Aro-in-danyl - Sarcasm Is My Name. Sincerity Is My Game.

So if I’m getting this right, the abridged version of Lil’ Zuko is like

Ozai: To get your honor back, you need to obtain something almost impossible to find.

Zuko: Whatever it is I’ll find it.

Ozai: The Avatar.

Zuko: *instantly finds Aang*

Ozai: What the-? Where did you get that?!

Zuko: I found it.

Ozai (hurling Aang): WELL GO FIND IT AGAIN

The thrown Aang, with little Zuko in hot pursuit, ricochet like pinballs across the global political landscape, wracking up high scores in Plausibly Deniable Treason.

DP x DC

Okay, so I’ve read a lot of these (like, a lot) and I’ve seen a lot of “Danny’s friends and family die and the bats adopt him” but I haven’t really seen any where Sam, Tucker, and Jazz come back as ghosts, not even an off handed conversation explaining the possibility.

So what do I want? I want a fic that starts the same way all the others do, but when it gets to the “bats figure out the ghost stuff” I want Danny to confide in them about how confused he is because really:

Should he even be mourning if they come back as ghosts? Like in that case, it’s more like they went anyway for a while and eventually came back, a little changed, but essentially that’s what happens. But just because they have a higher chance at becoming ghosts doesn’t mean that they will.

And even if they do come back, time is wonky in the infinite realms, so they could end up in any time, and it takes a while to form a ghost, so that could be 20 years from when they died. Also, we don’t really know that much about where ghosts even form and the infinite realms are not named metaphorically, so that’s another problem.

What I’m saying is, we have so much lore in this fandom and it really makes me sad that people use dead as an end-all be-all when the whole thing is literally about the afterlife. Dive into the lore, explore how emotionally confusing that would be to a boy who lost everything. Explore how he would feel, wondering if he could even grieve, if he should grieve, if he didn’t and waited and they never came back, like there are so many angst and fluff possibilities.

Alastor's Furby Organ - Fic Prompt

Vox is attempting to sell the benefits of advancing technology to Alastor for the umpteenth time, either genuinely or patronizingly, when Alastor sees it.

The second greatest piece of technology he's ever laid eyes on.

He interrupts Vox in the middle of his tirade and zips up to it and is absolutely tickled pink by its creepiness and charming exterior.

Alastor, trying not to sound excited: And what's this delightful little thing?

Vox: Oh that's a Furby, a creepy kids toy up top, we're thinking of scrapping it actually-

Alastor: Oh? Then maybe I can take them off your hands.

Time skip to a few months later, Alastor and Vox are having another battle (duet) when Alastor manifests a new instrument Vox has never seen him play before made up of-

Oh no. no. no. nononono. NO.

A fucking Furby Organ!?

Bleeding Out, Bleeding In - the Start

This is the start of the resulting fic from the winning poll option of 'Crime Boss is a Dangerous Job'. And boy did it go places.

A solid 40 of you wanted to wait for ao3, but the other 59 are feral gremlins who want a part now! Those who want to wait, don't feel pressured to read. This might be up on ao3 this week or if not then next week! (Yes, that doesn't add up to 100, one vote is me so I can see the poll results.)

wc: 1059 Content Warnings: canon typical violence, blood, blood drinking, mentions of death and dying, brief mentions of human tracking, so much cussing.

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Brainless motherfuckers.

Every single one of them, brainless motherfuckers.

One would think that eight heads in a duffel bag would have been enough.

One would think that people would learn his fucking rules. They were easy rules. Don’t hurt kids. Don’t sell to kids. Don’t hurt sex workers. Don’t traffic people. Don’t fuck with him.

And these motherfuckers had fucked with him. They had fucked with his rules.

Red Hood stared down at the lifeless eyes of the traitorous lieutenant.

Ex-lieutenant.

Brainless motherfucker.

Hood was insulted that someone that incompetent had managed to make him bleed, even if it had been eleven against one. And fuck if he wasn’t bleeding badly. Hood pressed his hand tighter to his wound with a hiss and let himself slump back against the grimy wall of the ally that he had slunk into. His hand became wet with warmth.

He must have already bled through the hasty field bandage that he had slapped on the wound.

Numbers slipped through Red Hood’s foggy mind as he tried to calculate about just how bad of a fact that was— about how heavily he must be bleeding out. Fuck if he wasn’t bleeding out.

Could he make it to his safe house in time? No. Could someone make it to him in time? Maybe, but who could he call? He wasn’t going to turn around and let another lieutenant stab him in the other side. B— maybe it would be better to just bleed out than deal with B and another lecture. As if this hadn’t been in self defense. As if he hadn’t acted to stop kids from being sold. As if a moment of hesitancy about killing a man he’d been working closely with for a year had been what got Hood in this spot.

And Dick was off world.

Dick was always off world when he needed him.

That wasn’t fair. What did Dick owe him? It’s not like they had ever been family. Dick had never wanted him. The last person who had wanted him didn’t even want him enough to stay sober.

Blood loss made him maudlin, apparently.

Dying by explosion had been easier.

“You know, not what I expected to find dumpster diving tonight.”

Hood’s hand dropped to brush over the grip of his gun. It was up and aimed before his head even had time to lull towards the voice. The hand holding the gun was steady even as his vision swam staring down the sight.

“Not that I’m doubting you can use that, Boss, but would rather you didn’t,” the stranger said, hands up in the air. One large duffel sat at their feet. Another smaller duffel was slung over their back. A hoodie at least three sizes too big swamped the slim figure— hiding both their form and face. The steel toed boots looked comically large at the end of stick thin legs.

Hood knew better than to think they weren’t a threat.

Anyone could be a threat in Gotham.

“Really, Boss, I’m just out here dumpster diving for supplies,” they continued, motioning to the warehouse district around them. “Not going to lie and say I won’t happily loot your corpse if you keel over right there, but would rather you stay breathing. I can help with that, if you let me.”

“And if I say no?” Hood asked, his voice a breathless rasp even through the modulation of the helmet.

“If you say no to the help, I’ll just be on my way. There are other dumpsters to go through like the feral raccoon that I am.”

His arm dropped down to hang limply at his side. He didn’t take his finger off the trigger. He shouldn’t trust this stranger. “Look more like a street rat to me.”

“We’ll compromise to possum then,” they said, slowly lowering their arms.

He shouldn’t trust this stranger. Did it mater if he did?

He was bleeding out.

The gun slotted back into its holster.

“There you are Boss, we’ll get you patched back up.”

Hood blinked. They were tucking themselves under his shoulder, leaning him up off the warehouse wall.

Hood blinked. They were disabling security on a heavy, cast iron door set into a concrete floor.

Hood blinked.

“Not going to lie, Boss, you’re in a bad way.” The words were distant— like listening to them through a thick wall. Static ran under the words. Static that burrowed under his skin and into his blood.

Static that burned at a part of him he tried to ignore.

“Think they got something pretty vital with that knife.”

He didn’t want to burn.

“Stitched you up but…”

He didn’t want to die.

“Oh Boss.”

Not again.

“I know, Boss.”

A cold hand brushed over his temple and he couldn’t hold back the whine at the sensation. He strained to arch up into the touch. He wanted it. He wanted to feel. He didn’t want to slip away again. He didn’t want that void of death. He didn’t want to die again.

The voice shushed him. “I know.”

He trembled. The static sang in his veins.

“There’s something I can try, Boss, but it will change thing.”

Things were always changing.

“Not like this. You’re not on the knife’s edge yet. You’re still living. If you die you right now you tip over to the other side.”

He’d done that before.

“I know, Boss. But if we do this, you’re not going to tip over anymore, you’re going to balance on that knife’s edge. Not dead but not alive. It’s a fine line to walk.”

Everything in his life was a tightrope: hero, villain; son, enemy; brother, stranger. What was one more thing? Alive, dead.

He didn’t want to be dead again.

“Okay, Boss, okay.”

The hand pulled a whine from his throat as it moved away. A soft coo hushed him quiet again. The sound rumbled in with the static untill the soothing noise sat inside him.

His head tilted up as something slid under his neck. Hands guided his head to lay back down onto a soft surface.

Something wet dripped against his lips. Spice bloomed across his tongue.

“There you go, Boss,” the voice soothed. The coo rumbled in his chest like a fluttering bird. “Drink up.”

Cold skin and wet warmth pressed against his lips.

Jason drank.

honestly steve harrington's character growth from homophobic prom king who's friends are complete assholes and only really cares about himself with a crush on the most perfect girl at school to bisexual single mother of six who's best friend is a lesbian and crush is the metalhead d&d-obsessed school freak who's gotten held back twice and been accused of murder once is not just one of the greatest things to ever come from tv, it is also one of the most absolutely hilarious.

ugh im going absolutely feral fantasizing about obsessive snily. snily where they are both totally off their rocker. snily scheming painful ways to get back at the marauders. snily killing severus' father. just!!!! obsessive snily!!! where they are so wrapped up in eachother!! that they don't even realize how crazy they're becoming!!!!! i want snily violence 🔪🔪🔪

where the hell am i gonna find a fic like that 😭😭

anyone else rewatching this clip and feeling fucked up about it now

Alastor's Father

WARNING: period-typical racism, WW1, race-based murder

I see a lot of fics where Alastor's dad is a piece of shit and abusive, but I'd love to see one where Al's dad actually loves and cares for his family but was taken from them when Alastor was too young to remember much about him.

Maybe he died as a soldier in WW1 or made it back to the US only to be killed some other way. If he was black, then those odds go way up unfortunately.

We don't know much about Al's parents but if it's still canon that he's creole, then that means at least one of his parents has black ancestry. A lot of the fics I've seen give him a black mom/white dad, but I think it would be interesting if both his parents were mixed too.

Anyway, what I'm getting at is if Al's dad was killed when he was still little, then they wouldn't recognize each other in hell now would they?

Al's dad sure does love his family, but everyone else can fuck off. And ooh boi did he earn his place in hell trying to protect them, not that heaven cared about his motives.

The second he finds out Alastor the Radio Demon is his baby boy? Hell hath no fury like a protective parent. He doesn't give a flying fuck about the atrocities Alastor has caused, that's his baby and no one is going to hurt him while he's not double-dead.

How the media depicts the Apollo 11 mission:

Actual quotes from the Apollo 11 mission: