#wont write it

[whumpitisthen]

Next chapter of Auden's story is written!!!! Once i edit it you will get to see just how powerful His Majesty is, a tiny bit of how humanity survives through literal Hell

and a little bit of Grim being a nuisance, as per usual, because he is important to me and a bastard

We'll get back to Auden after this it's kinda weird how it's his story and he hasn't been here for two chapters............ Dont you worry the angel boi will continue being harmed and traumatised :3 i just had to introduce our whumpers properly

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

HOT, SINGLE, UNSTUDIED SPONGES. 3000 NAUTICAL MILES AWAY. Come sail the distance and read Tiger Tiger!

[magnusbae]

To illustrate this post by @mayahawkse I would like to visualize to you the difference:

A post in 2023:

A post in 2014:

A zoom out of the same post:

This is what a community looks like.

See how in 2023 almost all of the reblogs come from the OP, from their few hours/days in the tag search. Meanwhile in 2014 the % of reblogs from OP is insignificant, because most of the reblogs come from the reblogs within the fandom, within the micro-communities formed there. You didn't need to rely on tags, or search, or being featured. Because the community took care of you, made sure to pass the work between themselves and onto their blog and exposed their followers to it. It kept works alive for years.

It's not JUST the reblog/like ratio that causing this issue, it's the type of interaction people have. They're content with scrolling and liking the search engine, instead of actually having a reblogging relationship with other blogs in their community.

Anyways, if you want to see more content you like, the only true way to make it happen is to reblog it. Likes do not forward content in no way but making OP feel nice. Reblogs on the other hand make content eternal. They make it relevant, they make it exist outside of a fickle tumblr search that hardly works on the best of days.

If you want more of something, reblog it.

[erabu-san]

I enjoyed every second of this quest

[This art has platonic intention. Thank you for not tag ship!]

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC "Pick Me Up"

The stream goes live on the first day of the school year. It's the usual song and dance - mad laughing, threats, poor jokes, terror, and about thirty kids huddled together in a classroom behind Joker's back. Tim recognizes it as one of the Gotham Academy classrooms. Dick can't imagine the horror those kids' parents must be feeling right now. Jason jokes about middle school traumatic experiences. Damian is feeling very justified for skipping classes today.

Bruce, all suited up in his Batman garb, is making his way to the Academy as fast as he possibly can. Those are kids.

Gotham is once again anxiously kept on the edge of their seats, watching as Joker decides to interview the kids on their learning experience so far. Something about leaving a good first impression on the new generation or some other bullshit. Most kids stutter over their words - it's true that Gothamites are way more composed when facing life-threatening events, but those kids are only fourteen or fifteen for the most part. They are not old enough to keep their cool in the face of a murder clown.

That is, until Joker points his camera at one of the girls. Black hair in a high ponytail, blue eyes without a trace of fear, a slightly displeased, even bored expression on her face. She looks straight into the camera, not even waiting for the laughing madman to finish his question, and deadpans:

"I don't think I like school. Pick me up, please."

Joker sputters.

"Not so scared, I see," he sneers, and, in the next moment, a comically large gun painted in purples and greens is pointed to the girl's forehead, "How about now?"

The girl scrunches her nose and makes a so-so gesture.

"It's kinda meh," she admits, "Like, yeah, points for style, but you know, size doesn't matter. It's all in the technique."

Dick snorts over the comms. It's a bad time for laughing, sure, but the phrase caught him off-guard. This is not what you'd expect to hear from a teen, and definitely not something you'd expect anyone to say to the Joker. Jason's comms are muted, but Barbara knows he also laughed a little.

"Technique, you say?" Joker hisses, pressing the gun closer to the girl's head, and she winces, leaning away from it, almost as if she is disgusted by the touch.

"Yeah, I mean, guns are not that scary anyway. What are you gonna do with them, blast my brains all over the floor? Been there, done that," the girl shrugs, "Kinda nasty, but overall, it's just like slime, only sticky." She pauses and looks to the side, seemingly lost in thought, "Huh, maybe we should have added Borax to it. Or was it baking soda?.."

"Listen here, you little brat," Joker's fingers catch the girl's chin, and his voice becomes sickeningly menacing. Bruce is almost there, just two more minutes. Tim is already grappling onto the wall.

But none of them get to finish.

"Put your dirty fingers away from my sister," a low, cold, and even in a way that speaks of barely contained fury, voice comes from out of the screen.

The camera spins, like whoever is holding it turned really fast, and everyone watching the stream sees a fairly normal guy standing by the window - a turtleneck and ripped jeans, same black hair as the girl, same blue eyes... Wait, they are not blue.

And that's not a guy.

The camera falls down to the floor, and there are a lot of panicked screams coming from the broadcast now, but none of them sound like children's voices. It's the screams of adults, of grown-ass men, and later, someone even claimed they heard Joker's scream among them, too. The picture on camera glitches a few times, and the angle is awkward, but everyone still gets to see how shadows in the room morph into eyes, wide open and green, and how the darkness grows sharp teeth, countless grinning mouths that don't belong to any faces.

Screams turn into gargling and then to quiet whispers, filling the ears of all those listening with countless words in languages they don't know.

Red Robin turns off the recording and looks to that same guy from the levestream, sitting across him on the couch. The guy - Daniel, or Danny, as he introduced himself - looks him in the eyes and raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, and?"

"How did you do it?" Tim asks for the third time this evening. Danny blinks.

"Did what?" He asks, completely incomprehending. Tim groans. He's been trying to get his answers, any answers at this point, from the guy for thirty fucking minutes already. So far, he's got nothing. Danny, whoever the fuck he is, proves to be the most annoying human being on Earth.

"Seven people in a coma, including Joker himself, with no physical injuries and none of the children remember a thing! How?!" He demands, and a girl's face peeks from around the corner:

"I remember!"

Tim snaps his head at her, "What do you remember?"

The girl pauses, blinks, and looks to Danny. Then shrugs, "My brother picked me up from school."

Tim drops his head down and breathes out in frustration. He can't force the information out of civilians, he is a vigilante, not a mafia.

"Would it make you feel better if I promise not to do it again?" Danny asks, and his voice is way too innocent for Tim to believe him. He raises his head to look the guy in his shameless, amused eyes.

"I hate you."

"Thanks," Danny grins.

[hg-aneh]

youtuber x streamer AU: Coming Out Stream Edition 💥

[why-is-it-always-autumn]

It's good and cool to give your characters a single simple, straightforward, non-urgent, super-achievable goal that shouldn't really cost anything or hurt anyone, make that the driving factor for most of their decisions, and then have the Plot do everything in its power to stop them.

[redysetdare]

enough stories about how someone learns to truely be happy through love. i want a story where someone is desperately seeking out love thinking it's the only way to be happy only for them to learn by the end that happiness is what they make of it and they don't need love at all to make it.

[ot3]

glassblowing rules because it's like one of the single most hardcore and impressive processes in the entire art world yet almost everything you make with it looks lame as hell. it's essentially a form of smithing that only produces neglected gift shop tchotchkes.

[wispscribbles]

Ghost who's gone prematurely grey due to his lovely past (and Soap who doesn't mind)

[that-house]

“Tell me about magic,” I said to the god wearing my friend’s corpse.

It (I would not grant it the honor of using her name) smiled at me the way she used to smile. It looked like shit, by the way, streaked with mud and blood and slowly spinning new flesh from atmospheric carbon to patch up the bullet holes our latest acquaintances had left it.

“I know every word in your human languages and none of them suffice. How would you explain a black hole’s accretion disk to a fish?”

“I don’t know. Try.” I didn’t bother voicing the threat but it was implicit, as it was in all of our conversations: your kind has died only once before, but it was at the hands of mine.

It sighed with the weariness of a parent about to talk down to a kid, but it signed up for this when it trapped itself on this rock with me. “It’s a puzzle that’s almost been solved since forever began, a puzzle of infinite complexity worked on by the million sharpest minds to ever be, all themselves fractured into dizzying arrays of subminds in temporally upspun pocket universes, all striving to refine those secret arts of law and mastery. It’s cooperation and competition, vines of knowledge strangling each other as we reach ever upwards towards the sun, clawing at each other in our desperate want. It’s a science. It’s like breathing. It’s like love.”

“I distinctly recall you saying that love is an idiocy reserved for us mortals, and a more efficient chemically-induced blindness than sodium hydroxide too.”

“And I maintain that stance, but it gets the point across, does it not?” It huffed with exasperation, you know, the way that she had a thousand times when we were young. An affectation? Or a bit of humanity bleeding into the monster?

“Mhm. Sure.”

It side-eyed me but kept talking. “You don’t have the point of view it would take to truly understand magic. You never will. Even if you saw the world the way I did, you wouldn’t have the context or the time to decipher it. For you it can never be a science, only ever an art.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“In truth I envied you. With infinity at one’s proverbial fingertips, what else is there to do? The greatest possible workings have all been deduced, those most absolute and inviolable inflictions of the will upon the cosmos, and all that remains to study are the fleeting shadows of concepts beyond even us. But you humans, you tread on new ground that we’ve long since mastered, internalized, and then forgotten. The best you can manage without literally blowing your own minds is a little teleportation. You’re clueless and flawed and you fuck it all up whenever you get the chance. And I envied you.” For a creature enamored with paradox, the idea of a god envying a mortal sure pained it.

“So you cut it all free, cast off the godhead, and came down from on high to slum it with we mortals. I bet you’re regretting that now,” I said, sticking my finger in the last bullet hole and giving it an experimental wiggle. It winced, but the wound closed up like it had never been as I withdrew my finger. Pain is a just a signal, it was always fond of saying. But it still cried whenever it lost a limb.

“Not in the slightest,” said the once-god wearing my friend’s corpse. “This is the most alive I’ve felt in eons.”

[jaewritesfic]

Everlasting Trio DP x DC Nobody Knows Au Pt 6

Part 5

Warning for very brief flashback implying vivisection

It is highly amusing to float to Red Robin's rooftop and see up close how intensely vigilant he's being. He looks like if a pigeon took off halfway across the city he'd fucking notice, but the ghost standing next to him and trying not to snicker goes undetected.

Poor guy. He really seems like the type to drive himself up a wall over a mystery - he's certainly been driving himself up a wall over Danny.

Danny has to force himself not to tickle the back of the guy's neck just to watch him flail.

He likes Red Robin, he really does. He didn't set out to torture the poor guy - Red did that all by himself, all Danny has been trying to do is help. 

They can't pursue him the way they have been and expect him not to try and get some entertainment out of it. It tempers the annoyance, making their obsession with finding him a game.

Danny considers the box in Red's lap.

He's been doing the same thing with each box they leave him from the beginning: grab box, open pocket dimension, yeet.

Not even Bat trackers can transmit from an entirely different plane of existence, it would seem.

And the thing Danny has discovered about having died when an entirely different plane of existence opened on top of him and merged with his DNA?

He is a pocket dimension, in a way. 

In other words, no need to expend energy to tear the fabric of reality to deposit his loot - all he needs to do is phase things into himself.

So Red will definitely notice when the box disappears from his lap and seemingly blinks out of existence, but at least he won't be seeing any neon green tears in reality open up in front of him.

That seems like a good deal to Danny.

He steps forward and reaches for the box-

NA NA NA NA NA NANA

Danny and Red Robin both curse and flail as the Ghostbusters theme rings out across the rooftop.

Red Robin nearly falls out of his lawn chair launching himself away from the sudden sound, almost dropping the lockbox in the process.

Danny frantically searches his pockets for his goddamn phone, pulls it out, has the fear of God struck into him at the idea of hanging up on Sam Manson and thus shoves it into his chest to go to voicemail somewhere where nobody can hear it ring.

In the dead silence that follows, Danny finds himself in something like a startled cowboy standoff where only one of the participants is actually visible.

Red Robin stands with feet braced shoulder width apart, lockbox in one hand and bo staff in the other. He is visibly bewildered and ready to throw hands.

He's staring at the space a little to the left of Danny's head, so at least he hadn't dropped his invisibility in panic.

Welp. No use trying to change plans now.

Danny lunges forward and grabs the lockbox, relishing in the squawk of shock and indignance Red Robin makes as it abruptly leaves his hand and blinks out of sight.

He doesn't anticipate how fast Red Robin will recover or move.

A hand wraps tightly around his wrist and jerks him back in an impressive estimation of where Danny might be occupying space.

Danny almost goes ghost right there. Not because he wants to, but because for a moment there are restraints around his wrists and ectoplasm on the table and bright lights and sharp blades and pain-

He swallows the growl that wants to well up in his throat as he turns and looks at Red Robin, teeth feeling a little too large and sharp in his mouth before he forces himself to calm down.

Red is staring him straight in the eyes despite Danny being able to see he's still invisible. Red’s hand looks to be wrapped around nothing.

“You're not going anywhere,” Red Robin says, voice low and slightly feral with the high of perceived victory. That, paired with the crooked smirk on his lips is kind of, uh- well. Hoo boy, that's all Danny has to say about that.

Well, he does have one other thing to say.

“Bet.”

The way Red Robin's face falls in disbelief when Danny phases out of his grip is nothing short of glorious. Danny's already floating off the roof and out of grabbing distance before Red finishes buffering.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Danny cackles, tossing him a salute he can't even see.

“Better luck next time, Angry Bird!”

“Son of a bitch!”

Masterpost

[seiwas]

grow on me like a dog loved fondly: prologue | kamo choso

wc: 1.0k

summary: your regular to the flower shop is more than what he seems. 

contains: written with f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!, animal shelter employee choso x flower shop owner reader, implied that reader is shorter than choso, flowers, small talk.

a/n: the promised choso drabble! depending on how this is received, i intend for this to be the prologue to a longer choso fic i have in mind!

You have a regular on the weekends. 

Business in the flower shop tends to be slow during winter, with less occasions having the need for flowers and even less buds blooming during the season. 

But even with the expected decline in customers, Saturdays always guarantee one—

The bells attached to the store doors jingle, allowing in a gust of cool air that tickles your cheeks from where you’re crouched down. The peonies in your hands were delivered just yesterday, the ends of the stems needing a slight trim to keep them fresh for longer. 

You turn, standing up to face your visitor. A purple scarf is wrapped high around his neck, with white fleece running down the length of his arms—a sort of undershirt to the short-sleeved uniform worn atop it. The outfit is familiar enough, but what truly distinguishes him are the two spiky pigtails on the sides of his head. 

There are a few things you’ve managed to pick up from four-line exchanges with your regular (six if you’re lucky): 1) he works at the animal shelter a few streets away, 2) the flowers he buys are for the front desk, a weekly replacement he deems necessary to keep the place looking alive, and 3) who he is, his name—

—‘Choso’, if the tag on his uniform says anything. 

The tag that is now, also, just a hand’s reach away from you. 

You look up, pocketing your plant nippers. The peonies dangle between your fingers. 

“W-welcome!” you stutter, focusing on the thin metal chain running across his nose. 

It’s new, an addition that intrigues you more about the man in front of you. 

The look he gives you is lazy, gaze deadpan, almost empty. Anyone else might find it snobbish and off-putting, but you’ve gotten used to it—an almost magenta puffiness that surrounds his eyes, bags of fatigue that usually hang underneath. 

He continues to stare, unmoving. 

Considering all your previous interactions, you’ve realized, he isn’t scary or rude or anything of that sort—he’s just awkward. 

A bit quiet and unbothered, maybe, but still just awkward. You don’t think he’s ever started an interaction with you first. 

“Is there any flower in particular that you’re looking for?” you ask, motioning around your store. 

The selection is limited this season—a few camellias and clusters of Japanese primrose with an abundance of peonies and daffodils. 

His head turns as he glances around the store, pigtails bobbing slightly with each movement. When he faces you again, he shrugs, voice deep and firm as he asks, “Do you have any recommendations?” 

It’s an odd feeling, borderline awkward and nervous; you have no idea why your mind is blanking. 

“Um,” you clear your throat, tucking the peonies between your fingers into your apron pocket, “daffodils are bright and friendly, good for entryways and front desks, I think.” 

He eyes the daffodils to your right, buckets of stems holding yellow and white. The store stays quiet for what feels like a good minute before he nods, agreeing to your suggestion. 

“The usual?” two clusters, wrapped in newspaper. 

Your question echoes throughout the shop, lingering while you pick at which daffodils look best. 

“Yes, but two of them.” he answers in monotone, before adding on, a soft hesitancy, “Please.” 

You smile to yourself, picking more daffodils for another bunch. 

Both of you make your way to the cashier, another bout of silence surrounding you as you crumple newspaper and pull at tape. He always watches, you notice, his focus set on your practiced handling of stems and leaves. 

You look up momentarily, seeing that he keeps his head down, “The pigtails are cool.” 

He doesn’t say anything, and for a while you’re afraid you might have offended him, but he responds, voice low; it’s soft, gentle in a way you never expected it to be. 

“Thank you.” you catch him shifting his weight from your periphery, hands digging deeper into his pockets, “The dogs think they’re chew toys when I wear it this way.” 

You most certainly were not expecting that, either. 

This is the most initiative he’s taken to add onto the conversation.

You grin, chuckling under your breath, “That must be fun.” 

It’s faint, but you think you hear him laugh a little. 

When the flowers are completely wrapped, you set them aside, making your way behind the cash register. You punch in the cost, ready to bill him before he speaks again. 

“Actually, would you happen to do deliveries?” he seems shy asking it, barely looking you in the eye. 

“Yes!” You nod, grabbing a pen and paper to hand over to him, “Just write down your contact details, the address you want it delivered to, and when you’d like it to be delivered.” 

Another thing you’ve realized, is that despite appearances and what he seems to be, Choso handles objects gently; the pen and paper you’d just given him were taken lightly from your fingertips. Even the strokes of his penmanship are slow, the tip of the pen barely creating an indent on the small sheet. 

“Will you be having both of these delivered?” you ask, holding up the bundles of daffodils. 

“Just one.” he answers promptly, before adding on again, “Thank you.” 

And you know you shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t be so nosy, but—

“What’s the occasion?”—

Flowers are rarely in demand during the winter season. 

—“If you don’t mind me asking,” you follow-up quickly. 

The immediate quiet makes you think you might have gotten too comfortable again, made him feel weird about your questions—but he answers.

“My brothers,” he finishes the final curves of his writing, “they’re coming to visit.” 

The piece of paper is handed to you, and you hum, acknowledging his response. You go over his details, reciting it to him to double-check. But when you land on his address, your eyes go wide, a little ‘oh!’ slipping out. 

He furrows his brows, confused. 

You definitely, most certainly did not expect this. 

“Sorry,” you shake your head, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment, “Just—“ you chuckle, “I think we might be neighbors.” 

thank you notes: @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for sending me lil prompts that somehow birthed into this!! + @yemmuishomeforthementallyunwell for feeding the choso brainrot 🥹 + @mysugu @soumies for being my angels, lights of my life!! listening to me ramble abt this and helping me pick music, hash out plot, pick title, everything! ily

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[erabu-san]

I enjoyed every second of this quest This art has platonic intention, please don't tag ship

[bulbabutt]

midnight trauma dump off, who can make the other one more uncomfortable faster

its not leo.

(got a sideblog for this shit now)

[strawberryspence]

I will never not be OBSESSED with the Famous trope + Found Family trope with the Party 😭 The headlines would be so chaotic? Like:

Famous Rockstar Eddie Munson is seen eating lunch with two time Pulitzer winner Nancy Wheeler, Highest Paid Photographer Jonathan Byers and Successful Entrepreneur Argyle Alvez. How does he know these people???

Three time Grammy Winner Eddie Munson seen in a McDonald's with World Renowned Astronaut Dustin Henderson and New York Times Best Seller Will Byers-Wheeler and Mike Byers-Wheeler. What the actual fuck???

Eddie Munson, seen in a Chicago Bulls game looking confused as hell, mere seconds after finding out his second album just went Multi-platinum, with his husband, Steve Munson. Also seen in pictures, Eddie Munson hugging point guard Lucas Sinclair and his wife, Max Sinclair. How???

MSG Sold Out Performer Eddie Munson seen in Chicago Medical Center with World Renowned Surgeon Dr. Erica Sinclair. Our insiders say that the rockstar is FINE and was only having lunch with the doctor. What in the multiverse is happening???

Eddie Munson and his husband seen in line at the book signing of rising Linguistics Author Robin Buckley. They ended up laughing so hard when they reached the author, they almost got kicked out. Turns out they all knew each other???

Rock Star Eddie Munson bringing packed lunch in pajamas to a small Chicago preschool where husband, Steve Munson and known friend, Jane Hopper works. Why??? How??? What???

Third most followed person on Instagram Eddie Munson, just broke the internet by posting a group picture with Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley, Jonathan Byers, Argyle Alvez, Dustin Henderson, Lucas, Max and Erica Sinclair, Mike and Will Byers-Wheeler, his husband Steve Munson and family friend Jane Hopper. HOW DO THEY ALL KNOW EACH OTHER?! WHAT A WEIRD GROUP?!

The more people speculate, the more they say shit. Like people ask them how they know each other and they all just throw out the weirdest answers.

Nancy gets asked in a press conference how she knows Rock Star Eddie Munson? Nancy answers with, "I was driving myself to California when I was 19 and I picked him up as a hitch hiker along the way. We’ve been friends since then."

Robin gets asked in a lecture how she knows the Sinclair Clan? Robin answers with, "I go way back with Dr. Erica. She once saved me from Russian Doctors trying to cut my toe nails."

Eddie goes on an interview in National TV and the host asks how he's friends with Argyle and Jon? Eddie answers with, "I got kidnapped by a killer clown when I was 17. They saved me by crushing the clown's still beating heart with their own bare hands."

Steve gets bombarded with questions online of how he knows Nancy, Robin, Jon, Argyle and even Eddie (his husband)? Steve answers with, "We were stuck in detention every Saturday when we were in senior year. We all became friends when Eddie Munson started singing Don't You (Forget About Me)."

Will and Mike gets asked in an interview about their friendship with Basketball Star, Lucas Sinclair? Will says, “Lucas once gave my dog CPR, ultimately, saving it’s life and we’ve been friends since then.” and Mike just goes, “Who???”

Erica once got asked how she knew Genius Astronaut, Dustin Henderson. Erica rolls her eyes, “That boy owes me his life. Ask him, not me.”

Dustin gets asked how he knows Eddie Munson. Dustin goes with, “Eddie once saved me from a feral army of bats and almost died. I’ve never let go of him since then.” The fans think this one might actually be true, they’ve seen the scars on Eddie, they’ve got theories and Dustin just gave them a puzzle piece.

Argyle got asked in a Business Magazine how he knows this weird, interconnected group. Argyle says, “Oh dude! Those are my life long friends! It started with a pizza van, a dead man, and a road trip to Utah. There was also a bald girl involved. In the end, the real treasure really is the friends we make along the way.”

Jonathan gets asked how he knows Eddie Munson. Jon gives the softest, sweetest smile and says, “We were in a satanic cult together.”

Jane Hopper gets asked once in public (how she knows all these famous people), someone filmed it and it went viral on Twitter. El says, verbatim, “Oh. It all started when I was kidnapped by an evil scientist who tested stuff on me like I was a lab rat. Long story short, they saved my life and they are my family.” By then people already don’t believe any of them because they all give out the most ridiculous answers. Hopper still grounds her for that even though she doesn’t live with him anymore. (Owens, who hasn't called them in 15 years, reached out with a warning).

→ Current Additions: Lucas Lie Detector & Max's Future (Scroll down the link)