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#pretty fucking imaginative
starsreminisce · 6 months
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Antis:
Shadows are out for Azriel because Gwyn is a threat!
The threat:
Gwyn asked Az, her teal eyes bright, “What do we get if we finish the course?” Az’s shadows danced around him.
The young priestess smiled--and Azriel thought it might have been directed at his curious shadows.
"How was the party?" Her breath curled in front of her mouth, and one of his shadows darted out to dance with it before twirling back to him. Like it heard some silent music.
Azriel dipped his head in a sketch of a bow, something restless settling in him. Even his shadows had calmed. As if content to lounge on his shoulders and watch.
Antis:
ThAt’s BeCaUsE sHe LuReD hIm ThErE! tHaT’S a DiSpLaY oF hEr PoWeR! aZrIeL’S sHaDoWs DiSaPpEaR wHeN hE’S hApPy! UnLeSs YoU wAnT aZrIeL’S sHaDoWs To DaTe HeR? hE wOULdn’t EvEn cALL gwyn A frIEnd! whAt pArt Of hIm wAntIng ELAIn tO sIt On hIs fAcE yOU cOULdn’t rEAd?
For a group who keeps claiming they have canon on their side, y’all are sweating if y’all keep coming for Gwyn and Lucien now.
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idiopathicsmile · 1 year
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a "fun fact" i read as a child is that pure honey never spoils, to the point where honey from ancient egyptian tombs was found to still be edible
i used to think about this, and imagine a poor intern who was strong-armed into putting in their one human mouth something was made literally thousands of years ago, just to make sure it could be safely eaten
but having since met scientists and having learned what freaks they are, if they did put this to the test, i am VERY confident that every single archaeologist in the room was duking it out over who got the honor of putting their tongue on that mummy's dusty old bee goo.
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pherredraws · 7 months
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hug! that! captain!
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inkclover · 7 months
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we love a short king who lifts
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stronk bug! :P
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deuteragonist1 · 1 year
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Merthur really have it all huh. King and lionheart dynamic. Fucking hate at first sight then speedrun to trying to die for the other. Slow burn? Never heard of her. One of them wears gloves and one doesn't and I'm not even gonna bother to explain why that is top fucking tier. Lies and secrets that could bring about the doom of the kingdom. Obviously adore each other but will actually fucking die before saying it with actual words. The prince is a gigantic asshole who doesn't know how to show care or ask for attention like a person who had healthy emotional development as a child and oscillates between pulling pigtails and acting like an over-eager puppy or both at the same time. Domesticity levels previously unheard of. They canonically wear each other's clothes. One of them makes up words and the other promptly starts using them. Both are extremely into the other's specific brand of dumbassery. Their love language is fucking playing together. "I don't want you to change" fuck this fuck everything
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felsicveins · 1 month
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His heart belongs to another
And no other heart will do
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rustedhills · 4 months
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Disney, releasing Wish: "so it's all about legacy--the new generation surpassing the old, overcoming the evils perpetuated by them, relinquishing singular power... and there's an old man in a tower, uh... animal sidekick, i guess..., ah... magic...?
Miyazaki, just out of frame, sledgehammer raised:
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crowleyscleaninglady · 5 months
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Broke: Crowley saying “for Satan’s sake”
Woke: Crowley saying “for Somebody’s sake”
Bespoke: Crowley giving up completely and just saying “for Fuck’s sake”
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aromantic-diaries · 10 months
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My favorite argument against literally anything like "it's not natural" or something along those lines is simply I Don't Care
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galaghiel · 6 months
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what remnant does to a mf
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nateezfics · 6 months
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thought about this hongjoong from the m countdown paris, and how hot he looked in this fit with the glasses…and immediately thought of that one kdrama kiss scene —
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daryldamnson · 1 month
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Imagine being with Eddie on the quiet days, no hellfire, no corroded coffin, definitely no school, just a peaceful day of domesticity, not really talking just enjoying each others company, Eddie not having to put on the performance he feels he has to at school or at d&d, you get to see Eddie with his walls down
sorry you had to wait 1.5 years for this, baby
no warnings only softness, 0.5k
title from tswift
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It’s not often anyone sees him like this. Quiet. Still. Stretched out diagonally across your bed, head pillowed on your stomach, Eddie is the most peaceful version of himself. That’s not to say he’s unhappy elsewhere - he enjoys the dramatic show-boating of being Hellfire’s DM and loves the exhilarating energy of performing with his band - but there's something special about the quiet comfort in lounging around with you. No plans, no other people, no pressure. Just the blissful peace of basking in the company of your favourite person.
He shifts his head a little so he can follow the lines of your jaw with his gaze. He finds it difficult to look away from you most of the time, his eyes drawn to you like a magnet, so he’s given up on trying. You never seem to mind, anyway.
The movement of his head dislodges your hand from his hair, in turn drawing your own gaze from the open book hiding the top half of your face from his view. The hand holding the book tips it to the right as your head shifts in the opposite direction to look down at him.
“You okay?” You’re murmuring, as if speaking any louder will shatter the peace cloaking the two of you, but you can’t help checking on him.
Eddie’s mouth lifts up at the edges, smile growing until it can’t anymore, his lips parting to reveal his teeth and cheeks crinkling into dimples. He glows like this; transparently happy with a faint pink blush and chocolate eyes shining with adoration.
“Mhm,” he hums, twisting his head once more so he can press a soft kiss to your stomach. Your skin warms even through your (stolen from his clean laundry pile) t-shirt.
You take his word for it and return your hand to brush his bangs away from his forehead, drawing a soft line down the side of his face before tucking his hair behind his ear and sinking your fingers in to gently rub against his scalp. You drink in one last glimpse his soft, relaxed state before returning to your book, content to let him continue his appraisal unsupervised.
Eddie’s incapable of staying still for more than a short stint and this is proven when he reaches over to tap his fingers against your shoulder. Your eyes flicker over to him but he’s not looking for attention, just another point of connection, so you turn back to your half-read page. The rhythmic tapping of his fingers is soft and you just know he’s drumming out the beat of one of his favourite songs. Sabbath, probably. Maybe Dio.
The taps are soothing in a way you can’t explain but feel viscerally, and your eyelids droop without your permission, words blurring together in a sleepy haze. You give in immediately, closing your book and setting it to the side before looking down at the doe-eyed sweetheart currently pressed up against you.
“Wanna take a nap?” You offer, fighting back a yawn.
“Hell yeah,” he grins, shifting up the bed to share your pillow.
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appri-dot · 2 months
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@ballcrusher74 BOO MF!!!!!!😈😈😈😈
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starry-bi-sky · 26 days
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my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out
and my poor heart is an open wound A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident. CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.
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What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it. 
Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.
He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats. 
Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.” 
Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.  
He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died. 
Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream. 
He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. 
He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.  
He has no mouth, but he must scream. 
Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood. 
Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.
With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off. 
Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts. 
Scrappy is just not enough. 
He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all. 
Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash. 
But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane. 
With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings. 
Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice. 
He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail. 
Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.
Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it. 
Being dead is agony. 
Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow. 
His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever. 
In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be. 
Being dead hurts. 
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ghostforwhat · 11 months
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i think will should have gotten to see hannibal in his stupid little speedo at least once
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sorrelpaws · 8 months
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no offense but i genuinely fear that their potential dynamic will go severely underutilized
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