#can't stop this little vortex of chaos

[netheris]

Sooooo I got bored and made some Blursed Emoji gifs, enjoy! (2nd time I have added with even MORE!)

[radiance1]

Hello people.

Using this from Herald of Seasons drabble, and this here reply from the wonderful @percyisawesome

So I'm gonna say that the Herald of Seasons title Vortex gave his little guy was split between Danny and Phantom, Danny getting Spring and Summer and Phantom getting Fall and Winter. Because of that I'm gonna say that both of them like the rain and snow as a little flavor thing :3

So Danny still gets dropped kicked out of the zone to DC by a ghost who didn't want a living person in the zone, who then gets beaten up by Vortex for putting his hands on his little guy, and Danny brings along the seasons and stuff.

Except that Danny can't easily guide Fall or Winter as he could Spring or Summer, because that wasn't his role, that one fell to Phantom. But he still does it because, well, Phantom is there to do those things, he's still in the DP dimension., even though it puts some strain on him to do these things.

So he meets Batman, gives him a snowflake (accessing the power of ice is easier than guiding Fall and Winter), and then leaves hoping to encounter him next Spring. Then Phantom manages to find his way to the DC verse and he kinda, well.

He kinda fucks shit up.

You get Winter, and you get fall, you get winter and on and on. Sending chaos to the balance that Danny tried to create and when he's made aware of it, he drops what he was doing to go and put it back into order and Phantom's already gone to spread more cold.

This, obviously, gets the attention of the Justice League due to sudden change in the weather all over the place. So, they get to investigating, find it to be someone deliberately changing the weather, and quite violently at that.

Batman instantly thinks back to that child he met, proclaiming himself to be the Herald of Seasons. The boy didn't seem to be the type to do this based on their conversation, nor how he waited for the rain to finish before calling forth snow.

Batman doesn't want to jump to any conclusions yet, but he'll keep note of the information, and also shares it with the rest of the Justice League just in case.

Danny is kinda running himself ragged trying to clean up the sudden changing of Seasons, for every Fall and Winter he reverts back to Spring and Summer, another takes its place. Eventually, the Justice League manages to crack down on Phantom's location, and pulls up to stop him from continuing this unnatural weather changing.

Phantom takes one look at Batman, and instantly guns for him because of that snowflake he has hiding in his suit. Unfortunately for Phantom, there's some heavy hitters in the Justice League, as well as Justice League dark who pulled up because this was an incident of magical capacity.

So Phantom gets hold in check, and the JL just sees a child meta that's the source of everything going on here, and, while fighting, try to talk him down from all of this but Phantom?

Phantom just does not care. He goddamn hates humans, because all they want to do is try to capture and tear him apart under a light, so he decided to destroy them first before they destroy him, hence the massive and violent change in weather.

Just as a massive Winter is over the city they were fighting with and the Justice League getting more and more convinced that they can't communicate with Phantom. It suddenly becomes lighter, the storm, I mean.

Danny appears.

He's finally caught up with Phantom, who was causing an imbalance in nature that he established and tried hard to keep. Checks on Batman because hey that's his friend, and also tries to talk Phantom down.

He gets farther than the Justice League, and the storm gets lighter and lighter, the area almost coming back to its natural season, until communications broke down because Phantom got shot at.

Who? Why none other than the GIW, of course! They followed him to the DC verse, and Phantom's recent actions only reinforced their views on ghosts.

Unfortunately, Danny becomes the focus of Phantom's rage and faces the brunt of the attack to do being so close, he thinks that Danny, a human is allied with the GIW, and even if he felt familiar he couldn't care anymore because the men in white lied, the girl who called him her brother lied, the one calling themselves his friends lied and the ones who called themselves his parents lied.

Danny lied. Phantom didn't know why he cared so much, but it just hit harder than any other time.

Humans always lie.

So Danny gets injured, and a fight breaks out with the GIW trying to get both Phantom and Danny. Because the boy was obviously also a ghost if he was able to talk with Phantom.

Unfortunately for them, the JL puts a stop to that.

Phantom is on the full offensive, while Danny is on the defensive. Mostly because Danny doesn't really, fight, magically at least. He knows martial arts, but Phantom does as well, and Phantom due to being a ghost is physically stronger than him, so he would have to resort to magical might, rather than physical.

Unfortunately, due to his usual use of guiding rather than forcing as Phantom did and also because Phantom used his powers to fight and fend off the GIW, he doesn't have as much experience with fighting with the elements.

So, he's mostly reacting here, rather than acting.

Even worse when he's injured as well. Eventually, Phantom escapes, and Danny gets taken to get medical attention in the League base by Batman.

[seramilla]

Odette’s main love language is acts of service and physical touch— she does a lot of things without Verosika needing to ask her. She’ll draw Verosika a bath with some wine while she listens to verosika rant about her day, and she’ll give verosika a back rub afterwards. Verosika is absolutely obsessed with it but she’s always sleep by the end of the process to properly repay Odette.

Odette doesn't feel like Verosika gets enough credit for how hard she works. Sure, her fiancé doesn't vibe with the typical 9-to-5 and occasional overtime like Odette does, but Verosika's schedule is random, demanding, and requires a flexibility Odette doesn't have. Odette likes a set schedule and predictability; Verosika thrives on chaos and life's little adventures, but sometimes, it takes a lot out of her.

There are times Verosika will be on tour in Hell for a week, and come right back home, only to immediately have to leave again for another tour in the human realm. And sometimes it could be nighttime in Hell, and morning on Earth, and the still has to work straight through it; the time difference is unpredictable, and more than once, Verosika has done three or four shows in 48 hours without a wink of sleep. During those times, she may take several weeks off afterward. All she wants to do when she's home is sleep, relax, love on Odette, and sleep some more. Odette does her best in those times to take care of her.

She'll break open a bottle of wine from her mother's coffers, run Verosika a warm bubble bath, and listen while the succubus rants for hours about all the crazies she meets on the road. Someone had tried to rob her when they stopped for tacos in the desert; that man found his head shoved right up into his own asshole by Vortex, and ironically, the dude is probably here in Hell now, reckoning that he ever tried to mess with Verosika Mayday when her hellhound was on duty. The story makes for a good laugh, anyway.

After Verosika's bath, Odette will give her a massage, with plenty of oils, and scratch good and long between her wings where she can't reach. Verosika is like a large, lanky cat at this point; if succubi could purr, Odette's certain she probably would. Odette can get her motor running good and proper, and while the succubus desperately wants to return the favor, her body's demand for sleep is all-consuming. She succumbs to it and falls asleep right there on the floor, snoring away, under Odette's careful caresses.

Odette doesn't mind. She simply puts her to bed, and when Odette lays down next to her, Verosika will ultimately gravitate to her at some point during the night. Odette's body heat is like a beacon to the succubus' senses. Maybe when she wakes up, it will be Odette's turn. But for now, Odette can catch up on her book, while Verosika cuddles with her for hours. Verosika has already said she's taking a month off this time -- they'll have more than enough time in the coming days to catch up.

[chronicallylatetotheparty]

Perfect Paradise Ch.14:

The Risen are Ridden with Rhythm and Dance

Summary: On the Shadow Path.

-----------------------

"How disturb-ox," Caramba muttered, rubbing the "chin" of his short, round, yellow exosuit.

Looking through the data on his other arm's wrist screen. Caramba paced the length of the Chaos. Occasionally glancing at the waters of the Seine below.

"How did they open a vortex without a Blix?' Carapace asked.

"They didn't," Cece slid down the mast onto the main deck of the Chaos. "The astronomical rings you described are an Aerian dimensional anchor. They must've waited for a vortex to open in the general vicinity of France and redirected it to Paris."

Rena Rouge smacked her fist into her palm. "That's why it didn't close! They were keeping the vortex open because it was their only way back."

"But what were they after?" Carapace asked.

"You have a matriarch in that zoo of yours don'tcha?" Zak pointed out.

"The Blix? Isn't it a bit big?" Rena held her hands up and moved them apart to represent the relative size of the giant jellyfish and the pirate ship.

"Never stopped them from trying before," Cece replied.

"An entire dimension between her and the Triangle and these boneheads still can't leave her alone. Typical," Zak muttered.

"I hear you dude," Carapace said.

"It was definitely one of Caligo's missing ships." Caramba pulled his robotic limbs in and rolled his spherical exosuit towards Cece. Popping back to his feet and showing her his wrist screen. "Look at the engine signature."

"Caligo?" Rena asked.

"Admiral Caligo. He's the only skeleton with an eye patch," Zak explained.

Rena Rouge's brow furrowed. "Why would a skeleton need an eye patch?"

"What's more surprising is that you can detect anything at all, little dude," Carapace said.

Caramba opened the face screen of his exosuit. The small green alien grinned, single antenna bobbing. "Wahoolian technology is far more advance-ox than Earth standard. The only civilization that comes close is- No, I shouldn't say."

"Spoilsport," Rena muttered, disappointed at not getting a hint.

"If my calculations are correct the rate at which viable vortexes are appearing outside the Bermuda Triangle is stabilizing," Caramba stated.

"That's good. Right? That sounds good," Carapace observed.

"It's within expectations," Caramba shrugged.

"Huh?" Rena gave them a confused look.

"Remember when I unlocked the Triangle twenty-ish years ago?" Zak asked.

"Vaguely."

"Vortexes started opening sporadically across the Earth due to so many dimensions of null-time being... Reattached, so to speak," Cece explained. "The imbalance only delayed the stabilization process. Now that Carapace's ward is in place it appears the metaphysics of the Triangle is making up for lost time."

The present members of the Seven C's laughed at what was probably an inside joke.

"Hear that Turtle dude? Progress already!" Zak held his arm up for a fist bump. Carapace obliged.

"However, it does mean that more vortexes are safe to travel through," Caramba said. "Usually exiting the Triangle would send you back to the time and place you entered it."

"But skeletons were never ones for rules," Cece said.

"Neither are we," Zak grinned.

"You think they'll try again?" Rena Rouge asked.

"Unlikely. Timeline pirates have to contend with the temporal authorit-ox of Timesters, your own Bunnyx and the anti-paradox magic of the Bermuda Triangle itself. Coming back is just asking to get caught."

"Silver lining. I'll take it," Carapace grinned.

Zak rubbed his hands together. "Great! Then we're done. And since we're already here might as well go sight seeing!"

"Uh, don't you think an Atlantian and a Wahoolian will attract attention? Paris pretty much assumes anyone weird is an akuma nowadays."

"Rena Rouge is correct Zak Storm," Cece agreed. "We would stand out."

"I've thought of that!" Caramba raised a finger and then brought it down on a device in his hand.

A holographic field spread out from it. Zak's sword vanished. Caramba appeared like a short, pudgy boy in a yellow shirt. And Cece's clothes changed to more surface appropriate attire. Her hair was still pink but the scales on her forehead and the points of her ears disappeared.

Cece touched the invisible fins along her forearms to make sure they were still there. "And this is why Atlantians don't like visiting the surface."

"Aw, c'mon!" Zak wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Already walking down the ramp. "It'll be fun! We can visit an aquarium if you get land sick."

"Very funny, Zak Storm."

Caramba stretched his exosuit arm from the walkway on the bank of the Seine to pat the Chaos' hull. "We'll be back before you know it!"

The Chaos' eyes glowed briefly as he acknowledged their departure.

Rena glanced down at them, still on the deck, and pointed. "Should we?"

Nino waved her concern away. "Ah, let 'em be tourists. They deserve a break."

"I thought you said there were seven of them?"

"Yeah, two of 'em are spending time with family in the Middle Ages and one's in the Golden Age of Piracy. Apparently."

"Shut up!"

"I'm serious! Time doesn't flow linearly in the Triangle. You know that, dude."

"I keep forgetting that they're older than they look."

"Zak and Cece are about our age."

"They look twenty!"

"Yeah, they don't spend much time outside the Triangle... Or at least Zak doesn't. Atlantian dudes do age slower than us."

"I'd be jealous if it didn't come with temporal displacement trauma."

"You still look beautiful, dude."

"I'll have you know that I'm not the type of girl who fools around with another man's husband."

"Ha, ha," but Nino couldn't quite hide his smile.

(Read the rest on AO3)

[gourmet-trash]

Ok I really like your hobrinthian fics and they really give me what I've been dying for- casual sweet slice of life shots. So tysm writing <3 what's your headcanon for how they all got together if you have one?

AH! thank you so much!! it thrills me to absolutely no end that other people enjoy the silly, easy little stories i've been throwing together. they've been a lot of fun to write!

and great question! i don't think i'm hard set on any specific head canon (currently, i make most of this shit up as i go lol) on how they came together for the walker siblings + chaos boyfriends series. BUT. having said that. i will also say that the "corinthian suggests stabbing hob to help rose with her homework" bit was a very direct mental spin off from a serial killer walks into a bar lol. very "what if my man chilled out a LITTLE BIT and got to do some stabbing and everyone was cool with it actually?"

so there's definitely a chance that that i am, without realizing it, writing the very beginning of this threesome-to-be and the fucking slice of life sequels to it lol. like...okay, so hear me out:

let's assume somewhere in the aftermath of a serial killer walks into a bar (which may have some writing for it already, maybe maybe), hob and the corinthian actually do become something. what is that thing? who fucking knows, cause corinthian isn't gonna put a name on it. but a something. enough of a something that somewhere along the course of the show's canon, corinthian maybe kinda sorta starts to...second guess some decisions.

don't get me wrong, he is still suckin and stabbin his way through whatever the hell he has going on, and he definitely isn't second guessing those decisions. but what started off as a plan to get the vortex and use her to deal with his very complicated god-daddy issues is now...tainted. he's used to blood stains, right? knows how to get them, what they mean, how to clean them off. but this thing with gadling is like fucking ink. the spread and smear is similar, but he can't pinpoint the source, and it runs darker, stains longer. it lingers in a way he isn't used to, eats under his skin and settles like a tattoo over the violence. giving it outlines and borders and structure. a new frame of reference, if you will.

so when he gets to jed, he was always going to be a little soft for the kid. recognize a little too much of himself, project a little too hard. but with the stain of gadling on him, he's got a better frame of reference for tenderness and affection. not a great one, mind, but better. he's also gotten a more up close and personal taste of possessive, and it's obviously different with the kid, but gadling left ink behind on him, in him, and he's stamping, imprinting more easily on the little human he finds, shockingly, that he gives a shit about.

but, you know, he also has shit to do, and while he's second guessing some things, he isn't gonna just stop. so he maybe alters the plan. just a little. makes a call he doesn't expect to make and asks for....help is a sour word, so he wouldn't use it, but a favor. a big favor. the 'i wouldn't ask if i had any other choice' kinda favor.

and gadling, who is too fucking much at any given time, would agree. because his friend (more than? something, something) asked, sounds sincere and maybe a little, poorly hidden desperate. so corinthian still makes stupid fucking choices and still takes a child to a serial killer convention. but he also gets gadling to fly all the way out to meet them there, because it's suddenly overwhelmingly important that corinthian has a backup plan for bright eyed, desperate-for-affection-and-safety jed.

and rose is important to jed, which means rose is now important to corinthian too. and sure there's a lot to gain here, but there are stains now - fucking empathy and sincerity and he can't scrub it off, not entirely - so he'll be fucking damned if he's going to stand back and just let anything happen to her. kills several people along the way to keep them both safe, because fuck kids are a handful. and he still doesn't have the details of whatever the fuck there is between dream and gadling, but there is something, and he needs a trump card, if not to pull for himself to shake out with the rest of the chips when it's all over.

so when dream and corinthian are finally having their head to head and when corinthian is on the cusp of being entirely undone, and of course he doesn't fucking want that to happen, but at this point maybe it should? the flaws are running deeper than dream knows. all the stress cracks left behind from his creation are now full of fucking ink like so much gold in kintsugi.

and that's probably about the time hob walks in and is like "the fuck is all this???? i ran into the kids in the lobby and got them somewhere safe but-- DREAM? IS THAT YOU? do you know each other?????" and an awful lot of yelling and chastising follows, because "what do you MEAN you made him??? no you can't UNMAKE people for making bad decisions, what the fuck? and YOU! YOU'RE A NIGHTMARE AND A SERIAL KILLER? when were you gonna tell me that, huh!? how many more times were we going to fuck before that came up? oh, i'm sorry mr. i-only-gave-you-my-name-finally-last-bloody-week, you don't get to have an opinion on my sex life now!"

and then some truly outrageous negotiations and bickering follow, which coincidentally go on long enough for our main bitch lucienne to crack the code on unity and when the dust finally settles on all that, there's a weird, unsteady foundation they can spend some time smoothing out.

......okay so turns i DO have a headcanon for how they got together! i am so fucking sorry anon, this got away from me.

[ramuneempiremtl]

Slave-kun’s Happy Life in Another World: Chapter 23

"The leader still hasn't arrived, huh?"

"Since we have some time, why don't we measure Owl's magical power?"

So, the three of us went to a place called the appraisal office.

By the way, Aki had disappeared at some point. He probably went to check out the cafeteria inside the branch, I guess.

Appraisal office.

As the name suggests, it's a place where you pay to have the value of items you want to know about appraised.

They also measure magical power here. It seemed they could tell you what types of magic you're likely to be good at as well.

There's someone at the reception, but the measurement is done by a machine, kind of like self-service. We asked Nove to pay again to start the measurement. The money is inserted into a coin slot, just like a vending machine. Very modern.

I did as I was told, stuck my hand into the device, and let my magic flow. It might be similar to a blood pressure measuring device.

There's a meter and something like a glass orb, and you're supposed to understand the results by looking at them.

But I don't get it at all.

The meter's needle is pointing right in the middle, and the glass orb has become somewhat colorful. What's this?

"Wow, you really do have a lot of magical power."

"You might have as much as Nove, right? It'll probably increase a bit more as you grow."

"The types of magic you can use… Hmm, the colors are all mixed up, I can't tell. …Excuse me! Could you take a look at this?"

Nove called out to an elegant old lady who was leisurely drinking tea at the reception.

This is the second old person I've met in this world! It's very rare. The first one was a butler-like person who helped us at the mansion.

"Oh my, such a small child has come. Let me see."

The old lady put on her glasses and observed the glass orb while touching the machine.

I caught a glimpse of a silver bracelet on her wrist, and Nove exclaimed in surprise.

"With such a high amount of magical power, you have many types of magic showing up. Excluding the basics, there's ice, lightning, this might be spatial. Then there's healing, reduction. The future looks promising for you."

"…Thank you."

"Hehe, no need to be so formal. I'm just a staff member now."

Suddenly, Nove's attitude changed.

Is she someone important?

Ice and spatial magic suit me. I'm happy, I might be able to make ice, and maybe I can do things like teleportation or storing things in a different space! Although I don't feel like I can do it.

Reduction might mean "purification." It seems like it's turning impurities back into magical power. There might be more uses for it.

The possibilities are expanding.

I need to study.

The master said, "Maybe I should measure mine after a long time," and borrowed money from Nove again. Nove, while glaring at the master, handed over the coins without saying anything, perhaps mindful of the old lady at the reception.

The needle stopped at about one-tenth of the scale. The glass orb was a color that could only be described as brown.

Even I can tell, it's probably very little.

"Oh, it's grown a bit!"

"…Finally reaching the average for a normal person, that's good. Can it still grow at your age?"

"The training paid off."

"Oh, what interesting colors… Normally, with that amount of magical power, these types of magic wouldn't show up."

"What! This is just brown, isn't it!?"

It looks just brown to me!?

"It's quite distorted. Dawn, Chaos, Great Tremor, Storm, Blazing Sky, Starfall, Great Vortex, Ice Prison, Extreme Lightning…"

"W-what!?"

The old lady listed off unfamiliar terms. What on earth can she see?

I can't understand the content with the vocabulary of this body. But it sounds strong!

"I've never seen anything like this before. All 'World-Type' magic that could take down several countries… if you could activate them, that is."

"…They're all similar to the types that appear in ancient documents…When you mix them all together it turns brown…Could this be a malfunction of the machine?"

"Well, who knows."

"I told you, I used to be called a child of the stars, a magical prodigy."

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard."

The nuance of "Child of the Stars" is something like "child prodigy."

I think he's more like a final weapon than a child prodigy.

No way, if the master becomes a world-destroying sorcerer who laughs and shoots magic like crazy…

Judging from the amount of magic power, it seems impossible to activate. I hope it's just a bug in the machine.

"Thank you very much for your help."

"Hey, thanks."

While Nove thanked the receptionist old lady in polite language, the master thanked her very frankly in his usual tone. Nove is glaring at him a lot.

"It's fine, I was free anyway. This place is far from the troubles of the city."

"…If I may be so bold, that bracelet is a 'Circle Rank,' isn't it? You are the former lord, right?"

Wow.

She must be an amazing person!

"Hehe, I told you, I'm just a staff member now. Don't you think 'Appraisal' is a good place to make use of 'Discernment'?"

"That's reassuring. I'd definitely like to request an 'appraisal' again."

"H-Hulk!"

"I'll be waiting."

She seems like a friendly person, which is a relief.

Nove is flustered, though.

The master doesn't change his attitude even when he hears she's an important person. Rather, he speaks in the same tone to everyone.

I bet he'd be the same even if he met the king.

"Well, you boys must have a big job waiting for you."

"…How do you come to think that?"

"I can tell. Because I have 'Discernment.' I'm sorry to have the children clean up this branch."

"Cleaning…?"

"The air hasn't been flowing well here lately… I used to have tea and chat with the current lord. If I hear any interesting news, I'll let you know."

"…Understood."

"Children are treasures. Take good care of them."

The old lady doesn't give off the intimidating presence of a former lord at all. She's just like a grandmother watching over her grandchildren.

Still, I can tell she's no ordinary person.

We've met an amazing person.

The master looks puzzled when he hears about cleaning.

"May good fortune come your way."

"Good fortune to you."

After exchanging greetings, we left the appraisal office, pulling along Nove, who seemed a bit spaced out.

[lowtaxsa]

Something Awful: 1999-2000

Ah, the history of Something Awful, a tale so mind-numbingly boring that I'm pretty sure it's been used as a torture technique. But hey, you asked for it, so buckle up for a wild ride through the life and times of a snarky, dead internet guy who clearly never got over his grudges.

Before SA, I slaved away at Gamespy and ran Planet Quake. Working there started off cool, but it quickly devolved into a swirling vortex of misery. The CEO, Mark Surfas, tried to turn his band of underpaid nerds into a real company but had the managerial skills of a drunken raccoon.

They employed meatheads like Sal "Sluggo" Accardo, who was about as helpful as a sunburn, and Darren "Dakota" Tabor, a backstabbing weasel. They made me work insane hours, and when I hit their idiotic milestones, my reward was a cheap backpack and an MP3 player I sold for a measly $20. Thanks for nothing, guys!

I eventually stopped caring and ended up working with LadyICE, an ancient hag who was so useless that I'm pretty sure she was cursed by a witch. After I mocked her incompetence in a Cranky Steve update, she tattled on me like a whiny child, and Darren forced me to sign some shady documents that got me fired. Good riddance.

With no job, I focused on SA, and our first tech guy was Cozmo, who I met on a Quake 2 server. He helped set up the early SA site, which had a design so terrible that it looked like someone vomited up Halloween decorations. The forums started slow, but it attracted a motley crew of weirdos who somehow found our little corner of the internet appealing. Go figure.

The early 2000s were the wild west of the dot-com bubble, where people made absurd amounts of money by doing practically nothing. I, however, missed that boat and ended up on the sinking ship that was the Gamefan Network. They never paid me a dime, and I got roped into cleaning up Billy "Wicked" Wilson's messes on Voodoo Extreme. He was a talented guy with a head full of bees, but he sadly passed away due to liver damage.

Then, I jumped onto the Backbeat Media Network, which was like being the awkward goth kid at a prep school – we didn't fit in at all. But at least they were nice, unlike eFront.

I joined eFront, hoping they'd be better, but it was like jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire. They promised checks that never came, and I was desperate for the money they owed me. Greg Panos, their web relations guy, convinced me to work for them full-time. It was like making a deal with the devil, except the devil was an incompetent buffoon.

The entire eFront debacle was a disaster, and to make matters worse, Gabe from Penny Arcade started a petty crusade against me, claiming I profited from eFront's collapse. That guy had the intelligence of a moldy sponge, and I carried a grudge against him for ages. But hey, at least Tycho was cool.

Here's a fun story about eFront: Kevin "Fragmaster" Bowen stole a chair from them when he quit. Why? No one knows. It's like trying to understand the motivations of a feral raccoon.

By early 2001, I was completely over the whole network thing. But hey, at least I had some entertaining stories to tell, right? So, that's the not-so-glorious history of SA, as told by a bitter, sarcastic ghost who's still clinging to his grudges from beyond the grave. What a life, huh?

As I look back on the twisted, bizarre, and sometimes hilarious history of Something Awful, I can't help but feel a pang of unease. The early days of the internet were rife with chaos, colorful characters, and more than a few facepalm-inducing misadventures. But as the dust has settled and we've all grown older and wiser (well, maybe not all of us), I've come to realize that there's a darker side to this tale.

The internet has transformed into a breeding ground for unscrupulous businesses and manipulative advertising practices. No longer is it simply a collection of misfits and oddballs – it's become a sprawling marketplace where data is bought and sold, and where the almighty dollar reigns supreme.

Consider the world of online advertising: a parasitic landscape where companies feed on your every click and view, milking you for all you're worth. My own experience with these vultures is a testament to their ruthlessness, as they withheld my hard-earned money, forcing me to struggle while they cashed in on my misery. It's a cautionary tale, a stark reminder of the predatory nature of this digital realm.

And what of the current state of YouTube? Once a haven for homegrown content and genuine creativity, it's now become a soulless behemoth, churning out a never-ending stream of insipid clickbait and mind-numbing "challenges." The platform has been overrun by money-hungry creators and advertisers, all vying for your precious time and attention, only to leave you feeling empty and unsatisfied.

It's time for us to take a stand, to recognize the dangerous path we're treading. The internet was once a glorious, untamed wilderness, filled with boundless potential and a sense of wonder. But now, as we hurtle headlong into a world dominated by corporate interests and a relentless pursuit of profit, we must ask ourselves: is this really the future we want?

So let this be a dire warning, a clarion call to those who value the true spirit of the internet. It's up to us to resist the encroaching tide of greed and manipulation, to carve out a space where creativity and genuine connection can still flourish. We must never forget the lessons of the past, for they are the keys to unlocking a brighter, more authentic future.

As for me, I'll continue to raise a sarcastic, mean-spirited toast to the memories, the grudges, and the bizarre collection of misfits who made my time on the internet a wild, unforgettable ride. Rest in peace, Lowtax. You may be gone, but your legacy lives on – a stark reminder of the perils and pitfalls that lurk in the darkest corners of cyberspace.

[farvaduvet]

I was about to ask what kind of character was Wilted pit going to be, as in was he going to become a minor or major enemy, an ally or perhaps just a victim of circumstance.

You just answer the question with the drawings you posted, most likely becoming a friend to pit(oo)

yeah i can't just throw the boy through the wringer and not give him a happy ending lolll. and dark pit gets his own redemption arc in canon (if you can even call it a redemption? a 'learning to give a damn about people' arc) so wilty has to get in on that sweet sweet ally juice too in my au

Wilted Pit is technically an enemy for most of the storyline, serving under Pandora and then Medusa and then Hades once both are taken out. but he's never that antagonistic in personality. he's just a Nice Little Guy. who keeps getting sent to make Pit's life a living hell. but Wilty would quite like to make friends with him, since they're the only angels around, even if most of what he receives is open hostility. what really drives Wilted Pit to the side of the Underworld is rejection from Pit and Viridi, not really actually being evil. at least the Underworld isn't trying to kill him, unlike everyone else.

but of course the Chaos Kin arc happens, so when Pit gets turned into a ring for three years, Wilted Pit gets knocked out. Hades ditches him at this point, leaving him stranded in the middle of nowhere.

Palutena ends up finding him unconscious and taking him back to Skyworld. she'd always wanted to take him in, in the same way she would do that for Pit, but Pit was so blatantly hostile towards her that she assumed Wilted Pit would be the same way. anyone serving the Underworld seems an unlikely candidate for switching sides to the Light Army, anyways.

Wilted Pit and Palutena obviously get along (like they do in canon), and both of them are integral to helping Pit rescue Viridi and kill off the Chaos Kin. Pit isn't happy about this at first, but eventually warms up to them-- he's got a lot in common with Wilty, and their common ground eventually lets Pit open up to him about his Repressed Feelings of loneliness and worthlessness in the eyes of the gods. Viridi getting taken over by the Chaos Kin was kind of the last straw for Pit. obviously, she's possessed, but getting rejected by the one god he thought was cool enough to treat him like an actual person hurts pretty bad. bad enough to feel like giving up entirely. so getting that recognition from Wilted Pit (and Palutena too) is what motivates him to keep trying to save the world instead of leaving it to the dust.

he's not the kind of person to throw himself to the dogs for someone else, but when Wilted Pit gets dragged down into the vortex by the Chaos Kin's remains, all Pit can think to do is go in after him.

blah blah, they've all gotta go revive him, so Wilty flies down to the rewind spring. along the way he gives Palutena and Viridi a little beatdown about why "teamwork makes the dream work" and effectively convinces the two goddesses to stop warring with each other and team up to fight Hades.

his arc gets a culmination when Pandora pops up again at the Rewind Spring right when he's about to dip Pit in the water. she calls him out for betraying her, and he feels real bad about it, not entirely rid of his Underworld allegiance-- but he's able to kick Pit into the water just enough while she's got him grabbed. Pit comes back to give some Defense to his Homie and then they kick her ass together once and for all.

after that, Wilted Pit sticks around as an ally. i haven't entirely figured out how the endgame plays out but he's there as Palutena's servant.

(not me writing a boatload of crap about my au again lmaooo)

[shadowdianne]

SWAN QUEEN: Daniel died, her mother died, Henry died, Emma died, so why the fuck can't she? Brr.

I don’t do this. Not anymore Xd Yet, you very well know that you are one of the very short list of people who can make me write SQ still Xd

And well, It’s angst so, hey, that’s a bonus

“Save him.”

She had gritted her teeth as Emma had looked at her, pleading eyes breaking through the black and white façade of the Dark One; she had been about to pass from exhaustion, fingers tightening around invisible ropes, her magic being called forth with all of her might as hex after hex pulsed through the air, linking both her body and Emma’s as they both tried to stop the other; concrete and electricity filling the air alongside with the heady scent of ozone.

She hadn’t answered, not vocally at least. She had grabbed the air and asked for the dagger to appear on her extended hand, purple tendrils coiling around her, lighting her skin with sparks that bit into her as Emma lost control over her body once more; her pain being mitigated by anger and repulsion.

They had known everything could eventually lead to where they were; in the middle of a destroyed Storybrooke with nothing but magic that kept being called, being syphoned, by feelings that felt untamed and trembling against their ribcages. Regina had tried, she truly had, back at Camelot, the last bits of her memories diluting like dew under the early sun. She, however, despite everything, despite her being the one who had grabbed the dagger when Emma, a tired, gray-lined Emma, had asked her to hold onto it, despite having promised to be the one who was able to do the unthinkable, had failed.

Maybe it had been her own emotions, her own feelings, the damned bit of hope that had blossomed inside her chest when she had seen Emma walk into the diner, hard edges and pain escaping her sides, like fog spilling over the sea’s surface. Maybe if she had seen the divided mind, the way Emma kept changing back and forth from someone she knew to someone she didn’t, maybe if she hadn’t been so keen on wishing, on wanting. Maybe.

There weren’t any seconds left for that though, the thought hitting her, bolts jumping from her body as she was raised from the air, Emma’s hands pale and stark in front of her, the darkness of her magic twisting the pure dirty white that had been hers and only hers prior to the vortex, prior to her screams, prior to her one and only single request: spare Henry, spare them, please.

The magic had laughed and wrecked everything on its wake, coming forth from every pore of Emma’s body, squashing her mind on the intervals the blonde didn’t fight to get the control of her own body back. For a second, a moment, Regina had thought that she would be able to, would be strong enough.

And then the dam had broken, the restraint Emma had managed to get, the little pieces of herself that had been floating inside her mind had scattered further and further still and the dark magic, the one that fed off chaos and despair, had stepped forward: all claws and fangs and death.

Regina had managed to get others to safety, but she hadn’t accounted for Henry, noble, precious Henry, who had thought the impossible could always be achieved if one fought enough for it. Maybe that had been her fault as well; maybe it was only the byproduct of true love kisses and magic that reeked of a world that wasn’t the reality of the town they were marooned into. Nevertheless, as she had fought and called for Emma, wishing that some of her words hit with enough strength to create a ripple between the two merged consciousness, Henry had appeared, running down what was left of the main street, holding his book atop everything else, asking for powers that were too fickle to listen properly.

She had tried, she had. But the magic had been too strong, too unpredictable. A stray tendril had curled around the boy’s legs, causing him to fall, fall, fall. She had been able to smell the scent of blood before seeing the droplets that grew into a river, the paleness of his cheeks obvious enough amidst the rubble, amidst the screams.

“Save him.” Emma’s words came out hoarse, her voice formed out of a myriad of echoes from moments shared that now ebbed away from them both. It was short lived, glimmering with nothing but the realization she couldn’t keep on fighting.

Regina called the dagger once more, asking for that stubborn part of herself, the one who would never apologize to Pan or any other villain before or after him, the one that was rooted on her own anger and loss, the one that had created and built the Queen persona, the one that had been the base of the reason why the darkness had come for her all those months ago, thinking of her a worthy host. The one that kept the world dark and hungry, the one capable of cursing and hexing if only for the whole purpose of seeing her enemies burn. She fed the black pearl that sat at the very center of her heart, the tendrils of magic that kept her heart from being red. And pulled.

“Regina!”

She struggled to breathe; she could listen to Emma now, pained, and raw and more like herself. When she focused her eyes onto her the dark one was flickering, the vortex she had once seen now above them both, twirling. It was working, in a way. She would only get a chance, one. Feeling her body freed from the tendrils, she jumped towards Henry, opening the book with one hand, chocking on a sob as she felt the lack of breathing on his chest. She had lost too much of herself to know hubris wouldn’t save him. Nor her. She poured the magic onto the pages, his blood marring them, feeding them as they growled into existence.

There was a second, a moment, in where she thought it would fail, in where she thought of the stupid reasons why she had thought herself strong enough to do what she was about to do. Yet she didn’t dare to give reason for the magic to taint her as well, to destroy the opening between the blinking force and Emma’s own body keeping the incarnation with a physical body. She struck the book with her magic, with Henry’s hope, with Emma’s despair. There was a flash, a caress made out of quickly disembodied fingers.

And then, nothing

-.-

They buried them one close to the other, in tombstones that were quickly covered by moss due to the magic present and reinvigorated by the blood of the one who had been called savior by so many it felt ludicrous now. They didn’t rest on the mausoleum, the dark corners of the building far too weighted by other stories that bled ink so thick it felt like tar.

She was told that it hadn’t been her fault. She was told that her magic had reached the book too late. She was told that, by some reason her idea had worked. “Of course” She would answer with vocal cords so fried she felt as if muting herself to the world would be best. “I knew what I was doing.”

She was told that she had saved Storybrooke, the repairs being done under the gloomy knowledge that two more laid at the city’s graveyard. She was called a savior.

She hated it.

Daniel had died, her mother had died, her father had died.

Henry, Emma, had both died: so why the fuck wasn’t she herself resting next to them now? Why the magical blast hadn’t killed her as well, turning her to shreds, to specks of dust unable to feel pain and anguish, why did she keep on walking while they didn’t?

For a second, a stupid, cruel second, once the book had closed on its own volition, the blast so strong it had pierced her eardrums, she had seen Emma stumble and fall but still breathe, eyes as green as ever, hair back to blonde. She had smiled then, her other hand, devoid now of the dagger, the blade bare, not holding a name no more, reaching for Henry’s collar. She had thought then and there that they might survive, that she would see Emma kneel and approach them, with the stubbornness she pretended she hated, with hands warm from magic devoid of the madness from before. She had thought, she had hoped, that she would be able to hug her, to maybe admit that what she had wished to say back at Camelot, at the well, when everything was closing around them, was a simple admission that felt ridiculous now if only for the obviousness of it all.

She had been wrong.

Emma had mouthed words at her from where she had rested, words too close to those same words she had thought she might be able to admit. Her eyes had focused on Henry, blood dripping from her lips and tongue, teeth colored red and black. She had mouthed the same words to him, eyes fluttering, closing.

Regina had screamed then, cursing everything, everyone, cursing her legs as they failed her, as she was unable to reach out the woman who she had vowed to destroy and yet had made her fail and fail again.

She hugged herself while she eyed the tombstones, eyes dark and face covered in still healing scars. She would wave them goodbye, healing the rest of what had been Emma’s magic cursing through her. Yet she refused to. A sick, ill way of keeping a part of her within her reach.

“Bring them back.” She wished, anger, wrath, loss. Asking for the trees to listen to her, for the soil to spit them back, for their souls to return. She had been weak when Daniel had died. She wasn’t weak now; she wasn’t supposed to be.

“Bring them back.”

Because if they were gone and she couldn’t follow them, wasn’t supposed to, she would do her damnest, would curse her soul beyond repair, only to have them back. She would give her everything, every drop of her blood. She would destroy and maim and stood atop a skeleton-made mountain, only so she was able to cheat death.

She was done with honorable causes that did only led to nothingness. She didn’t want to have Snow’s vacant stare, David’s inability to say two words without stammering. She wasn’t weak.

She wasn’t.

She couldn’t.

“BRING THEM BACK.”

[maythedreadwolfbreakyou]

What Dreams May Come

A Solavellan Story

     Waking each morning was no longer the pleasure it had been in Skyhold. There was always that moment when she felt whole again, refreshed by the visions of the night before. But as they gave way to daylight, that happiness evaporated with their memory like a summer rain from the dry earth. Leaving only a vague memory of feeling hope, wrapped within a sharp edge that made it difficult to reach.

     It had been strange to see that towering monolith, once a bustling citadel of trade, spies, and military, now stand cold and silent like a discarded old bone in the soil. Yet as Ghilina walked the winding mountain path away from Skyhold, the place she had strangely come to call home, the mountains closed like theater curtains at the end of a play. 

No, she thought, her jaw set with determination, this is not the end. This is only an intermission. 

     It had been many months since that day, and if losing an arm hadn't been an odd enough experience to live with, leaving Skyhold felt like losing the ground from underneath her feet. But the Dalish were nothing, if not adaptable, and Ghilina took pride in being especially so. She had her father and his teachings to thank for that; moving from place to place and never lingering for long took little effort. She was, after all, Dalish. It was the constant watching of her surroundings while avoiding the prying eyes around her that proved to require more. 

     The days seemed to stretch far longer than they had before. The Inquisition was now a shadow of it's former glory, an echo, and operating what remained of it's forces with such necessary secrecy took more getting used to than she had first thought it would. 

     Even now she lay upon a bed within a rented room for the evening, waiting for contact from one of Leliana's agents, staring up at the tattered wood ceiling from the comfort of a warm and plush feather bed. 

     The countryside just West of Nevarra was lovely. Not somewhere she would choose to linger had she the choice, but it was lovely.

     Somewhere beyond her open window, she heard crickets sing with joy as the aroma of the night wafted in on the cool evening breeze, bringing with it the promise if rain. A hush as a torrent of wind rushed through the gusty trees.

     As much as Ghilina disliked being left with her own thoughts on nights such as this, there was also a sense of peace she enjoyed. Along with the hope for a better tomorrow. 

     Her thoughts began to slow with the progression of the night like the flow of a lazy river. Each one danced as the ribbons from a kite string reaching toward the sky, inviting the dreams that would inevitably take her. 

     Ghilina's dreams always took her to a happier future, the sort she secretly hoped for, yet tucked away into the darkest recesses of her heart. They were bittersweet wishes, for to wish for them earnestly would invite further heartbreak.

     It began as it often did, with the colors of a thousand ribbons and streamers decorating the town square of Wycome. They billowed and swayed on the unseen breeze as people danced and laughed all around her in celebration. 

     Ghilina looked down and found herself dressed in a simplistic white gown, her arms and shoulders exposed.

That was when she noticed that her left hand and the part of her arm that had been consumed by the anchor was no longer missing. It had returned, the same as it had been before the mark, and beautiful bracelets of gold and gems decorated her wrist. Interwoven with her dark hair were the small flowers of Prophet's Laurel.

     Standing before her, taking her hands gently in his, stood the man to whom her heart belonged. 

     Solas, down-turned gray eyes staring so lovingly into her own, wore a red and gold vest with a tunic beneath. It's billowing sleeves tapered at the wrist by leather wrap cuffs, and a white wolf's pelt draped over one shoulder. 

     "You look beautiful," Solas whispered admiringly. 

     Ghilina looked down with a shy smile, "You as well."

Then came someone's familiar dulcet tones, she immediately turned to look in their direction, "are you ready, da'len?"

     Standing there, with a kind and knowing smile, was Keeper Istimaethoriel. She looked beautiful with her graying hair pleated and braided elegantly, pulled back into a neat bun to display her intricate Vallaslin. She was the only one in her entire clan left that she truly thought of as family. To see her again here, Ghilina felt happy tears bud at the corners of her eyes.

     "She can't marry him!" A sudden voice protested angrily. 

Ghilina turned to the gathering crowd, her brows knotting as she stepped into Solas's arms, but she could not find the voice's source among them.

"That's the dread wolf! He tried to kill us all!"

Other faceless voices spoke up in agreement with the first.

Ghilina looked up into those gray eyes she loved so much, only for sadness and regret to look back. The same look Solas had given her that night in the glen.

"But she loves him!"

"He's a trickster god of many guises, he must have tricked her too!"

Chaos erupted all around them as more raucous voices rose with their own protests, the crowd beginning to surround them. All around her were angry and fearful faces. They were growing far too loud, and to block them out, Ghilina placed her hands flat over her ears. 

     In her fear, she looked again to Solas for some form of guidance. Solas, his eyes never faltering from her, slowly backed away and disappeared into the crowd. 

     The voices around her reached their crescendo, sounding more akin to a raging river. Then she realized the shouting and screaming she heard was no longer the voices, it was a torrential wind sweeping all around her like a vortex. It whipped her hair this way and that. Ghilina pressed her hands more firmly against her ears and tightly shut her eyes. 

     When the wind died, and she dared open her eyes again, she was suddenly surrounded by the stone infrastructure of Kirkwall's Hightown. 

     The sun glared down on her from its zenith in the vacant sky, an oppressive presence with it's unyielding summer heat. What trees she saw around her held drooping, flaccid leaves like wilted lettuce. Even the air was dry, not the usual humid warmth that came with living so close to the sea. The stones themselves looked bleached by the sun. The smell of baking pastries and fine perfumes wafted into the air, mingling with an occasional whiff of odor from the sewers far below.

    In spite of it all, the city was bustling with activity. Citizens swarmed merchant stalls, as others shouted for the attention of potential customers. Nobles strutted like peacocks through the streets, as others hurried to their work. The blending of voices echoing off stone walls was a welcome white noise.

     Suddenly a child's voice rose above the din, "Mummae!"

Ghilina whirled at the sound, catching the bobbing black head of a beaming young elven girl with gray eyes running toward her. Behind her strode the man she knew to be the girl's father: Solas. 

     In his arms was a small elven toddler, the same features as his sister, watching the scene before him serenely.

     Solas watched his daughter barrel into her mother for a hug, a gentle smile playing upon his lips As the corners of his eyes crinkled.

"Oh!" Ghilina exclaimed, looking down into the still-smiling face of this little girl who resembled her so strongly it made her heart ache.

"Mummae, I'm almost as tall as Uncle Varric!"

     Ghilina looked into the face of the child before her and rested a hand on her cheek. She tried to smile, but the muscles of her chin would not obey. They trembled as she felt the sting of unshed tears.

     Her knees buckled, catching her upon the stone. Her arms hastily wrapped around her small daughter and pulled her close, burying her face in the child's hair. The girl's hands lifted jerkily, tentatively returning the embrace. 

When she spoke, her small voice was laced with worry, "Mummae, what is wrong?"

The tears burst forth from her like a charging Druffalo before she could stop it, and suddenly the dam holding them back was shattered. The sounds that tore from her sounded like the wails of a distressed child, raw from the inside. 

     Her daughter suddenly began to fade from her arms until she disappeared, her worried and sad expression never leaving her eyes. Ghilina blinked back tears and looked up at Solas, finding only that he too, along with their son, was fading from existence. Hurrying to her feet, she ran to them, reaching for them too late. 

     All around her, the people faded away one by one until none remained. The scenery around her stilled, and the sky shifted, until everything was like looking through a filter of green. It was no longer the sweltering heat, nor the strange scents, of Kirkwall. This was the fade in it's more base form. She had been here too many times already in the flesh not to recognize it now, even as a dreamer. 

     A shimmer of mist, diffuse, lingered before her as if the air itself was being warped and twisted. 

     Finally, it congealed into form, "I did not mean to cause you pain."

Before her floated the translucent humanoid form of a spirit, it's voice silvery and soft-spoken, like an ethereal child speaking in a large room. 

Ghilina exhaled a breath she did not know she had been holding. 

"What manner of spirit are you?" She asked.

"I am what perches upon the soul to sing the wordless song, a driving motivation for change. I am the glimmer of light in a dark ocean of Despair. I am Hope."

She blinked, "Hope?"

"Yes, you have much in your heart. For the return of a lover, of a future together, of a better world for you both. Full of happiness, surrounded by those you love. But it is so very tangled amidst the thorns of your fears and worry, I cannot nurture it so long as you cleave to them so desperately." 

"How can I shed fear and worry when so many things could go wrong?" Ghilina demanded, "Even if I succeeded in changing the mind of Fen'harel, and returning Solas to my side, there is still so much that could go wrong."

"Then you would face it together. You are not alone, da'len. Even now."

"What do you mean by "even now"?" 

The spirit moved to the side to reveal a sad, lone white wolf across a vast distance. It's gray eyes looked into her's once, then quickly turned away. It faded as quickly as it had come.

Ghilina reached out instinctively, "Solas!"

"You will not catch him, not here." Hope warned.

"What?"

"Here he knows. Endless years spent learning how to bend and twist all things across the veil, his creation, into shapes; into what he wills it to be. You cannot find him here."

Ghilina frowned and looked down at her feet, thoughtful and sad. What the spirit said next startled her, "He sees your hopes as well as your fears. He sees them play out here in your dreams as he watches over the dreamer. He sees the place you hold for him there, and the thought of that future with you has already planted the smallest of seeds in his heart."

Ghilina's brows furrowed with confusion as she searched the spirit's featureless face, "he… wants that future?"

"As surely as he wants the other. He is torn and hurting. But hope for the future he would share with you is one I cannot reach. Only you have the ability to reach it. To nurture it."

"How?"

"You have touched his heart deeper than most ever have. He has tried to harden his heart to you, but cannot. You, only you, are the key to the Dread Wolf's heart. To reach him, though, you must first wake up."

     Waking each morning was no longer the pleasure it had been in Skyhold. There was always that moment when she felt whole again, refreshed by the visions of the night before. But unlike before, her heart retained a lightness it hadn't before. Though her dreams faded with the rising of the sun, glistening off the morning dew from the night's rains, she felt motivation returning. A sense of hope she hadn't felt since the disbandment of the Inquisition. 

And as the knocks on her Inn room door signaled the arrival of the informant, Ghilina rose to answer. Purpose renewed, she was ready to continue fighting for a way to change her lover's heart.

[queerbutstillhere]

"Oh no he's hot" Time travel prompt -

(this one was given to me by @hyperactive-lectiophile from this post. I couldn't resist throwing in a little TimBartKon-)

Time travel was pretty normal in the speedster life. Now Wallace West, Kid Flash, had never actually had it happen to him. He'd seen Barry do it, he'd heard about Jay doing it, and he'd stopped several other speedsters from doing it.

But he never had.

All the same, when he got thrown into a time vortex, he knew what was going on. He prepared himself to run to find the nearest speedster and ask them to throw him back forwards into time. When he came out, he was tripping and flipping head over heels. He landed on his ass in a smoking battlefield, chaos and destruction everywhere. He rocketed up, looking around with wide eyes, trying to identify his location.

"There he is. A little later then I expected."

He turned around to find three very buff heroes. They were clearly heroes, as one was floating, the other was glowing and the one in front just looked like a superhero. Plus the mask kinda gave it away.

"W-who are you?" He stammered, eyes wide. "Where am I?!"

"Earth-1, Nashville, Tennessee, I think."

"Okay. When am I?"

"May third, Twenty twenty-one, Wally," the masked vigilante grinned at him.

Wally scanned him over. He was wearing an incredibly tight bodysuit, blue stripes running down certain areas, and a big blue wing like symbol on his chest. He had a utility belt like Robin, and two batons hung at the sides. He looked like he had been involved in the war, black soot on his face, and blood and grease in his hair and on his uniform.

"Who are you?"

The man laughed and grinned. "I'm Nightwing. This is Starfire, and Zatanna."

"Z?!?" Wally exclaimed, eyes snapping up to her.

"Hey, Wally," she said with a giggle, waving.

Man she grew up well.

"What- how-"

"We'll explain everything back on the Watchtower, Wally. Don't worry about it," Nightwing said, walking over and putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Okay."

So they went back to the Watchtower, which very much was different then anticipated.

"Bart is gonna be here in a bit to help send you back, you want something to eat?"

"Bart?"

"Yeah, you'll meet him soon," Nightwing promised, leading him what appeared to be a kitchen and starting to make Wally food.

"Okay."

Nightwing chuckled, handing Wally a lunchmeat sandwich, sitting across from him at the island. He watched as the man reached his gloves up and removed his mask. He was glad for the food in his mouth or else he would've audibly gasped.

He's hot.

Not just hot. He's beautiful, like objectively one of the prettiest people Wally had ever seen, and he hung out around Diana!

"So, how did you know I'd be coming, you didn't seem surprised..."

"Well you tell your team when you get back," Nightwing said, shrugging lightly.

"We didn't quite know when you'd show up, but we knew what time you disappeared into the future, so we figured it'd be around that time."

Wally nodded, devouring his sandwich, sneaking looks at Nightwing occasionally. His blue eyes were really pretty.

The door banged open, and a golden bolt of light smacked into Nightwing, throwing him off balance.

"Oh my God!" The man yelled, nearly falling.

"Sorry!"

The buzzing speedster darted around the room, stealing food. A tired looking vigilante trailed in after him.

"I'm sorry. He's just very excited today."

"It's okay, Red Robin."

"BART DONT EAT THAT!"

Wally also watched in horror as the kid began to shove a partially rotten fruit down his mouth, then stopped, pouting.

"Aw, Timmy, baby, I'm hungry."

"I know this," Red Robin walked over, grabbing his wrists. "And Kon is on his way with food, okay? He's got your fries and shake and everything."

The speedster brightened and then looked at Wally.

"Hi Wally! I know you don't know who I am yet, but hi!"

Wally waved slightly and then looked at Nightwing.

"You'll get used to him," Nightwing promised.

The door opened again, and a really tall buff man walked in.

"Okay, I have the food-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence as suddenly the fast food bags in his hand were ripped away. He sighed and looked at Nightwing.

"I'm sorry-"

Nightwing laughed, shaking his head. "It's okay, Kon."

Wally froze. That laugh. He recognized that laugh. He would know that laugh anywhere. He had heard that laugh so many times.

"Dick?!" He exclaimed, eyes wide.

The man smirked lightly, looking over.

"Hey, Walls."

"Oh! My! God!"

My best friend gets hot.

"You're kidding me!?"

"Nope."

"Wow. Okay... So where am I? Here, I mean, this Wally."

Dick's smile faultered. "He's busy in Central City, he couldn't make it. He sends his best wishes, however."

Wally narrowed his eyes, but didn't question it.

"Okay! I'm all fueled up, let's go, Wally!" The other speedster said, jumping up and shoving a shake cup into Red Robin's hands, then kissing him.

"See ya soon, babe!"

"Alright, come on," Dick said, standing and following Bart out. Wally trailed after them.

"Dick, does something happen to me?" He asked, easily catching up with his best friend.

"Wally, you know I can't tell you that," Dick said with a sigh. "Please don't ask me questions like that."

Wally glared at him. "You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

"You tell me that a lot," Dick said with a fond smile. "Okay. So when you get back, you're gonna find yourself in the middle of the battle with the team, so just be prepared."

"Can do."

"Bart will tell you what to watch for while you're running through time-"

So Bart and him created enough speed and force to launch him through time. He found his proper time fairly easily, and punched through the speedforce, tumbling to the ground in the middle of a battle.

"Kid Flash!"

Suddenly Robin was by his side, looking worried.

"There you are! You've been gone for thirty minutes!"

"Dude, you get really hot."

Robin stared at him like he had just grown a second head. Wally laughed.

"I'll explain after we beat up these bad guys."

[shadowdianne]

I posted 4235 times in 2021

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My Top Posts in 2021

#5

SWAN QUEEN: Daniel died, her mother died, Henry died, Emma died, so why the fuck can't she? Brr.

I don’t do this. Not anymore Xd Yet, you very well know that you are one of the very short list of people who can make me write SQ still Xd

And well, It’s angst so, hey, that’s a bonus

“Save him.”

She had gritted her teeth as Emma had looked at her, pleading eyes breaking through the black and white façade of the Dark One; she had been about to pass from exhaustion, fingers tightening around invisible ropes, her magic being called forth with all of her might as hex after hex pulsed through the air, linking both her body and Emma’s as they both tried to stop the other; concrete and electricity filling the air alongside with the heady scent of ozone.

She hadn’t answered, not vocally at least. She had grabbed the air and asked for the dagger to appear on her extended hand, purple tendrils coiling around her, lighting her skin with sparks that bit into her as Emma lost control over her body once more; her pain being mitigated by anger and repulsion.

They had known everything could eventually lead to where they were; in the middle of a destroyed Storybrooke with nothing but magic that kept being called, being syphoned, by feelings that felt untamed and trembling against their ribcages. Regina had tried, she truly had, back at Camelot, the last bits of her memories diluting like dew under the early sun. She, however, despite everything, despite her being the one who had grabbed the dagger when Emma, a tired, gray-lined Emma, had asked her to hold onto it, despite having promised to be the one who was able to do the unthinkable, had failed.

Maybe it had been her own emotions, her own feelings, the damned bit of hope that had blossomed inside her chest when she had seen Emma walk into the diner, hard edges and pain escaping her sides, like fog spilling over the sea’s surface. Maybe if she had seen the divided mind, the way Emma kept changing back and forth from someone she knew to someone she didn’t, maybe if she hadn’t been so keen on wishing, on wanting. Maybe.

There weren’t any seconds left for that though, the thought hitting her, bolts jumping from her body as she was raised from the air, Emma’s hands pale and stark in front of her, the darkness of her magic twisting the pure dirty white that had been hers and only hers prior to the vortex, prior to her screams, prior to her one and only single request: spare Henry, spare them, please.

The magic had laughed and wrecked everything on its wake, coming forth from every pore of Emma’s body, squashing her mind on the intervals the blonde didn’t fight to get the control of her own body back. For a second, a moment, Regina had thought that she would be able to, would be strong enough.

And then the dam had broken, the restraint Emma had managed to get, the little pieces of herself that had been floating inside her mind had scattered further and further still and the dark magic, the one that fed off chaos and despair, had stepped forward: all claws and fangs and death.

Regina had managed to get others to safety, but she hadn’t accounted for Henry, noble, precious Henry, who had thought the impossible could always be achieved if one fought enough for it. Maybe that had been her fault as well; maybe it was only the byproduct of true love kisses and magic that reeked of a world that wasn’t the reality of the town they were marooned into. Nevertheless, as she had fought and called for Emma, wishing that some of her words hit with enough strength to create a ripple between the two merged consciousness, Henry had appeared, running down what was left of the main street, holding his book atop everything else, asking for powers that were too fickle to listen properly.

She had tried, she had. But the magic had been too strong, too unpredictable. A stray tendril had curled around the boy’s legs, causing him to fall, fall, fall. She had been able to smell the scent of blood before seeing the droplets that grew into a river, the paleness of his cheeks obvious enough amidst the rubble, amidst the screams.

“Save him.” Emma’s words came out hoarse, her voice formed out of a myriad of echoes from moments shared that now ebbed away from them both. It was short lived, glimmering with nothing but the realization she couldn’t keep on fighting.

Regina called the dagger once more, asking for that stubborn part of herself, the one who would never apologize to Pan or any other villain before or after him, the one that was rooted on her own anger and loss, the one that had created and built the Queen persona, the one that had been the base of the reason why the darkness had come for her all those months ago, thinking of her a worthy host. The one that kept the world dark and hungry, the one capable of cursing and hexing if only for the whole purpose of seeing her enemies burn. She fed the black pearl that sat at the very center of her heart, the tendrils of magic that kept her heart from being red. And pulled.

“Regina!”

She struggled to breathe; she could listen to Emma now, pained, and raw and more like herself. When she focused her eyes onto her the dark one was flickering, the vortex she had once seen now above them both, twirling. It was working, in a way. She would only get a chance, one. Feeling her body freed from the tendrils, she jumped towards Henry, opening the book with one hand, chocking on a sob as she felt the lack of breathing on his chest. She had lost too much of herself to know hubris wouldn’t save him. Nor her. She poured the magic onto the pages, his blood marring them, feeding them as they growled into existence.

There was a second, a moment, in where she thought it would fail, in where she thought of the stupid reasons why she had thought herself strong enough to do what she was about to do. Yet she didn’t dare to give reason for the magic to taint her as well, to destroy the opening between the blinking force and Emma’s own body keeping the incarnation with a physical body. She struck the book with her magic, with Henry’s hope, with Emma’s despair. There was a flash, a caress made out of quickly disembodied fingers.

And then, nothing

-.-

They buried them one close to the other, in tombstones that were quickly covered by moss due to the magic present and reinvigorated by the blood of the one who had been called savior by so many it felt ludicrous now. They didn’t rest on the mausoleum, the dark corners of the building far too weighted by other stories that bled ink so thick it felt like tar.

She was told that it hadn’t been her fault. She was told that her magic had reached the book too late. She was told that, by some reason her idea had worked. “Of course” She would answer with vocal cords so fried she felt as if muting herself to the world would be best. “I knew what I was doing.”

She was told that she had saved Storybrooke, the repairs being done under the gloomy knowledge that two more laid at the city’s graveyard. She was called a savior.

She hated it.

Daniel had died, her mother had died, her father had died.

Henry, Emma, had both died: so why the fuck wasn’t she herself resting next to them now? Why the magical blast hadn’t killed her as well, turning her to shreds, to specks of dust unable to feel pain and anguish, why did she keep on walking while they didn’t?

For a second, a stupid, cruel second, once the book had closed on its own volition, the blast so strong it had pierced her eardrums, she had seen Emma stumble and fall but still breathe, eyes as green as ever, hair back to blonde. She had smiled then, her other hand, devoid now of the dagger, the blade bare, not holding a name no more, reaching for Henry’s collar. She had thought then and there that they might survive, that she would see Emma kneel and approach them, with the stubbornness she pretended she hated, with hands warm from magic devoid of the madness from before. She had thought, she had hoped, that she would be able to hug her, to maybe admit that what she had wished to say back at Camelot, at the well, when everything was closing around them, was a simple admission that felt ridiculous now if only for the obviousness of it all.

She had been wrong.

Emma had mouthed words at her from where she had rested, words too close to those same words she had thought she might be able to admit. Her eyes had focused on Henry, blood dripping from her lips and tongue, teeth colored red and black. She had mouthed the same words to him, eyes fluttering, closing.

Regina had screamed then, cursing everything, everyone, cursing her legs as they failed her, as she was unable to reach out the woman who she had vowed to destroy and yet had made her fail and fail again.

She hugged herself while she eyed the tombstones, eyes dark and face covered in still healing scars. She would wave them goodbye, healing the rest of what had been Emma’s magic cursing through her. Yet she refused to. A sick, ill way of keeping a part of her within her reach.

“Bring them back.” She wished, anger, wrath, loss. Asking for the trees to listen to her, for the soil to spit them back, for their souls to return. She had been weak when Daniel had died. She wasn’t weak now; she wasn’t supposed to be.

“Bring them back.”

Because if they were gone and she couldn’t follow them, wasn’t supposed to, she would do her damnest, would curse her soul beyond repair, only to have them back. She would give her everything, every drop of her blood. She would destroy and maim and stood atop a skeleton-made mountain, only so she was able to cheat death.

She was done with honorable causes that did only led to nothingness. She didn’t want to have Snow’s vacant stare, David’s inability to say two words without stammering. She wasn’t weak.

She wasn’t.

She couldn’t.

“BRING THEM BACK.”

44 notes • Posted 2021-06-10 12:44:52 GMT

#4

"This doesn't have to be goodbye, does it? Not really?"

For @waknatious

46 notes • Posted 2021-02-18 10:57:29 GMT

#3

Supercorp prompt: "Just admit it..."

“Just admit it… there are a million places you wish you were rather than here. With me.”

The words cut through the air between them, the lights that created hundredths of dots below them both catching Kara’s eyes as she went for a swift deny of the truth Lena’s voice recalled. She wished to be here, she wanted it to be. Except, she realized as she bit down her bottom lip, she didn’t. Not like this, not really.

Looking down she gazed upon the city that seemed to rest just a few inches below her boots, the blue cloth of the suit blurring the edges, cape regal, swishing against the breeze her being there, created. A perfect picture, a postal almost, of what she imagined others around the city imagined her to be, the ones who decried those who came from galaxies far away enough for not having recognizable names here, the ones who feared her for the title they thought she would want; A goddess, a titan, that peered down, never attainable.

She wasn’t that, she never would want it, she knew it, but she felt tethered by far too few threads to earth right now. One of them, the second most important, maybe, looking at her with glassed eyes and deep sorrow. Because there was only anger, ire, buildup doubt, on Lena’s face. And the cold, void resignation that there was nothing else to say.

She hated silences that she couldn’t fill, a maybe gift left by the phantom zone, a part of her lost there, amid everything and nothing. She feared them, she fought against them. Noise, words, songs, all that could prevent the silence that could potentially lead to the notion she had that, deep down, she was nothing but a coward, selfish, the kind of one that would pretend to be human only for the sake of not wanting to be seen as what Lena was currently looking at: herself, in the super regalia, a name forever branded onto her soul.

Which was the reason why she indeed wished to be anywhere else but here. With her. But she needed to be present, otherwise, what would be ever the point?

The night called for her, the hearts she felt beating below them called for her, the air and the jokes she had created, they both had created, so they could only understand each other called for her: the reminiscence of an easier time.

“I want to be with you.” It came booming out of her chest and yet the tone couldn’t have been more than a whisper, a plead. At Lena’s cocked eyebrow, lips stained by liquor, she tried to rephrase herself, still unsure as she hovered, if she would be welcomed back. “I just don’t want…”

“What comes with it.” Lena’s lips turned now, a jagged smirk, a sad one as her right hand played with non-existing wrinkles on her upper thigh, the dress she wore as crisp as before. “Go. Kara. I…” She stopped mid-sentence, that very same hand rising now, waving at the space between them both, the movement causing sound only the Kryptonian could listen to. “I free you, or whatever.”

“But I don’t want to.” How difficult could it be to create a string of words that would explain. That would give her enough room, enough space, to fill everything once more with the noise, the protection, Kara Danvers offered. Not to others, but to herself.

And then she knew, saddened, that she quite couldn’t ask for that. Not after lying, not after refusing to listen to what would have been the better path.

“I know I can’t take everything back.” She started again, words wobbly, lungs reaching for air, skin vibrating as she felt nerves wriggling, sizing her words, her movements.

“I’m not asking you to. You can’t do that.”

She was right, she wasn’t.

“But I love you.”

Lena’s eyes flashed.

“Do you?”

47 notes • Posted 2021-02-26 14:32:57 GMT

#2

50 notes • Posted 2021-03-09 09:28:01 GMT

#1

Alright is Thursday! Which means I'll be posting/reblogging cr stuff, will try to tag everything but in case something slips by I'll do a second swipe tomorrow and retag every post xd

@drummergirl72713 you ready??

56 notes • Posted 2021-10-29 01:24:51 GMT

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