#really super super random

[nailsinmywall]

sons of feanor 👁

[missingbk-dkhours]

So Sorry I’m Late

[micamicster]

Super Rich Kids

Close my eyes and feel the crash...

I wrote this one on post-its on a trans-continental flight after my phone (where i was re-reading the raven cycle) died. 0/10 plane experience would not recommend but I did manage to entertain myself! And now hopefully you as well!

When Ronan pulled into Monmouth Manufacturing he knew Gansey wouldn’t be there. Adam Parrish was, though, sitting on the steps in the golden afternoon light, bike dumped to the side in dying grass. He didn’t so much as flicker an eyelid when Ronan bootlegged the BMW into an approximation of parking on the far side of the lot, which was fine because that’s how he would have parked the car anyway, whether or not Adam was here.

Ronan was pretty sure that Gansey had arranged a shift system with the other boys, to prevent Ronan from being unaccompanied on the rare occasions of his own absence. The idea of a babysitter should have rankled Ronan, but Adam did not seem particularly invested in his role. Small favors.

As he got out of the car he gave Adam his customary once-over, as brief as it was habitual. You could notice a lot in a single glance, if you were Ronan, glancing at Adam.

Adam was wearing long sleeves (his father? Or just because it was October?) and his faded camo pants, the ones Ronan said made him look like a jingoistic meathead. They had recently acquired a tear in one knee. Not in the stylish, deliberate manner in which Ronan’s own jeans were shredded, but awkwardly, in an L-shape, where they had caught on some jagged edge and given way before even careful Adam had noticed and unhooked himself. The tear gaped open at times, like it was doing now, revealing Adam’s knobby left knee and, worse, a triangle of his brown thigh.

Ronan looked away.

Ronan never allowed himself, even in dreams, to trespass beyond the carefully demarcated boundaries of Adam’s clothes. And Adam was usually helpful in the maintenance of this boundary. Unlike Gansey, who could be found working on his model Henrietta in boxers at all hours of the night, or wandering to and from the shower in a towel, absent-mindedly forgetting his clothes in bathroom or bedroom. Unlike the boys Ronan played tennis with, who stripped down casually in the locker room after practice. Unlike even Ronan himself, who’d never met a shirt he couldn’t rip the sleeves off; Adam was always fully covered.

This summer, foolishly, Ronan had imagined that this might change. Now that the hideous secrets Adam protected with his long sleeves were no longer his alone. But by now he knew what kept those sleeves in place, something that Adam had already understood: that knowing and seeing are two very different things.

For example: this. Ronan knew that Adam, like most people who walked around on earth under their own power, possessed thighs. Two of them, attached in the normal way to other body parts, such as knees and hips. To know this was one thing.

Now that he’d seen it, he couldn’t stop seeing it. The way his knee bent, and the muscle above shifted as Adam made room on the steps for him. Ronan was looking away, out at the familiar, grounding, skid marks on the concrete of Monmouth’s lot, but he could picture in their place with deadly accuracy the hinge of Adam’s knee, the tanned skin of his thigh, scattered with golden-brown hair. He could dream about pressing his face against it.

He picked up a rock and hurled it. It glanced off the side of the soulless suburban and fell anticlimactically into the grass dying by the rear tire. It didn’t help.

Adam shifted next to him, subtly.

“What?” said Ronan. “Impressed?”

“Surprised, more like. I thought you were supposed to be the tennis star.”

“You think you can do better?” Ronan pried another hunk of gravel or concrete out of the dirt and tossed it in his left hand, tauntingly.

“I know I can.”

“But?”

“But,” said Adam, with some hint of exasperation coloring his voice, “I’m not going to sit here chunking rocks at Gansey’s car to prove it. My ego’s not that fragile.” His accent slipped out on chunkin’, not as if Ronan had pissed him off enough to forget to hide it, but as if it was a word he’d never used any other way.

Ronan threw his rock again. This was, if anything, a worse throw than before, and it skittered harmlessly across the suburban’s roof.

Adam made a small but contemptuous noise.

“Don’t give me that shit, man. You know he hates this fucking car.”

“That was for your shitty aim.”

“Come on then.” Ronan hefted another piece of gravel. “Ten points if you knock out his taillight.”

“It costs a hundred and five dollars to replace a taillight on that make and model. Plus tax.”

Ronan’s brief cheer was collapsing again. “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to bust Dick’s lights.”

Adam blinked slowly, his dusty eyelashes obscuring the contempt in his eyes for a brief moment. “I’ll leave.” (He wouldn’t).

Ronan dropped the rock. Next to him Adam sighed. Abruptly, he put out his hand. “Telephone pole. Six feet from the top.”

Ronan swept back up the rock and dropped it into his hand. Their fingers did not touch. His heart thudded.

Adam tossed the rock once, testing its weight while his gaze, cool and assessing, remained on the telephone pole. It was a splintered, tilting thing, shamed by his attentions. In one smooth, economical movement, he rose to his feet and let the rock fly. His leg went forward, knee jutting out of his clothes, his back curved, and his arm swept around in an arc, fingers scraping at the blue October sky. Ronan didn’t need to turn his head to know if the rock hit—he could see it in the brief hard satisfaction on Adam’s face.

Adam turned back to him, one eyebrow cocked.

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to earn that hundred,”

Adam shrugged. The gesture was disinterested, but there was a quirk to his mouth that contradicted it. “I know nothing blew up, but…”

Ronan already had another rock in his hand. “West corner lightbulb. It breaks or it doesn’t count.” Adam rolled his eyes, but turned agreeably to watch Ronan miss.

“Would you like to get your tennis racket?”

“Eat me,” said Ronan. (Maybe).

They traded shots back and forth for a while, calling increasingly specific and complex plays.

“Bullshit. Bullshit.”

“Get the government to pay for some glasses, Parrish, and then come back and try to tell me that wasn’t a fucking bullseye—”

“It wasn’t even close! You—”

“You calling me a liar?” Ronan loomed, and Adam, as usual, was unimpressed.

“Just because you don’t lie doesn’t make you right all the time! Like when you said that quote on Tuesday was Seneca. It doesn’t stop being Martial just because you’ve got a child’s sense of morality—”

“See, right there.” Ronan pointed triumphantly at an invisible scuff mark on the doorsill, marking where his handful of gravel had made impact.

Adam gave it a skeptical glance. His face was faintly flushed from exertion in the cold air, but his eyes were as cool and considering as ever. “What we need,” he said, “is a knife.”

Ronan was not allowed knives.

~

“Are you trying to stab each other in the feet? Why are your shoes off! It’s October!”

“Equal playing field.” Ronan wiggled his toes against the cold asphalt. “Parrish’s shitty knife is no match for my boots.” Over Gansey’s head, Ronan tried to catch Adam’s eye, to share a ‘can you believe him’ sort of look. Adam’s embarrassment over being caught acting irresponsibly meant Ronan could expect the look to be rebuffed, but he couldn’t help himself from trying it anyway.

Adam was bent over, eyes hidden. He carefully dusted off his socked feet one at a time before sliding them back into his shoes, as though the socks or sneakers could look any worse. A little parking lot crud might improve their appearance, actually.

Next to him, Gansey was still fussing. Without the pressure release valve of eye contact with someone who knew Gansey was overreacting, Ronan snapped, “Come off it, man, I’m not going to slit my throat while Parrish watches. He can’t afford that caliber of snuff film.”

Gansey’s concern transformed into revulsion, but underneath it he looked hurt, which was far far worse.

Adam straightened up. “We were just using it to mark where we hit. Honestly, we could have done it tossing a sharpie, but neither of us had one.” He sounded conciliatory, which pissed Ronan off. But Gansey was letting it go, returning the knife to Adam with an apologetic smile. Sorry for the fuss. Sorry for Ronan. Ronan’s bare feet were cold against the asphalt.

“Well? Are you going to throw or not, Parrish?” he said belligerently.

Adam rolled his eyes, but obligingly stooped for gravel and let one fly at Ronan’s open bedroom window, a shot he made easily.

Gansey whistled. “You’ve got quite the arm on you. How come you’re not on the Algionby baseball team?”

Adam shifted his feet, awkwardly.

“Please,” scoffed Ronan, “he’s not a team player.”

Gansey did not let it go. “Bet you’d have a better fastball than both our pitchers.”

There was a pause, during which Adam’s face clearly showed all of the thoughts he was trying to corral into a polite response to Gansey’s unconsidered enthusiasm. Ronan got there first. “Yeah, Parrish, why not hitch your wagon to the star of organized sports, like every other rags to riches wannabe?”

“Ronan!” said Gansey, Ronan’s offensiveness registering where his own had not.

“Hitch my wagon to a star?” Adam was unruffled. “I thought quoting Transcendentalists could get you excommunicated.”

“Who said I know it’s Emerson. It’s a sourceless idiom to those of us who aren’t sad little nerds.”

Adam smirked. The smirk said, I never said Emerson. His words said, “Gansey’s damning me with faint praise. No one’s going pro out of an Algionby sport team. Even tennis.”

“Ouch,” said Ronan, cheerfully. “Hit me where it really hurts. My school pride.”

~

Now that Gansey had arrived, his plans for the day took precedence over noble pastimes such as flipping pocketknives at each other’s feet. His plans involved comparing readings from various instruments and then placing said various instruments in various new locations, all of which were equally arbitrary (to Ronan’s eyes) and inaccessible. Gansey’s plans involved him waiting by the car to monitor the readings while people hiked with antennae to the outermost reaches of the signal. People, in this instance, being Ronan and Adam, Noah having mysteriously and silently fucked off, as he so often did when a job required carrying anything.

Ronan put his head down and trudged. It was brambly here, and slightly damp, and he was beginning to work up the kind of counter-intuitive sweat that appears from working in the cold, the kind that makes you colder later.

As the person leading the hike, custom would dictate that he should catch and hold the long clinging arms of the brambles for the following hiker. This presented a dilemma. Ronan compromised, and set about stomping the multiflora into the ground as he walked. Scarlet hips burst under his feet, invasive and beautiful, spreading their millions of seeds across the damp earth. Noxious weeds.

“It’s too unreliable,” said Adam, into the silence. “Sports. It all depends on… your physical condition.”

“And your condition is shit.”

There was Adam’s ironic smile. “Yes. So.” He shrugged. There was the part they weren’t saying, which was that his physical condition could always get worse. Unexpectedly.

“My dad hates baseball.” Ronan heard himself make the slip—hates and not hated—and a spark of fury burned through him, brief and inconsequential.

“My dad loves it.”

They marched on in silence.

Adam swore as a bramble Ronan had beaten down sprang up again, catching him right across the tear, where his skin was exposed. He bent to unhook it from the camo with deft, deliberate hands. “What?” he said, like he could feel Ronan’s eyes.

Ronan looked away. “Why not the military?” He kicked purposelessly at the bramble and heard Adam sigh. “And don’t tell me you never thought about it. Test scores like yours out in hicksville high school, you must have had recruiters hopping all over you like fleas.”

“Would you believe I had a moral objection?” Adam’s smile was self-deprecating. Ronan studied it.

“No.”

Adam shrugged. It, too, was self-deprecating.

“I think you had a superiority objection. You think you’re too smart for that shit.”

Adam blinked at him. “Do you think I’m wrong?”

Ronan snorted. “Hell no. You can do better than getting blown up in a desert for the United States government.”

The smile, when it came, was small and stunning. “Damned by faint praise again.”

[little-pondhead]

Okay so I know you said you don't want Jazz to have any major abilities like mind control, but what about a passive one? My idea is that she could actually subconsciously influence the feelings or restraint of the people around her. It could even be an ability she has at home that she just never noticed. Her parents have their own immunity to it thanks to all the ectoplasmic exposure, but it's helped a couple times with convincing teachers to look the other way for her brother. Clockwork tells her about it when they go to the DCU, so she has the perfect opportunity to practice using it consciously by causing riots via hundreds of people's misplaced aggression (which helps her get her own anger and stress out too).

Actually, that's a really good idea! Passive abilities in the DP characters could be fun to explore and possibly put a hitch in their plans if they have to work around it. I'm all for crack fics where one side is completely blindsided over and over again, but if someone wanted to make it a little more serious, factoring in possible passive abilities can lead to moments where the superheroes actually have a chance at catching/defeating Fenton and the others if they manage to find out about those abilities and use it to their advantage.

As you said, Jazz seems like the best candidate for this; she could be the force that gets the ball rolling. Because if Jazz has passive supernatural abilities, then what are the chances Danny and the others have some too? After all, they've been exposed to ectoplasm more than Jazz, and she was never tangled up with a ghost for a long time. (Right? It's been a while since I've watched the show. I don't think she was possessed for a super long time by a powerful ghost or anything.) Or maybe she developed that passive talent as a defense against the more powerful ghosts, and the others don't have that kind of ability at all.

Emotional manipulation is a scary ability, after all; maybe Clockwork allowed her to join Danny for the sake of refining her power.

[akimojo]

i just saw someone call ffxiii overrated like? what?? it's literally one of the most hated games in the franchise wym "overrated" 😭

[cellgatinbo]

"'i think the French dude is gonna die first ngl' he has a name! he has a name, and it's etoiles ✨"

[figofswords]

Normal Clown kills the joker. Normal Clown is a really ordinary guy with nothing on his record aside from a handful of parking tickets. Normal Clown is beloved by his nieces and nephews. Normal Clown went to clown school and trained in commedia dell’arte and now he teaches improv and clowning classes at a community theatre. Normal Clown joined a short-lived clown troupe in gotham city. Normal Clown volunteers at soup kitchens on weekends. Normal Clown is sick of kids being afraid of him. Normal Clown is sick of having police show up at the theatre because the shipment of commedia masks has joker gas in it. Normal Clown is sick of this asshole ruining clowns for everyone. Normal Clown gets fed up and during a joker breakout he sees his chance. Normal Clown runs the joker over with his car. Normal Clown has never killed before and never will again. Normal Clown does not want to be a superhero. Normal Clown does not want to be a supervillain. Normal Clown is a normal guy and this was a one time deal. the bats don’t know what they should do about this. the gcpd arrests him but like...reluctantly. other rogues start sending him flowers because frankly nobody liked the joker. the red hood pays his bail. gotham citizens riot until the city decides not to press charges. after about a week of inner turmoil, bruce wayne pays off his college loans. Normal Clown goes back to teaching commedia at the community theatre. 

[ash-rigby]

[egophiliac]

I love your unhinged energy of your comics it's just *chef's kiss"

I wanna ask how you rig your chibi characters if you use a program or an app ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

thanks! 💚💜💚

I use Spine (professional version)! I'm pretty sure it's the same program the Twst devs use for the chibis; I decided to try reverse-engineering 'em basically because my license was just sitting around gathering dust, and I thought it'd be fun practice (this was before I tried to rig Meleanor's cape). it is an industry-standard program and, unfortunately, is priced accordingly, so it's a bit expensive if you're not planning on using it professionally -- there is a free trial, though I think you can't save/export anything in it? BUT it is truly excellent and can do a ton of super cool stuff, plus is genuinely just fun to mess around in, so I 10000% recommend it to anyone who is serious about getting into 2D rigging!

behold...the BONES...Najma and her billion discrete tassels...don't pay attention to all the extra bones from my desperate attempts to control Meleanor's meshes

[dantelionwishes]

and they lived happily ever after, the end!

[4kmangopng]

does anyone else get a little upset when they see a really funny shitpost but its got a list of tags 4x as long as the post

[scatterpatter]

Made this for my coworker

I Do Not Take Constructive Criticism

[sskk-manifesto]

Final verdict: the ada should just put together a theater company at this point

[bee-snail]

So a friend and I were playing around and I felt... Inspired. Vigilantes AU 🙌

Co-written with @davestriderisasimp, it's currently only a vague idea but it's so so fun either way!

YAPPING AHEAD, BEWARE !!!

Oh man. This AU was born because my friend made a funky Daniel in a really cool Epiphet Erased AU, and in turn, I made a David that matched. Then they became arch nemeses, kissed, punched each other, and committed so much dang crime!

In David's defense: he commits crime to stop criminals. Criminals like Daniel, and his team of EVIL MINIONS (they're all petty criminals AT BEST they're the cutest, bestest ever, I LOVE THEM)

Her Daniel was genuinely so fun that he was the first and only Daniel I ever even considering making a Danvid with. The OG Danvid has neat vibes, in a Killing Stalking kinda way, but it just wasn't my vibe, y'know? Good for those who like 'em, tho !!

This David is just... so neat. He's like if Davey's original snarky attitude had never been completely overriden by his love for camping. He blackmails Cameron for favors from time to time, but is pretty fond of the guy because he's not exactly a genius evil mastermind. He loves his friend Gwen and his son Max—who may or may not have been "kidnapped" from his home by some red-headed stranger who distracted his parents by setting their car on fire—and has started to care a little for his roommate, CJ.

He started vigilantism when he was just a teenager with some anger issues, man. And now he just got used to it! But hypocrisy just runs through his veins, as he feels super stressed whenever Max decides to sneak out to go after him and help. He wants to beat up strangers too!

Neither Max or David have "offensive" epiphets either: theirs are "Recover" and "Endure", respectively. A healing and a passively defensive power. Gwen's, though? Hers is "Orgasm". It's perfect for sweeping someone off their feet— if you get what I'm saying, HAH

Daniel's epiphet is "Kool Aid", and he uses it so dang well! He's the silliest villain you'll ever meet and I adore every moment he's "on-screen" (aka, whenever we talk about him, HEHEHE). He's the captain of a team of minions—yes, he does call them his minions. It's a very worthy title, I must say—who perform LOTS OF CRIMES together. Most of them are simple robberies, though, and David is incredibly amused by them.

He does, occasionally, fall on one of their traps. And then they laugh at him. Then they take him hostage to make him gawk at their mighty evil lair (they bring him over) and feel pathetically miserable once he sees that his own personal resting hours are nothing compared to the glory of their favorite entertainment (they watch some movies), and so on...

They're so, so, so so silly. I cannot express enough how much I freaking love them.

Also, Max has a bear motif. It just... It just stuck. I love him too (so does David HEHEHE)

As for Jasper...

His epiphet is "smoke", and he disappeared a long, long time ago. That's all I have for now!

Also this WIP, which I will probably never finish. Hehe.

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

four walls playlist