I blame Sub-Zero for a lot of problems in my life ...
When my computer freezes:
When I step outside in the morning and it’s freezing-cold:
When my tea isn’t hot enough:
When the weather gets so bad they predict it’s going to snow:
When Scorpion learns the truth behind his clan’s demise, but not being told to wait to carry out his revenge until Quan Chi can revive the other kombatants, and goes ahead and kills Quan Chi anyway, thus possibly condemning the kombatants to a revenant-ridden life forever, resulting in my heart breaking in the process:
When it’s not cold enough in the forest for Erron Black to keep his clothes on:
Cast thy nighted color off- or, that classic soulmate au
My take on that classic “the first words your soulmate says are tattooed on your body” au
Jacob had visited the loop twice already, but he had yet to meet the ever-elusive Enoch. He had heard plenty, certainly- that Enoch was cantankerous, cruel, and that Jacob was better off not meeting him. Their assertions didn’t ward Jacob away. No, he wanted to solve the mystery of this Enoch even more.
Don't the proportions and context of an abusive father in Ishida's latest illustration resemble Torso rather than Amon or Kaneki?
Hey Anons! :)
I agree with you both that the line mentioning an abusive father is rather striking and is what initially made me doubt that Ishida’s new art was about Kaneki… Initially that is, because the character (whose hair is hidden by that black smoke effect for me) has black nails…
And since I don’t think this is relating to Takizawa or Uta, the only other character (iirc) who used to have black nails was Shironeki, so Kaneki could be the one on Ishida’s new art.
As for the “don’t hit me father” part…I’m really not sure and I know people always disagreed, but it’s not because we always knew that Kaneki’s dad died long ago that he can’t somehow have an importance at a later point (I guess). After all, look at what happened with Kaneki’s mom (I know she was mentioned more than his dad ever was though).
Of course, the more :Re goes on, the less it feels that Kaneki’s father will ever be mentioned, especially when Kaneki himself always said he doesn’t have a lot of memories about his dad, except for his books, but then again, Kaneki is of the unreliable narrator type so…
Extending this line of thought, for all we know it’s not about Kaneki’s father but about one of Kaneki’s father figures: namely it could be about Arima, since we know Arima fought against Kaneki/Haise many times. Then again, I know, he never referred to Arima directly as “dad” but he did call Akira “mom” once, even if the tone of the scene was light back then (but that’s still something he said with a longing look on his face).
…with either a hint that Kaneki’s father might actually become plot relevant at some point (and in that case, if Kaneki actually remembers about him, we have yet another example of the unreliable narrator trope for Kaneki’s character), or with Kaneki simply losing it altogether and not making sense anymore.
If not Kaneki, then it’s another character with black nails => Takizawa, Uta…? But I don’t think Takizawa’s dad ever was hinted to be abusive and we don’t know enough about Uta to speculate on the subject.
I hope it answers your questions Anons, sorry that I don’t have so many ideas! Have a nice weekend :))
One thing that stood out to me in American Gods was Media telling Technical Boy to apologise to Shadow for lynching him because he was black and lynching a black man would reflect badly on his image and brand. She didn’t say apologise because it was wrong. It seemed like all that mattered was image and it’s very art imitates life if you think about it. Countless people don’t really care about issues but they pretend to because it’ll make them look good and earn them approval.
I have a Keith and Allura prompt for you. Someone asks if Keith and Allura are friends and he denies it.
first thought: damn thats savage bro. second thought: hmm this can be angsty tho, third thought: whatever the hell this is. i wrote this in 20 minutes enjoy
It had been weeks since the final battle with Zarkon, weeks since Shiro disappeared without a trace. The team had been working non-stop to try and find the black paladin, refusing to believe he was gone for good. They followed networks of informants, chasing the smallest of clues across galaxies, almost always meeting a dead end. That’s how they ended up on this planet, a small desert world in some star system yet untouched by the Galra.
The team had landed on this planet days ago, looking to find an informant the Blade of Marmora had here. Allura was still wary about working with the Galran rebels, but Keith zealously latched onto any possible lead. And since he was the only paladin capable of sometimes piloting the black lion, he was technically the temporary leader of Voltron. It was clear to all of them, however, that Keith was only a filler, just until they got Shiro back; no one made this more clear to the team than Keith himself. Allura found a bit of comfort in that fact: at least there was someone else as desperate to get Shiro back as she was.
Billy happy to see Jason Todd again after his death. (Billy and Jason, as robin, were friends.) Even though Jason kills and is the red hood (make the both of them the same age.)
Billy Batson pulled his long hair out of his eyes again and looked back at his sketch pad. When he was a kid he’d thought maybe he’d grow up to look like Captain Marvel. It hadn’t worked out that way. While the Captain was over six feet tall Billy was a rather average 5′9″ and skinny no matter how much he tried to work out. at 19 Billy’s skin had mostly cleared but he still couldn’t grow a beard to save his life.
Billy looked at his sketch then back at the fountain he was drawing. It was charcoal and his fingers were a black mess. He frowned, it was technically fine but he wasn’t happy with it, it lacked something. He pushed his hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand again. “Art school huh?” Billy turned and saw a tall boy, thickly muscled in a too tight t-shirt, a white streak in his hair. “Hey Jason” Billy said with a smile as Jason jumped over the bench he was sitting on to take a seat next to him.
Jason grabbed the sketch pad from Billy’s hands and looked at the picture. “Pretty good sparky” he said, “maybe you should practice your your nude model drawing” He waggled his eye brows and Billy laughed. “It’s good to see you” Billy said. “Good to be seen” Jason said widening his eyes meaningfully. “This meeting doesn’t mean I approve of the Red Hood thing” Billy said seriously.
“Of course not, captain boy scout” Jason said with a sneer. Billy smiled “Only one of us was a cub scout and it wasn’t me” he said teasingly. “Hey! that’s only because Bruce made me!” Jason protested. “Yeah sure Jason, whatever you say.” Billy paused for a moment looking at his friend. “Why are you doing this Jay?”
“doing what?” Jason said avoiding looking Billy in the face. “Killing people, using guns, The Red Hood, that’s not you” Billy said. “What if it is me? what if Billy bones this is what I should have always been. The soft touch, Bruce’s way, the League’s way, your way got me killed” Jason stressed ‘your’ “so maybe this is what I should have always been doing” Billy shook his head. “It’s not you Jason” He said quietly.
Jason leaped up off the bench. “And how do you know?! huh?” He glared down at Billy who looked up calmly flipping his hair out of his eyes. “Because I know you Jay, doesn’t take the Wisdom of Solomon to see you’re not comfortable being this person. Why else would you come to see me if you didn’t want me to talk you out of it?” Billy said slowly.
“Maybe because we’re friends Billy!” Jason spat angrily. Something crossed Billy’s face, for a second Jason was sure he saw lighting in his eyes. “We were friends Jay, Robin and me. Then you died on me, and when you come back you’re some gun shooting mass murderer. I’m friends with Jason Todd, I don’t want to know the Red Hood” Billy stood looking at his friend and some how seeming much larger than he really was. “Call me when whatever this is over Jay” Then the looming shadow was gone and Billy pulled Jason into a hug. “I miss you, I always miss you” He whispered into Jason’s ear. Before Jason could react his friend was gone walking away with his pad under his arm.
Of course! Thanks so much for the support, @aquaburst07! I’ve always been blown away of how much love you pour into the dippica pairing, whether it’s fanart or fic. I’m sure I speak for others when I say I appreciate it!
summary: Everyone needs a reminder about how miraculous life is every now and then - Dipper especially.
notes: inspiration taken from this post. The length bothers me; there’s one part I thought should be extended, but I couldn’t think of anything else to add without bordering on poetry.
Dipper has long come to accept a single fact: date nights with Pacifica Northwest are highly unpredictable, extremely unorthodox, and entirely confusing. So he’s not surprised when, instead of dining at an actual restaurant, Pacifica merely invites him inside the Shack, where she is munching on Chinese takeout.
“Should I have worn worse clothes?” Dipper drawls when he sees the setup. It’s not like he’s dressed formally, but his blue polo is technically a dress shirt and he is rather fond of his black jeans.
“No,” Pacifica says, grinning. She herself is wearing a white dress - loose, flowing, long-sleeved, a sheer skirt reaching her mid-calf while the solid white one underneath goes halfway down her thighs. It looks more like a wannabe wedding dress, but maybe that’s the point? Dipper can’t begin to know for sure. “C’mon, hurry up and eat. We’ve got places to go!”
Warnings: Unprotected smut (wrap it up, guys), shower sex, explicit language
Word Count: 2823
“We’re heading out, Y/N!”
You immediately perked up at Sam’s yell, an anticipated opportunity making itself aware. “Okay! Bye, guys!” You shouted back as the boys exited the bunker to hit a bar in the next town. Alone at last. With hunts, research, and taking care of the boys, which was a whole new challenge on its own, you barely had any time to yourself lately. Every opportunity for independency had been rushed and very unsatisfying. Hell, you couldn’t remember the last time you took a shower that lasted over ten minutes. Yes, a shower sounded good right about now. A long, hot shower.
You strode into the bathroom, a childish smile on your face at the cherishable moment. You twisted the shower handles until you reached a temperature that was just below scalding hot, the heat preferable for your sore muscles. You really needed to take care of yourself better. You focused on the boys, and the occasional blue-eyed angel, so much, their increasingly depressed mentalities and numerous wounds, that you tended to forget about yourself.
No matter. You pulled off your clothes at a comfortable pace, the steam from the water gushing out to tease your bare skin. You shuddered a bit and stepped into the stream of hot water, one hand yanking the shower curtain closed behind you. “Ugh, yes,” you groaned quite loudly as the droplets plummeted against your skin, instantly relaxing you. You dipped your head under the spray, completely immersing yourself in the liquid paradise.
You probably stood there for a good ten minutes, your mind in a metaphorical cloud. All worries were gone, leaving you light and joyful. The thundering of the water completely cut off any sound that appeared in the vicinity, leaving you exposed to surprise. Which is exactly what you felt when you suddenly felt a body press against your back. “WHAT THE FU-” you started to shout as you flailed like a startled bird, arms out. You lost your footing and slipped, forcing your remaining letters back down your throat as you gasped in surprise.
“Wow, steady there!” A booming voice ordered behind you just as strong hands grabbed your upper arms and situated you upright.
You knew that voice anywhere. You immediately cowered in his grasp, your arms crossing over your chest and your legs intertwining in a feeble attempt to shield your body from his view. “Crowley! What are you doing here?” You growled, your head turning back slightly to glance at him.