#worst of all worlds

[causalityparadoxes]

Whats also pissing me off is that if you dropped each new episode on BBC1 around 8pm GMT on a saturday? While simultaneously dropping it on streaming? The American's are still able to watch it at lunchtime on their day off!! Everyone wins!!

But noooo the mouse needs control like the media blackhole it is

[stil-lindigo]

lead balloon (the tumblr post that saved me)

if this comic resonated with you, it would mean the world to me if you donated to this palestinian family's escape fund.

--

no creative notes because this isn't that kind of comic.

I know I don’t owe any of you anything but I still felt compelled to write about my long term absence. And I feel far enough away from the dangerous spot I was in to be able to make this comic. I have a therapist now, and she agreed that making this could be a very cathartic gesture, and the start of properly leaving these thoughts behind me. I am still, at seemingly random times, blindsided by fleeting desires to kill myself. They’re always passing urges, but it’s disarming, and uncomfortable. I worry sometimes that my brain’s spent so long thinking only about suicide that it’s forgotten how to think about anything else. Like, now that I've opened that door for myself, I'll never be able to fully shut it again. But I’m trying my best to encourage my mind in other directions. We'll see how that goes.

I am still donating all proceeds from my store to Palestinian causes. So far, I've donated over $15K, not including donations coming from my own pocket or the fundraising streams which jointly raised around $10K. In the time since I made my initial post about where this money would be going, the focus has shifted from aid organisations to directly donating to escape funds.

If you'd like to do the same, you can look at Operation Olive Branch, which hosts hundreds of Palestinian escape funds or donate to Safebow, which has helped facilitate the safe crossing and securing of important medical procedures for over 150 at-risk palestinians since the beginning of the genocide.

[starry-bi-sky]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I've become my grandfather."

[naomistares]

making promo type art for a fantasy story that doesn't exist... yet..

(ambitiously, it will be a webcomic but im literally just a guy. more fun info abt this in tags)

[otto-doctavius]

“hey are you ok?” NO im thinking about how soft Logan was by the end of the film

[morningtou]

I Went to Witch-Con 2024 (tm) And All I Got Was This Shitty Panic Attack

[demaparbat-hp]

No war au: first time meeting each other at a diplomatic event. zuko, crown prince of the fire nation kisses the hand of katara chief of the southern water tribe.

Beyond diplomacy.

[neo-my-geo]

So @pinapin and I were talking about what would happen if you wrote a fic using a D20 to determine the outcomes of everything that a character attempts to do, and it snowballed into a full blown D&D fantasy AU

Race/class details below the cut!

Scout - half-orc/way of the drunken bonk master monk

Soldier - human/genie warlock

Pyro - ???/dragonblood sorcerer

Demo - triton/war wizard-fighter multiclass

Heavy - dwarf (with gigantism)/glory paladin

Engie - needs no introduction/artillerist artificer

Medic - vampire/order of the profane soul blood hunter

Sniper - human/sniper (tf2)

Spy - changeling/soulknife rogue

(ft. original scrapped soldier sheet; yes, Merasmus is his patron)

(and also ft. other sketches)

ignore the drow, this isn't about him

[luxaofhesperides]

Soulmate AU: First Words + End of the World ; requested by @justwannabecat!

Duke has long since accepted that he doesn’t have great luck. Most things in his life tend to go wrong very quickly, or complicate situations he was already struggling in (see: being a meta and getting his powers in the middle of a fight). Having an incomprehensible soulmark is an unpleasant discovery on the morning of his nineteenth birthday, but not entirely unexpected.

He had been hoping for something simple, a common one like hi it’s nice to meet you or sorry, didn’t mean to bump into you.

What Duke gets instead isn’t even words. 

Scrawled across his left hipbone is a string of symbols glowing a faint green. They’re not in a language he recognizes, and the symbols seem to move, shifting ever so slightly so they look different every time he blinks.

“Well,” he says after a solid five minutes of staring into the mirror, unable to rip his eyes off his soulmate’s words, “I hope theirs looks nicer than mine.”

He spends his birthday in a bit of a daze, enjoying time spent with the Waynes and his friends. It’s hard to be fully present when he’s all too aware of the soreness on his hipbone flaring up each time he moves. It’s hard to keep his mind off of it, wanting nothing more than to search for answers, unravel the mystery of his soulmate’s first words.

“Something on your mind?” Jason asks, as the attention shifts off of him for a brief moment as Harper and Cullen get ready to leave and everyone rushes to give their goodbyes,

Duke shrugs, carefully keeping his hands still so they don’t drift to where his soulmark is hidden beneath his clothes. “Yeah. Nothing you need to worry about, though.”

Jason looks him over critically, then nods. 

Duke resigns himself to being investigated by the rest of the Bats. If he’s off enough that Jason had to comment on it, then that means everyone’s noticed and are trying to figure out what’s happened. They’re not going to ask him, because they think he needs space to work through whatever’s got him so distracted, but they’re also not going to just do nothing. 

This won’t be the first time they’ve done this. Duke expects it. Frankly, it would be stranger and much more concerning if they didn’t try to dig up all his secrets the moment they caught wind of him hiding something.

He’ll tell them about getting his soulmark soon. Soulmarks can appear on any birthday between the ages of thirteen to twenty five; they might suspect he got his, but they won’t be able to confirm.

For now, Duke can keep his soulmate’s first words (whatever that gibberish means) to himself.

He makes the decision then and there, as his birthday party winds down, to tell them in a week.

And because his luck is abysmal, a world ending threat hits five days later and suddenly there is no time for soulmarks and first words.

Duke is the last to arrive at the Fortress of Solitude, hitching a ride from Superboy to get there. The biting cold and the harsh winds keep the place far from the reaches of the rest of humanity, surrounded by nothing but deadly white. 

Desolate as the landscape is, it’s still in better shape than the rest of the world.

Things would be better if it was alien invaders. It would be more bearable if some sort of cosmic colossus tried to eat their solar system. At least then there would be something physical that they could fight.

Instead, the world is breaking apart, the sky and earth both fracturing to reveal glowing green faultlines. Timelines are getting mixed up and muddled; just yesterday, Duke had to evacuate a building that had been demolished forty years ago, then stop a gang leader who wouldn’t be born for another eight years from taking over a neighborhood block and holding the residents hostage. Strange creatures are appearing out of nowhere, crawling out of shadows and tide pools and from beneath the roots of trees, all horrible, monstrous things that go after people with teeth and claws. 

The Flashes and the rest of the speedsters are nowhere to be found. The last time anyone get communication from them, it had been Impulse sending Red Robin a glitchy, barely audible video chat saying something along the lines of “trying to fix—unstable—keep us here—never been alive before.” All things that are very concerning to hear, made worse by the fact that no one had been able to contact them at all. 

The quiet loneliness of the Fortress of Solitude is a welcome change from the constant screaming, death, and destruction that’s taken over Gotham as well as the rest of the world. Last he heard, even Justice League China was at the end of their rope. 

“In here,” Superboy instructs, guiding Duke through the halls. There’s no time to look around at Superman’s secret base. All his focus is stuck on staying conscious for another few hours to see if this gathering of heroes is able to find a solution to the world breaking apart.

Batman stands besides Superman. Both nod at Duke when he enters the room. Wonder Woman is watching over John Constantine as he writes something on the floor, muttering under his breath. The rest of the Justice League lean against each other, visibly exhausted as they wait for Constantine to finish up what he’s doing. A few other heroes are here too, and Duke goes to join them where they lean against a wall, fighting to keep their eyes open.

“Hey,” he greets, voice low. “Hanging in there?”

Wonder Girl sighs. “Somehow. I don’t know how much longer we can do this. There’s just too much…”

“We’ll get through this. I mean, even without us out there, plenty of civilians have formed rescue and relief groups to help with keeping things under control,” Speedy says, gently knocking her arm against Wonder Girl’s. “We just gotta keep going. No giving up.”

“What’s this plan, anyways? I just heard that they needed me here to some attempt to fix things.”

“Well, without the speedsters, you’re kind of the only one who can help with time and power related stuff,” Speedy says.

“That’s definitely a stretch. My powers don’t really have anything to do with time. It’s all just light and shadow.”

Speedy shrugs. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you? Too late to complain about it now.”

Duke doesn’t get a chance to say anything else when a loud clap catches his attention. The entire room goes still and silent as Constantine stands up and surveys the circle and symbols he’s written, taking up an entire corner of the large room. 

“Alright,” he says. “Time to get started. Remember, let me do the talking. If you have to speak, it’s only to back me up or when a question is directed to you.”

Batman nods to the other Justice Leaguers, and suddenly everyone is falling into formation behind Constantine. Duke hurries to join them with Wonder Girl and Speedy, taking a place on the edge of the group where he’s a little closer to the circle than the others. 

Constantine begins chanting. His voice is steady though none of the sounds make any sense, refusing to form themselves into recognizable words, and the air the in the room feels heavier. The chalk circle glows a blinding white and Duke can see magic swirling through the air, his power kicking in the let him watch as reality tears and a glowing star in the shape of a boy comes out of it.

Duke blinks, forcing his power down. The hypnotic swirls of magic fade from sight, but the boy still glows, bright and terrible as he floats above the circle and surveys them all. A crown engulfed in blue flame hovers above his head and the fabric of the cosmos is draped over his shoulders as a cape. 

Just from presence alone, Duke can tell that this figure is now the strongest existence in this universe. He hopes this boy king is kind; no one, not even Superman, would be able to beat him in a fight.

The boy king opens his mouth and speaks, but it’s not words than comes out. A strange static like sound emerges, but light and almost melodic. 

His left hipbone burns.

Duke gasps, hand flying down to it, and the boy king’s gaze snaps to meet his.

The world stands still. No one moves. No one dares to breathe.

And then the boy king drops to the floor and walks out of the circle.

“I thought you said that would hold him!” Batman hisses at Constantine, who is looking more and more distressed.

“It was supposed to! I wrote it specifically to hold the King of the Infinite Realms!”

The boy king glances at Constantine. This time, when he speaks, it’s in smooth English. “Did you name the king in your circle?”

“Yeah, I named Pariah Dark… Bloody hell, you ain’t him, are ya?”

“No,” the boy king smiles, “I’m Phantom.”

The cape and crown fade away, and suddenly it’s not an all powerful, terrifying king standing before them, but a young man with white hair and green eyes who looks Duke’s age. Like he could be any other new generation hero in the room. 

“Phantom,” Duke repeats lightly, just under his breath, but it makes Phantom look at him again.

He walks forward, ignoring the other heroes’ aborted attempts to stop him, coupled with Constantine’s frantic back off motion happening behind him. Phantom leaves the circle and the Justice Leaguers behind to stand before Duke, a soft smile on his face.

“Hi,” he says softly, “I dreamed of you.”

“You—what?”

“I dreamed of you. I have for years now. To think that being summoned was what made us meet—” Phantom breaks off into a breathless laugh.

Duke swallows, then drops his had from where it had been pressed against his hip. “So we’re really—? You have my first words too?”

In the corner of his eye, he sees Batman stiffen up. Maybe he should have just told them the day after his birthday, but in Duke’s defense, this is the definition of extenuation circumstances. 

“First words?” Phantom repeats, “Is that… Do we have different soulmate connections?”

“I think so. Here, everyone gets the first words their soulmates say to them appearing somewhere on their body.”

Phantom’s gaze darts down to Duke’s hip, then back up. “Oh. I get dreams. Where I’m from, we dream of our soulmates, and the closer we get to meeting them, the more we remember the dreams.”

“And you dreamed of me.”

“I did.”

“As touching as this is,” Constantine interrupts, and Duke gets to watch as Phantom rolls his eyes, “We summoned you here for a reason. Our world is falling apart at the seams and we need someone powerful, from the Realms, to help us fix it.”

“Okay.”

“...What do you mean ‘okay’?”

“I’ll help,” Phantom says.

“Just like that? No deal to be made, no price to be paid?”

“Just like that. I’m not one for deals anyways. If I can help, then I will. But I do want to see what the problem is with my soulmate by my side, if you don’t mind.”

Batman steps in, fixing Duke with a steady gaze, a barely noticeable tilt of his head. “Signal?”

“Yeah I’ll go with him. Of course I will. The sooner the better, in fact, because everything’s gone to shit.” Duke turns to Phantom, taking hold of one of his hands. “It is really bad out there,” he warns, “If you need help—”

“I’ll ask for help from others in the Realms,” Phantom says. “No offense or anything, but if it’s really that bad, I doubt living mortals will be able to do much to fix things. It’s why I was summoned, right?”

“Right. Let’s get to it, then.”

There’s a flash of mischief in Phantom’s eyes, and cheeky grin stealing across his face for a moment, before he says, “Aye aye, captain!” and picks Duke up like he weighs nothing and flies up through the ceiling.

Duke is able to hear everyone’s surprised, panicked shouts before they’re outside the Fortress of Solitude and Phantom is flying them away. He only needs a few directions from Duke before he finds the first of the large fractures in the sky.

“Yikes,” is all he says, which is not a great thing to hear. “I think I know how to fix it, though. We’ll need to do a little investigating as to who, exactly, started messing around with reality, but once we find the source, it’ll be an easy fix.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all week.”

“Even better than meeting your soulmate?”

“I haven’t slept for more than four hours all week. Knowing there’s an end in sight beats everything else.”

Phantom laughs, throwing his head back and Duke can’t help but drink in the sight of him, so ethereal and bright and full of life. “Fair enough! Got any ideas as to where we should start?”

“I’ve got an entire crew of detective vigilantes,” Duke replies. He’s not taking any more chances. No more waiting to talk about important things; he messed up by keeping his soulmark to himself, so he needs to make sure everyone meets his soulmate before shit goes south again. 

“Let’s go find them, then!”

They take off again, soaring through the skies that are barely holding themselves together. 

The world is still ending, and every hero is being stretched thin, but held carefully in Phantom’s arms, racing head first into a solution, Duke can’t help but feel that everything’s going to be alright now. 

He’s had enough bad luck. Now, his soulmate with him, bearing the title of King with grace, things are finally starting to look up.

[kitabearuwu]

Still working on doodle requests

In the meantime, take this comic where they’re all even older adults

[noughticalcrossings]

The Terror

[aftgscenes]

Bitches will get sooo mad at Nora for saying Neil and Andrew don’t say I love you because “they deserve to heal!!!” But then they completely ignore her when she says Andrew bottoms and they are both switches -like girl your heteronormativity is showing

[humming-fly]

I know I've thought of a good shitpost when the premise is only funny to me and maybe three other people

[saturdaysky]

a little divine appreciation

-

God Gale is endgame for Mayhew, and Mayhew couldn't be more pleased 😌

their mutual wizard disease brought them to some pretty low lows, but hey, ignore the tragedy, they're gods now! first order of business is a little worshiping at the altar 😏

Here's the sketch, which I also like:

Got majorly inspired by these lovely photos, one of which I used as a pose reference.

[senseofnewness]

So we all know Art Donaldson is a whiny bitch right? Do you think he'd have an impact kink? Like he says something that annoys reader so she taps his cheek. Do you think he'd be turned on by that?? I saw that gif of tashi holding his cheek and he's looking up at her and UGH it's all I can think about

oh you know his tiny underwear is all wet and sticky as soon as the palm of your hand touches his cheek

MDNI, 18+, tw : BDSM

Art had never been a violent man. He believed violence was for those who couldn't communicate. Therefore, he never imagined that it would become such an important part of your relationship. His father had always taught him that there wasn't a worse coward than a man who hit a woman. Plus, he loved you way too much to ever hurt you. The thought of raising his hand against you was unbearable. However, imagining you doing the same to him did not trouble him nearly as much.

The first time he realized the effect violence truly had on him was after a fight. It was the first big fight of your relationship. Sure, before that, playing rough-and-tumble with you had always made him hard, but he had always blamed it on you straddling him, not on the fact that you were holding him in a chokehold.

That night, you had gone out with your friends to the club and had come home just before sunrise, barefoot, with your shoes dangling from your fingers. Art was well aware of your whereabouts, you weren’t the sneaky type. You had been having so much fun that time had slipped away, and you had completely forgotten to text him. As you unlocked the door to your apartment, you were startled to find Art standing in the dark hallway, arms crossed over his chest. Though you weren’t officially living together back then, he had a key that he often used to sneak into your bed at night. "It's late." He muttered through clenched teeth. You had never seen such an expression on his face, a mix of worry and anger that sent shivers down your spine. "Artie, I'm so sleepy..." You mumbled, staggering towards the bedroom. "Where the hell were you?" He raised his voice, trailing right behind you. "I was at the club, like I told you." You answered, grabbing a makeup wipe and leaning unsteadily in front of the mirror. "With who?" He demanded, his questions becoming more persistent. "My friends." You said, wiping off your makeup. "Did you get fucked?" His question made you turn to face him, mouth agape. What was he trying to get at? "What? No!" You replied, shaking your head, the movement making you feel dizzy. He stepped closer, invading your personal space. "How am I supposed to trust you when you're dressed like a slut?" It only took a second for your hand to land on his cheek with a loud smack.

He looked at you in shock, his hand instinctively flying to his burning cheek. Guilt washed over you immediately. You knew you had made a mistake the second your palm made contact with his face. Hurt and alcohol were a dangerous combination for you, and you wanted to apologize, even though he was just as much in the wrong. While your slap had hurt him physically, his words had cut you deeply. As his cheek reddened, the sting radiated through his entire body. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, goosebumps crawling on his arms. His nipples stiffened, and his cock was in the exact same state : hard. 

He felt like he was losing his mind, unable to get his body to follow his thoughts. He had been worried sick and you had hit him. Logically, his cock should have been the last thing to react. His brain had obviously sent the blood rushing to the wrong part of his body. Yet, he couldn’t deny it, there was something undeniably sexy about the way you had smacked him, the heat of your rage burning through your eyes. And the sting. Oh, the sting.

You turned away, avoiding his gaze as silence settled between you. You couldn't bear to see his wounded puppy expression. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you from behind. He murmured an apology, his voice laced with regret as he confessed how deeply worried he had been, how he had lost control of his emotions. You apologized as well, promising never to raise your hand against him againThe anger that had filled the room was gone on both ends, leaving a void that quickly filled with desire on Art’s side. All he wanted now was to feel you, for you to show him how unfounded his fears were, how stupid he was for doubting you. He yearned for you to tell him that no one else could ever make you come like he did. He had tightened his hold on you, his swollen cock pressing firmly against your ass. That night, he had fucked you, his mind haunted by the memory of that slap.

The next big fight was the moment he realized just how fucked up he truly was. This time, it was you who were struggling with insecurities. Both of you had traveled out of state for a tennis tournament, and you had noticed his gaze lingering a bit too long on a fellow player on the TV screen. It would have been one thing if she hadn’t been present at the event, but you had caught a glimpse of her at the opening party. She was even more stunning in real life, and it bothered you how Art’s eyes had followed her so intently. She was his type, and you knew it. A tennis prodigy with a captivating presence. It irked you how they shared this connection. "Do you want to fuck her?" You asked, glaring at him as he sat on the couch, engrossed in a live broadcast of her match. "Who?" He replied, his eyes still glued to the screen. Who? Who was he kidding? He had his eyes on her! "That cunt!" You yelled, pointing angrily at the TV. He looked at you, confusion evident in his eyes. All he had done was watch a tennis match, and he couldn’t understand the reason for your sudden outburst. "No!" He quickly responded, trying to calm you. You pointed at the corner of his mouth. "Lie better next time. You're drooling." You snapped. Who would drool? She was dreamy. He sighed deeply, realizing that no explanation would satisfy you. You were determined to vent your frustration, and he would be the victim of it. "And why not?" You had continued, bitterness lacing your words. "You seem to enjoy watching her in that tiny skirt." She had perfect, endlessly long legs, and her skirt lifted just enough with every breeze to reveal the underside of her ass cheeks. But he had not even noticed her outfit, too engrossed in the game. "She’s so much better than me." He frowned at your words. Being angry with him was one thing, but putting yourself down in front of him was another. No one was allowed to talk badly about his girlfriend, not even you. "Stop it." He had said firmly, standing before you with his arms on his hips. "Why don’t you want her? You already fucked her?" You questioned him, your jealousy pouring out. You knew the tennis world was a small one, and there was a chance they might know each other from previous competitions. But you had to admit, you mostly weren’t making any sense anymore. All you wanted was for him to reassure you, to tell you that you were the only one and that no one compared to you. Not even Tashi fucking Duncan. 

That was when he saw it, the fierce, raw rage in your eyes. It was the kind of look that made his pulse quicken and his cock throb in his pants. He craved that sharp, intoxicating sting once more, the one that haunted his thoughts every time you had sex. He longed for you to become physical again, to give him that intense, electrifying sensation that both frightened and thrilled him.

"Yeah..." You seized his jaw with a firm grip, forcing him to meet your gaze. Without hesitation, you kicked him in the groin with all your strength. You felt him crumble under the impact, a pained whimper escaping his lips. Before you knew it, he dropped to his knees before you, begging for forgiveness. He apologized profusely for his past, for sleeping with her, for not having saved himself for you, the love of his life. He vowed never to so much as look at her again. The truth was, he had never really spoken to the woman, let alone slept with her. But some things were better left unsaid. The sharp, throbbing pain in his lower abdomen only made him grow harder, the ache sending electric jolts straight to his tip as he started to leak. He could believe he had came in his boxers like a teenager. He looked up at you as he slid your sweats and panties off. The most sincere apology he could offer was to demonstrate just how much he adored you. He carefully spread your labia apart, his warm tongue eagerly exploring your slick folds. A moan escapes your lips while you pressed your foot firmly against his crotch, almost crushing it with your heel.

Now that he had experienced bliss twice and understood how to provoke it, the only thing on his mind was finding ways to infuriate you. It had begun with him lavishing compliments on other women in your presence,celebrities, friends, strangers, it didn't matter who. He barely paid them any real attention. What mattered to him was the sharp sting of your slap that followed his complement. Nothing made him come quicker than that.

In reality, you had quickly caught on to his little scheme. The Art you knew and loved had changed dramatically, gone was the sweet caring boy you knew, his behavior became more and more provocative. He had started pushing your buttons intentionally, always seeking confrontation only to reconcile moments later. At first, you had thought it was a craving for make-up sex. However, you had noticed the tent in his pants each time you struck him, it was clear that it was the fighting itself that excited him. More specifically, the rougher, more violent aspects of your arguments seemed to thrill him. Now that you understood his desires, his attempts to provoke you no longer frustrated you. Instead, they entertained you.

Two could play that game, after all.

You wanted to be a good lover for him, to inflict pain in the safest and most considerate way. Although you had heard about masochism, you knew little about it. So, you decided to google it to learn more. Most of the results centered on BDSM, explaining that spanking was one of the most common practices within it. So you had begun incorporating it into your fucking, delivering a sharp smack to his ass whenever you found his thrusts lazy. With each forceful slap, he would return pounding into you like a maniac. True, he wouldn’t last long after that, but you didn’t mind. The sight of him on top of you, eyes closed, mouth slightly agape, and a flushed, eager expression on his face, was more than enough to push you to the edge.

On his side, he continued to comment on every little thing he thought might drive you up the wall. From the way you looked, to the way you talked, to the way you ate, he had even criticized your favorite brand of cereal. 

One day, he blurted out. "You look just like your mother." You nearly burst into laughter but managed to hold it back. Were you dating an idiot? Of course, you resembled her! Still, you turned to him with wide eyes, stretching the muscles in your hand as if preparing for something. "What did you say?" You demanded, feigning anger.  "You look like your mother." He repeated, his teeth digging into his lower lip as he stared at you. You slapped him, and in the exact moment of that sharp, stinging contact, he came.

One day, as you joined him in the shower, he remarked. "Did you gain weight?" The comment hurt deeply, especially when he followed it by pinching your stomach. You looked into his eyes with a mix of hurt and determination. Grabbing a towel, you wetted it under the stream and then sharply struck the back of his thighs with it. The loud smack echoed through the bathroom as he let out a pained moan. You had never used anything other than your body to inflict pain, but with the towel in hand, you felt a rush of power, not guilt. Maybe because he also deserved that one.

Another day, it was : "That color looks hideous on you." He actually loved that color on you. His comments were becoming more and more absurd. Nonetheless, you punched him in the gut, and as if on autopilot, he grew hard.

At times, you felt like the worst girlfriend on earth, torturing him. Yet, when you watched him nuzzling into your hand, his lips tracing the lines of your palm as he begged "More...", you knew you were doing this for him. He seemed to enjoy every second of it. And while you weren’t particularly fond of the roughness, you took pleasure in seeing Art so completely submissive to you.But now, you could see that he was running out of ideas. In bed, he had begun to babble incoherently, throwing out a stream of desperate, half-formed barbed comments for you to smack him around while you rode him. It seemed like the time had come to stop pretending you were oblivious to his newly discovered kink and to address it openly. "You know." You said softly, your voice laced with amusement. "You can just ask for it."

[egophiliac]

Have you heard of the "Crowley is Malleus' dad" theory going around? Where Prince Levan (or whatever his name is) didn't actually die and just went out to get some milk and is now known as Dire Crowley, the silly man? The implications of that theory is absolutely hilarious when you think about it

hold on, we can figure this out, we just need LISTS

PROS THAT CROWLEY IS SECRETLY REVAAN/LEVAN/LAVERNE/WHATEVER:

unspecified fae of some kind, with similar coloring to Mal

the animal masks are apparently a Briar Valley thing

has some kind of big blackmailable secret that was alluded to in episode 4, and then as far as I know never brought up again

(unless this was just Azul bullshitting, which is extremely possible)

based on Diablo, which...maybe means something?

has canonically worn Dad Shorts

CONS:

(gestures to Crowley's entire personality)

NO LISTEN Revaan was the guy they sent off on diplomatic missions and to take care of delicate political situations, and...look, I love this dweeb, but would you trust Crowley to be in charge of negotiating your war treaties

despite my brain insisting on reading his name as "Raven", Revaan's title does imply that he was also a dragon (or super into longan berries, I'm not ruling that out)

currently unclear why Lilia "my closest friend Revaan...he is no longer with us...I used to make fun of him for being kind of a priss about eating jerky..." Vanrouge has somehow not noticed or said anything

Malleus' Aloof Anime ~Aristocrat~ vibe had to come from somewhere, and by all accounts it was NOT his mom's side of the family

???:

turns into a bird in the opening, I don't know if that means anything but it's kinda cool, I guess

all that aside, if Malleus and Yuu are any indication, then the Draconias have...questionable taste in their social choices. so anything is possible!