#sometimes inspiration just hits

[spittyfishy]

I’m too attached to this concept now, they’re too cute the little meowth kitties <3 And of course the mum’s gotta be an Alolan Persian, she’s so fancy! And liepard for Thomas O’Mally just fit idk what to tell you lol

I’ve been having far too much fun with these! I really didn’t expect the first post to do so well and I’m so glad people are liking it:)

[starry-bi-sky]

i need to get this out of my head before i continue clone^2 but danny being the first batkid. Like, standard procedure stuff: his parents and sister die, danny ends up with Vlad Masters. He drags him along to stereotypical galas and stuff; Danny is not having a good time.

He ends up going to one of the Wayne Galas being hosted ever since elusive Bruce Wayne has returned to Gotham. Vlad is crowing about having this opportunity as he's been wanting to sink his claws into the company for a long while now. Danny is too busy grieving to care what he wants.

And like most Galas, once Vlad is done showing him off to the other socialites and the like, he disappears. Off to a dark corner, or to one of the many balconies; doesn't matter. There he runs into said star of the show, Bruce who is still young, has been Batman for at least a year at this point, but still getting used to all these damn people and socializing. He's stepped off to hide for a few minutes before stepping back into the shark tank.

And he runs into a kid with circles under his eyes and a dull gleam in them. Familiar, like looking into a mirror.

Danny tries to excuse himself, he hasn't stopped crying since his parents died and it's been months. He rubs his eyes and stands up, and stumbles over a half-hearted apology to Mister Wayne. Some of Vlad's etiquette lessons kicking in.

Bruce is awkward, but he softens. "That's alright, lad," he says, pulling up some of that Brucie Wayne confidence, "I was just coming out here to get some fresh air."

There's a little pressing; Bruce asks who he's here with, Danny says, voice quiet and grief-stricken, that he's with his godfather Vlad Masters. Bruce asks him if he knows where he is, and Danny tells him he does. Bruce offers to leave, Danny tells him to do whatever he wants.

It ends with Bruce staying, standing off to the side with Danny in silence. Neither of them say a word, and Danny eventually leaves first in that same silence.

Bruce looks into Vlad Masters after everything is over, his interest piqued. He finds news about him taking in Danny Fenton: he looks into Danny Fenton. He finds news articles about his parents' deaths, their occupations, everything he can get his hands on.

At the next gala, he sees Danny again. And he looks the same as ever: quiet like a ghost, just as pale, and full of grief. Bruce sits in silence with him again for nearly ten minutes before he strikes a conversation.

"Do you like to do anything?"

Nothing. Just silence.

Bruce isn't quite sure what to do: comfort is not his forte, and Danny doesn't know him. He's smart enough to know that. So he starts talking about other things; anything he can think of that Brucie Wayne might say, that also wasn't inappropriate for a kid to hear.

Danny says nothing the entire time, and is again the first to leave.

Bruce watches from a distance as he intercts with Vlad Masters; how Vlad Masters interacts with him. He doesn't like what he sees: Vlad Masters keeps a hand on Danny's shoulder like one would hold onto the collar of a dog. He parades him around like a trophy he won.

And there are moments, when someone gets too close or when someone tries to shake Danny's hand, of deep possessiveness that flints over Vlad Masters' eyes. Like a dragon guarding a horde.

He plays the act of doting godfather well: but Bruce knows a liar when he sees one. Like recognizes like.

Danny is dull-eyed and blank faced the entire time; he looks miserable.

So Bruce tries to host more parties; if only so that he can talk to Danny alone. Vlad seems all too happy to attend, toting Danny along like a ribbon, and on the dot every hour, Danny slips away to somewhere to hide. Bruce appears twenty minutes later.

"I was looking into your godfather's company," he says one night, trying to think of more things to say. Some nights all they do is sit in silence. "Some of my shareholders were thinking of partnering up--"

"Don't."

He stops. Danny hardly says a word to him, he doesn't even look at him -- he's sitting on the ground, his head in his knees. Like he's trying to hide from the world. But he's looking, blue eyes piercing up at Bruce.

Bruce tilts his head, practiced puppy-like. "Pardon?"

"Don't." Danny says, strongly. "Don't make any deals with Vlad."

It's the most words Danny's spoken to him, and there's a look in his eyes like a candle finding its spark. Something hard. Bruce presses further, "And why is that?"

The spark flutters, and flushes out. Danny blinks like he's coming out of a trance, and slumps back into himself. "Just don't."

Bruce stares at him, thoughtful, before looking away. "Alright. I won't."

And they fall back into silence.

Danny, when he leaves, turns to look at Bruce, "I mean it." He says; soft like he's telling a secret, "Don't make any deals with him. Don't be alone with him. Don't work with him."

He's scampered away before Bruce can question him further.

(He never planned on working with Vlad Masters and his company; he's done his research. He's seen the misfortune. But nothing ever leads back to him. There's no evidence of anything. But Danny knows something.)

At their next meeting, Danny starts the conversation. It's new, and it's welcomed. He says, cutting through their five minute quiet, that he likes stars. And he doesn't like that he can't see them in Gotham.

Bruce hums in interest, and Danny continues talking. It's as if floodgates had been opened, and as Bruce takes a sip of his wine, it tastes like victory.

("Tucker told me once--") ("Tucker?") ("Oh-- uh, one of my best friends. He's a tech geek. We haven't talked in a while.")

(Danny shut down in his grief -- his friends are worried, but can't reach him. When he goes back to the manor with Vlad, he fishes out his phone and sends them a message.)

(They are ecstatic to hear from him.)

It all culminates until one day, when Danny is leaving to go back inside, that Bruce speaks up. "You know," He says, leaning against the railing. "The manor has many rooms; plenty of space for a guest."

The implication there, hidden between the lines. And Danny is smart, he looks at Bruce with a sharp glean in his eyes, and he nods. "Good to know."

The next time they see each other, Danny has something in his hands. "Can you hold onto something for me?" He asks.

When Bruce agrees, Danny places a pearl into his palm. or, at least, it's something that looks like a pearl. Because it's cold to the touch; sinking into Bruce's white silk gloves with ease and shimmering like an opal. It moves a little as it settles into his hand, and the moves like its full of liquid.

Bruce has never seen anything like it before, but he does know this; it's not human. "What is it?" He asks, and Danny looks uncomfortable.

"I can't tell you that." He says, shifting on his foot like he's scared of someone seeing it. "But please be careful with it. Treat it like it's extremely fragile."

When Bruce gets home, he puts it in an empty ring box and hides the box in the cave. He tries researching into what it is. he can't find anything concrete.

Everything comes to a head one day when Danny appears at the manor's doorstep one evening, soaking wet in the rain, and bleeding from the side.

[hegodamask]

"I've learned from Palpatine."

[tboyswag]

compu-nerd from Mariah Carey - Touch My Body (Official Music Video) has tboy swag!

[swampbangle]

Brain decided it wanted to tell me a raw ass Dusknoir line so I had to get out of bed to make this at 3am.

Ouughg my wrist hurt

[whosectype]

idk what persuaded me to draw @naviienbluee’s oc Ube at this ungodly hour but I did

[suzena]

Like making angels out of crows

[starsnores]

i am delusionally convinced gamzee and karkat are soulmates.

[bylertruther]

y'all moved on but i literally still can't believe this is real life. what the fuck. spread ur wings, mr schnapp... sniffling, crying, weeping bc i am so full of Joy... not 2 be corny but it's always a lovely thing when someone steps into the light n lives their truth... when they feel safe and loved enough by those in their life that they feel they can and genuinely want to share this part of themselves with the world... mr schnapp who has played will byers for such a big part of his life and explored his own self and come to terms with who he is at the same time that will has... will, who means so much to so many and has such a realistic journey that we seldom get to see, especially in such mainstream media, literally the biggest show in the world... just so moved that he went from being scared in the closet to feeling so loved and at peace that he would share this part of himself with the world in such a silly, light-hearted, and entirely noah way, always so true to himself and full of light... i just. 🥺 a lot of feelings are being felt rn. good for him!! GOOD FOR HIM!!!!! 💗🏳️‍🌈🫂

[phoebe-of-ivalice]

'𝘾𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙄 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙮 𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚…

[end-orfino]

ahhhhhh i remember why i dont read comics & books and watch movies as much as I should. Because they make me lose it

[mogwaei]

Trying to stay motivated to create art and fic in the Dragon Age fandom when your fav pairing is

1) Solas

2) specifically rare pair Solas (non-inquisitor, non-lavellan)

3) the fandom and/or audience consists of yourself, a nug, and a frog...

Letmein.jpeg

[thesixthcavalier]

A Story Snippet

The saloon was a raucous and rowdy affair this night, full of gamblers and drinkers and song and dance. Pat and Meg drifted between the tables, twisting and twirling, depositing drinks, taking cash, and always just out of reach of the grasping, drunken hands of those with too little sense. The big table in the corner was the sight of the evening’s most potent battle, a field of carnage between the six people seated there. Coins and writs of payment lay strewn and crumpled over the pockmarked surface, a well thumbed deck of cards near the center. Every eye was shifting, suspicious, watching for the tell tale sign of a cheat, if only to distract everyone else while they drew an ace from their sleeve. 

But that wasn’t where the commotion started. No one got punchy over a pot that big, it was too much, too dangerous. You got angry with that much money on the line and someone winds up with a knife in the ribs. Can’t spend much when you’re in a casket. No, the commotion came from the bar, from the broad man that sat at the far end. He’d been spending the entire night trying to drown his sorrows in a full bottle of whiskey. Well, it had been full when he’d started. Now it was just about empty, and he was shaking with the kind of barely suppressed fury that always portends trouble. 

Val sat at her usual table, her own drink untouched. She never drank when she was on the job, and while she hadn’t expected to be working tonight, it was clear she was about to. She’d been watching the man since he first came in, something about his face had been familiar, and the more she watched, the more she knew what it was. So the last five minutes had been spent quietly musing, revolver in hand as her thumb grazed back and forth across the cylinder. She wasn’t sure what would happen here tonight, but it wasn’t going to be clean, or easy. 

The man had finally had enough. His demons had gotten to him, and he snarled as he reached for the bottle again, too drunk to see it between it’s twin cousins swimming atop the bar. He shoved it away rather than brought it close, and it went sailing, smashing against the floor. There was barely anything left to spill, but whether it was the lost booze or the sound that set him off, no one would be able to say. But he was like a barrel of gunpowder set to flame, roaring with explosive fury as he stood from his seat and slammed his hands against the bar. 

The music ground to a halt, the card players stalled their game, even the ever mobile ladies suddenly found themselves stopped dead. “I think perhaps you’ve had enough. Maybe it’s time to have a lie down, sleep it off,” Jonah said from behind the bar. He was a burly man too, large and well built, but gentle and kind. He would sooner avoid a fight than risk one, and he did his damndest now to see to that, a simple, iron key laid on the bar. “On the house,” Jonah rumbled. And then all hell broke loose.

The man roared again and lunged, Jonah pushed away from the bar, but not nearly quick enough before the stranger had him by the lapels and dragged him forward, slamming him against the bar. There was a flash of steel, a knife rising in the air, aiming for the barman’s throat. Then the explosive roar of gunfire and the knife went flying, the stranger grasping at his now bleeding hand as rage warred with confusion on his drunken visage. His eyes swung this way and that, seeking his next target, as Val kicked the chair away from herself, already standing, gun smoking. 

“Right here,” she said, voice a low drawl, completely unfazed and unconcerned, though there was a hint of deadly malice in her amber eyes, the sort of thing this stranger was too drunk to notice, and probably too foolish to properly consider. Everyone stared in silence at the two, and Val and the stranger simply stared at each other as the woman kept her gun trained on the man, her tail snapping back and forth behind her like an agitated snake. “You’re not just some troubled fool who drank away his cash. You’re Nathan Krull, the outlaw. That’s right ain’t it?” Val asked, eyes narrowed. 

The stranger, Nathan, snarled again. “I am. And if you know who I am then you ought to know better than to pick a fight. I’ve met plenty of bounty hunters. Killed plenty of’em,” Nathan said with a wicked, twisted grin. He looked like a beast, a feral thing just waiting for the first sign of weakness, the first opportunity to strike. 

“Never met me before,” Val replied, cool and even. “And I never met you personally. But I met your type. Angry. Sullen. Whole world is either your playground or your prison, which depends on the day. I’m thinking prison today, hmm? Lost a score maybe? Someone swiped the stash you thought was hidden so well? Whatever it is I don’t much care. Way I see it, your choices are to simmer down and come with me, and we can maybe save your hand. Or I can drop you now, save myself some trouble. But you’re not worth as much as a corpse, so I would prefer the former.” 

There was a deadly stillness in the air, a silence that hung over the whole place like a shroud. No one dared to move, most didn’t dare to breathe as the reality of the situation settled on them. The understanding that in their midst was a deadly killer with more souls taken than the majority of people even meet in their lives. And she was staring down a man rumored to be almost as deadly. 

He laughed at that, a great, uproarious laugh that could have been full of mirth and good humor on a better day, but here seemed dark and twisted, like a sour version of something sweet. It had all the cadence of a proper laugh, but it was off somehow in a way you couldn’t really explain. “You think just cause you got the draw on me you’ve won? I wager I can get across this floor and cave your skull in before you fire two more shots. Are you really so sure you can put me down with a single bullet?” Nathan snarled, baring his teeth as he turned to face his opponent more squarely now, preparing to charge. 

Val grimaced and, without taking her eyes off the man, reached out to pick up her drink, the dark bourbon shifting ever so slightly in the glass. “Are you so sure you can take another step before I do?” she asked quietly. “I’m giving you this one final chance. Take a moment. Think about it. I’m gonna have my drink, and when I’m done, you’re either surrendering, or you’re dead.” She raised the glass to her lips, but didn’t drink. Val never drank while she was on the job. 

Nathan charged. He moved with speed that seemed to defy his hulking frame, but without cunning. His every crime had been that of extreme brutality, of violence and unquestioned pain. He was a charging bull, a roaring drake, a bumbling ox. Val sent her glass flying with a flick of the wrist, and in the same motion she was firing, the crack and bang of her revolver like thunder, like the slamming of a forge hammer against burning steel. Even as the cylinder spun and sent hot lead across the room, the woman was moving, just a few unhurried steps to the side as Nathan batted her glass out of the air, the spray of alcohol combined with his own inebriation to make his aim poor. 

Bullets slammed into the man’s arms and chest, Val hooked a foot against the leg of her chair, now in reach again, and kicked, sending it tumbling forward. It was enough to trip him up, to send the feared outlaw stumbling and tumbling until he crashed against the wall. Bloody and dazed, he was almost certainly down for the count. But you could never be too careful with a wild animal. The last bullet in the revolver sailed into Nathan Krull’s skull, and a moment later the light went out of his eyes. Val sighed, cracking open her gun and dropping the spent brass to the floor. “Waste of good bourbon and a living bounty. If you weren’t dead I’d kill you for that,” she muttered, reloading the weapon with deliberate motions, slender fingers drawing bullets from her belt and sliding them into each chamber before the cylinder clicked back into the place, and the gun went to the holster. 

Val picked up her chair and righted it, setting it back down in front of the table and taking her seat again. “I’m in need of another drink. Seems I dropped mine,” she called out, her words seeming to echo in the silence of the still shocked saloon. No one moved yet, but they would. Shortly someone would bolt for the door, and the sheriff would be on the way. Val fished in a pocket and found the flyer with Krull’s face on it, setting it on the table, then she found her cigarettes and put one to her mouth, a snap of the fingers producing a brief flame that set it alight. Yes the sheriff would be here soon, and he’d have questions, and there’d be talking and hand wringing and bounty negotiation. She sure hoped she got that drink before then. Val never drank when she was on the job, but she always drank when dealing with the local law. They were worth it. 

[shewantsitall]

The falsettos gang arguing about what kind of seasoning goes in dressing at Thanksgiving and Marvin stubbornly repeating "it's about thyme, don't ya think?" as he tries to win them over. No one agrees.

[vmures]

There’s a distance, right? When you’re creating something. Whether that’s writing in some way or crafting or making art. You control what you’re doing. It’s a safe space. Sure, you’re pouring your heart and soul into it, but you decide how that goes. You decide what happens. You have a certain distance from it, one way or another. Being able to work through something that’s happening to you or has happened to you, even if it’s not something super traumatic, via something you have total control over? Something you can take a step back from? It helps. It brings a sense of safety. It gives you time to understand what the fuck is going on with your feelings and in your head. You can’t run from your own thoughts, but you can put them down in a notebook and leave that notebook under your bed or something. Does that make sense?  --from THE CRAWL: The (Un)Censored Oral History of Corroded Coffin's Rise to Fame by wearing_tearing

This quote from Eddie explaining why exploring your trauma through creative expression is so healing and helpful just hit home for me. It's often so hard to explain to people why one would write/draw/create darker things or explore darker topics in their art, and this really captures the why of it all. It's a way to get the thoughts out. It's catharsis. A necessary bloodletting, so to speak. It also helps you gain distance and perspective and wrap your head around what you experienced. It's so very helpful for healing.

The fic in question can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45614653

It's a damn fun read, and I highly recommend it.

[minimutty]

Raven ❤️ Lucius: Honeymoon Edition

I am so astronomically weak for them