Fire Breath for Dragon Dream Anon here... why not give Reaper ice breath? Like if Dream develops fire as a big f you to the multiverse Reaper decides you know what thats a great idea! And he and Dream team up to be like breathless Dragons who made their own breath. Ice and Death have long been associated with each other. Reaper and Dream giving a big middle finger to whatever decided they would be left out and making their own.
OOooooooo true true true...
I kinda thought Reaper like... didn't mind having no breath? He's the representation of death, but he doesn't want to cause death, y'know? Which is why he doesn't have one, and why he wasn't supposed to have a hoard!
But damn.
You have a point.
If only for the aesthetic of icy death bfjsbfjsnfjsb, maybe Dream wrapped him into it like please, help me defy the forces that made us dude. Let’s do the impossible (ง’̀-‘́)ง
Honestly it’s probably less “creating their own breath” and more “learning elemental magic that they couldn’t do before then using it LIKE a dragons breath >:D” but it all still counts. XD
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💜🎵Share 5 top songs you have on repeat right now! 💜🎵
Tagged by @captainclaudeandthehiddenlogs, Grazie mille per il tag Bella! 💘
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5 YT videos I'm listening to ALL THE TIME:
Tagging @merryandrewsworld, @occhi-verdi-come-il-mare, @evbuckdiaz, @pollyna, @anadorablack, @scottishaccentsareawesome.
As always, no pressure! Catbonking you!! 💘💘
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snippet from next chapter of That's All Folks!
For context: in the Upside-Down afterlife everything operates according to Looney Tunes logic. Eddie is the most recent arrival, and the denizens are preparing to fight Vecna in order to save Max. Eddie's job to ensure Steve, Nancy, and Robin make it safely to the gate in the Munson trailer in order to escape.
The shriek of Heather’s whistle bounced off the GYM walls. “Again!”
Eddie groaned, so tired he went full noodle—arms dangling boneless from his shoulders as he drooped to the ground on legs bendy as spaghetti.
“Let’s go,” Heather bellowed into her megaphone. “One more, then we’ll call it a day.”
In response, Eddie let out a long descending whine, a gusty fart of a noise, and his body deflated like a punctured balloon.
“Aw, don’t be like that, man,” Patrick called from his perch atop the metal crate that represented the Munson trailer, his crown askew from the rough landing. He had been playing Steve for the duration of the exercise. Chrissy, sitting pretty by his side, the first to have made it to home base, had drawn freckles on her cheeks to assume the role of Robin. “You almost got all three of us that time.”
Dangling upside-down from the ceiling, hand on head to secure his brown Nancy wig, Fred nodded encouragingly. He was wrapped chest to knee in the creepy sentient vines Heather had unleashed, a swarm of blind boa constrictors that had spelled their doom mere feet from the finish line.
Heather had insisted that getting into character was essential, and thus had been tormenting—or “training”—Eddie for hours with a grey raisin face horrifically at odds with her pink track suit.
If Vecna personally comes after us, we’re screwed, Ed had pointed out, but she was undeterred. Barb had donned a flower costume, the petals hanging limp from around her neck. I’m a Demogorgon, she’d explained, expression flat. So far, she’d mauled Eddie twice and Patrick once.
Maybe it was therapeutic, given how she’d died?
Barb sat out the last round, content to chill among the writhing amputated vines Ed had been furiously hacking to bits, windmilling a pair of machetes. He would’ve gone tornado mode, but they’d limited him to tactics that wouldn’t stretch plausibility so far as to paralyze his human cargo with alarmed confusion.
Which was really cramping his style, honestly.
The metal doors clanked, and bright daylight clashed with the harsh fluorescents. Eddie flopped his head to see Billy approaching, back in his workout clothes.
…Back in his workout clothes, only he’d swapped out the muscle shirt for a black crop top.
“Already a puddle?”
Heather nudged Eddie’s hose arm with her foot. “He was like this before you got here.”
Billy crouched, eyes sparkling, tongue between his teeth. “What’s up, Ed?”
“This isn’t gonna work,” Eddie mumbled, downcast, and Billy tsked.
“Not with that attitude, it’s not.” He grabbed Ed’s hand, raised it till his breath gusted against skin, and for a wild second Eddie thought he was gonna kiss it like a fairytale prince.
Then plush lips closed around Eddie’s thumb—an abrupt switch from good day, my lady to let’s set off some fireworks—but before Ed could do more than squeak, Billy’s cheeks puffed out, and he blew.
With a pop, Ed resumed his normal dimensions, fully inflated, and their audience cackled—except for one.
“Uhm, could you—let me down?” Fred asked.
Billy craned his head, considering. “Give ‘em a tickle,” he suggested, and soon enough Fred came crashing to the ground.
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More Italian American Jason appreciation content as a treat ❤
Once upon a time there was a man called Willis Tadini. He migrated from Italy to the US, where his surname was changed to Todd. He then had a son called Jason, who had a son called Willis, who had a son called Jason. And that Jason Todd is the one we know and love now.
Source: historical events and customs, known facts about the Todd family naming scheme (Willis - Jason - Willis - Jason), and my brain because I said so
What about he was called Guglielmo Tadini and was then changed to Willis Todd :)
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