unsurvivable, haunting him for doing so

Gaara lives, if only out of spite

(holy shit okay so from NOW im really going to keep it short..)

the red head is still a bit of a dick considering all of this, basically the same little asshole he was in org Naruto before...you know, he met the blonde

he doesn't tell anyone about his uncles corpse always standing in his peripheral vision, or the trauma, and people somehow believe it was him who steered the car out of the road

👏👏👏Explanations 👏👏👏

~ai 'tattoo'~

(btw i always considered it to be more of a scar than a tattoo.. i mean, logically)

Yashamaru used to wear iron pendant with the symbol, as a token from his departed twin sister

Gaara found it on the dashboard during his whole 'sanity is for losers' crusade, and after seeing the gash on his forehead in the rearview mirror, his dissociating oxygen deprived brain thought it poetic to slap that hot iron on the wound, but to his credit, he didn't even flinch

(edit: and of course he read somewhere in the rich collection of his uncles books that a bleeding wound is best to be cauterized)

~family bullshit 1# Rasa~

Rasa dumped Gaara at Yashamaru's because his rich bitch ass believed him to be infidelity child, due to his hair and eye colour (but he's an idiot because he himself literally has darker version of red hair, which seems almost brown and the eye colour is from Karura's side of family)

since he's the CEO of a big company, he couldn't afford the media to know his wife cheated on him (which she didn't) so he took the kid and threw him at his estranged brother-in-law

~family bullshit 2# Yashamaru~

he sort of ran away from the whole ordeal after Karura died

couldn't get over the fact that she was gone, so he simply left and pretended it never happened, ignoring the existence of the entire family

that is until the reality knocked on his door and the reason for his anguish was quite literally shoved in his arms

~family bullshit #3 siblings~

they do remember the kid, but were forbidden to talk about him, or their mom

all they know is his name, since that was the last word that left their mothers lips before her candle burned out

after that, he was just gone, and they were kind of afraid to ask what happened to their little brother, because Rasa grew bitter and ill-tempered

Temari and Kankuro sort of had to raise themselves, since their uncle also ditched them for some reason

that's about all i have, the backstory

as for what happened to Gaara after the car crash? i have no fucking idea. logically, he would be in a hospital, most probably interviewed by a psychologist, who might not be impressed with the results, therefore Gaara could end up in a psych ward ( @atqh16 ????? )

6 years is the minimum age for admission into psychiatric hospital where i come from, so that lines up perfectly

anyway, thanks to those who just spend an hour reading this very short au modern fic prompt

[pekoeboo]

hhh i've had like. no drive to work on any art or writing projects. ;n; my heart is still so invested in the stories and characters I've created, but the motivation to take those feelings and put it into some form of content is next to nil. i don't know why it's been like that but it's kinda sad :c

don't get me wrong - i'm happy with most of the things i've created lately, but it's also been this strange game of doubt and comparison going on in my head when it comes to actually sharing what I make. there are a lot of pieces of art and writing that i just haven't posted because i feel like it's not in a place where it's good enough for anyone other than myself. the idea of editing and actually finishing some projects so that i can make sense of them online is overwhelming even tho i would love to just... get some of those ideas out for anyone who might be interested in hearing about them, you know?

anyway. probably just need to let myself take some kind of break?? idk what that would really entail at this point tho. it's just been a weird mental state that I need to work out i guess.

[robitherat]

Also I posted abt this on insta since that's where it happened but I'll say it here too: if you have some shit like "I'm in your walls (/j)" in your BIO of all places I'm blocking you on sight lol it's not a funny joke to begin with, it's used to trigger ppls psychosis 95% of the time, and putting a /j after it doesn't absolve you from deliberately putting shit in your bio that is used to trigger people's psychosis 95% of the time

Like idk man maybe reconsider why you think shit like that is funny in the first place.